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Our Last Frame Together Part 2 | H.HJ x AFAB!Reader

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ :･ lover!hyunjin x afab!reader ɢᴇɴʀᴇ :･ angst | ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs :･ character death,reader struggles with depression,gore,sharp object mentioned,injuries.| wc :･ 25k | Previously Part 1

Consciousness creeps back slowly—like a flickering light, like a dream that refuses to let go.

Your head throbs, a dull, aching pulse that echoes behind your eyes. The world is quiet. The hum of the machine has stilled, leaving only the rain outside, a rhythmic tapping against the metal roof.

For a moment, you forget where you are.

And then you inhale—dust, old film, the lingering scent of something metallic.

The photo booth.

You’re still here.

Your fingers twitch against your lap, and when you lift your head, the dim light above flickers weakly, casting shadows that don’t belong.

Something heavy sits on your chest. The kind of weight that doesn’t come from exhaustion, but from something deeper—something that lingers in the bones, in the marrow, in the spaces between memories.

Slowly, you reach forward.

The photo strip is there.

Warm from the machine, edges slightly curled. Your hands tremble as you pick it up, eyes scanning the glossy surface.

Four frames. Four stolen moments.

The first—your empty stare.

The second—the glimmer of tears.

The third—your collapse.

The fourth—pure light.

You swallow thickly. The last frame is strange, blurred at the edges, as if the camera had captured something that wasn’t meant to be seen.

Something not of this world.

The breath you let out is shaky, unsteady. You clutch the photo strip tightly, press it to your chest, and squeeze your eyes shut.

You need to leave.

The curtain rustles as you step out, blinking against the streetlights, against the way the rain has softened into a mist. Your limbs feel heavy, your footsteps unsteady, but you move forward. You keep moving.

The train station isn’t far.

You slip inside, greeted by the hollow quiet of the platform. The air smells of damp concrete and cold metal. Fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead.

A train arrives with a low hum, its doors sliding open with a soft sigh.

You step in.

The carriage is nearly empty. A few tired strangers sit scattered across the seats, lost in their own worlds, their own lives.

You take a seat by the window, press your forehead against the glass, and close your eyes.

For a moment, the present dissolves.

For a moment, you are somewhere else.

Somewhere warmer. Somewhere simpler.

Somewhere with him.

Then.

Hyunjin sits beside you, his shoulder pressed against yours, his fingers carefully tearing apart a flaky pastry, offering you the bigger half with that same boyish smile.

"You always take the smaller piece," he teases.

"You always give me the bigger one,"you counter.

"That’s because I love you."

Your heart stutters at the memory, at the way he had said it so easily—like it was the simplest truth in the world. Like it was as natural as breathing.

The train sways gently, and the past pulls you deeper.

You remember the way he’d rest his head on your shoulder when he was exhausted. How he’d mumble half-asleep complaints about practice, about deadlines, about life moving too fast.

"Let’s just stay like this forever," he had whispered once, half-laughing, half-serious.

And you had laughed too, not knowing that forever was never promised.

Not knowing that time would steal him away.

The train rattles past an open field, and it feels like another ghost of the past—how the two of you would press your hands against the glass, watching the world blur by, snapping quick photos on your old film camera.

"For the memories,"he had said, clicking the shutter. "For us."

For us.

Your fingers curl against your palms.

A lump rises in your throat.

The past feels too close, too sharp, like a knife pressing against tender skin. You exhale slowly, forcing yourself back into the present, forcing yourself to open your eyes.

But when you do, the seat beside you is empty.

Hyunjin is gone.

And you are alone.

The train speeds forward, pulling you along with it.

But your heart?

Your heart is still chasing ghosts.

The train slows, its brakes letting out a soft screech as it pulls into the station. The chime overhead echoes through the empty carriage, signaling arrival, urging movement.

You step out onto the platform.

The air is thick, heavy in a way that makes your chest tighten. The walk home feels strange—like wading through something invisible, something intangible. The streets stretch longer than you remember, the city lights blur at the edges, flickering like distant stars.

There’s something off.

Something weightless in the air, something that makes your skin prickle.

You pull Hyunjin’s jacket tighter around yourself, his scent still lingering in the fabric—faint traces of cologne, of warmth, of something that once belonged to you.

Your footsteps echo against the pavement.

You pass by the corner store where he used to buy late-night snacks, past the old bookstore where he’d browse for hours, running his fingers over the spines of books he never bought but always admired.

Every step feels like a step back in time.

Like the past is curling at the edges, unraveling into something real

The night clings to your skin like something sentient, something breathing. The air is thick with the weight of rain-soaked pavement, the distant hum of the city, the ghost of a name that lingers on your lips but never leaves.

Hyunjin.

Your steps are slow, uncertain. The world feels off-kilter, edges blurred, as if the universe itself is unraveling in soft threads, trying to sew something back together—something that was torn apart.

And then—

A scent.

Warm. Familiar.

Cooking.

Your pulse stutters.

It hits you like a memory—like late evenings spent tangled in domestic simplicity, his laughter curling into the steam of a boiling pot, his hands careful as he chopped vegetables with the precision of an artist.

But this isn’t a memory.

This is now.

And it shouldn’t be.

Your hands shake as you reach for your keys, fingers fumbling, slipping, the metal clinking in protest. Your breath quickens. Your heart pounds.

This isn’t real.

It can’t be real.

The lock turns, the door creaks open, and—

Everything stops.

A golden glow spills from the kitchen, warm and soft, flickering against the walls like candlelight. The air is thick with the scent of something cooking, something real, something you shouldn’t be able to smell.

And then you see him.

Hyunjin.

Standing by the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot like this is just another evening, like time hasn’t stolen him away, like you haven’t spent weeks drowning in the absence of him.

Your breath is caught somewhere between your ribs.

He hums—soft, low, a familiar melody that sends a tremor through your spine.

Your mind screams impossible, but your heart—your heart doesn’t care.

It beats for him.

It always has.

And then he turns.

And he smiles.

"You’re home."

The words fall from his lips as if they belong here, as if they are stitched into the very fabric of this moment, as if he has been waiting for you all this time.

Your world tilts.

Your knees threaten to buckle.

Hyunjin steps forward, arms wrapping around you in a warmth that is too much, too overwhelming, too devastatingly familiar.

You don’t move.

You don’t breathe.

Because if you let yourself believe this—if you let yourself melt into him, into the scent of his skin, into the feeling of his heartbeat steady and alive beneath his chest—then what happens when you wake up?

What happens when you realize this isn’t real?

What happens when the universe corrects its mistake and takes him away from you again?

You squeeze your eyes shut.

And for the first time in weeks, for the first time since the world shattered beneath your feet—

You wish you never had to open them again.

Hyunjin’s arms are warm—too warm, too solid. The weight of him anchors you in place, but your mind is still drifting, still caught somewhere between what is real and what is impossible.

His heartbeat presses against your ear, steady, rhythmic, alive.

"What’s wrong?" he murmurs, voice laced with concern. His hands, familiar in their gentleness, settle on your back, holding you like you might slip away.

And maybe you will.

Maybe this is just another cruel trick, another illusion conjured up by grief and exhaustion.

You open your eyes.

Slowly, carefully, as if the moment might shatter if you move too fast.

His face is inches from yours—so close you can see the soft glow of the kitchen light reflecting in his eyes, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the slight furrow in his brow.

You reach for him, fingers trembling as they brush over his cheekbone, his jaw, his lips—every detail that you thought you’d lost forever.

"I need to know," you whisper, voice barely a breath.

Hyunjin tilts his head, searching your gaze, waiting.

"What happened that day?" you ask. "The day I got my scar. When we were in the park."

It’s a secret only he knows. A moment buried in time, untouched by anyone but the two of you.

If this is a dream, if this is some cruel mirage, then he won’t remember.

But he doesn’t hesitate.

"It was the summer after we graduated high school," he says, voice soft, distant, like he’s unfolding the memory in his hands. "We snuck out past midnight and rode my bike to the park. You were trying to climb that stupid jungle gym, and I told you it was too slippery from the rain, but you didn’t listen."

A soft laugh escapes him, though his grip on you tightens.

"You slipped," he continues, "scraped your knee on the metal. It bled more than it should’ve, and you wouldn’t stop crying—not because it hurt, but because you thought it was ugly. And I—"

He exhales, his fingers brushing over the faint scar just above your knee, as if checking to see if it’s still there.

"I kissed it better. Told you it made you look cool, like a warrior or something."

Your breath catches.

The world tilts.

Because this is real.

This is him.

No one else could have known. No one else could have reached back into the past and pulled out that night, that laughter, that fleeting moment of something so simple, so full of love.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, dragging you under, pulling you into the depths of something uncontrollable, something overwhelming.

And then you’re kissing him.

Desperate. Trembling. Needy.

Your hands cradle his face, pulling him closer, pressing against him like he might disappear if you let go. His lips are warm, impossibly soft, moving against yours in a way that feels like home, like longing, like every missed moment collapsing into this one.

His hands find your waist, gripping, grounding, holding on like he’s just as afraid of slipping through time as you are.

The kiss deepens, turns breathless, turns into something raw, something aching.

Because this is impossible.

Because you lost him.

Because you got him back.

Because you don’t know how long this will last.

But right now—right here—Hyunjin is in your arms, warm and alive and yours.

And for the first time in a long time, the world feels whole again.

Hyunjin’s laughter is soft against your lips, the warmth of it brushing over your skin like a ghost of something you thought you’d lost forever. He pulls back, breathless, eyes bright with something alive, something eager.

"I have a surprise for you," he says, excitement bubbling in his voice.

Your heart clenches.

He’s so happy, so unaware of the way your chest is tightening, the way your fingers are curling into the fabric of his sweater as if holding on will keep him here.

"Tomorrow—" he starts, hands still resting on your waist. "I was thinking we could go somewhere. Just like we used to. Just the two of us. No worries, no stress—just you and me on the road."

The words echo in your head, bouncing against the walls of your skull like a cruel reminder of the past.

The road. The freedom. The laughter. The wind in your hair.

And then—

The crash.

The blood.

The screaming.

Your heart stops.

The warmth of the moment is suddenly suffocating, the air too thick, the light in the room too harsh.

"Hyunjin—" your voice comes out weaker than you intended, hands pressing against his chest, as if trying to create distance between you and the inevitable. "We don’t have to, really. We can just—stay here. Have a lazy day. You’ve been working so hard, you deserve to rest."

His brows furrow, his lips parting as confusion flickers across his face.

"What? No, come on, you’ll love it—I promise. We used to do this all the time. Remember? Back then, we never knew what tomorrow would bring, and that was the best part."

Back then.

Before life got heavy. Before things stopped going as planned. Before he—

You squeeze your eyes shut.

The fear is curling around your lungs, sinking into your bones, whispering in your ear

You already lost him once.

You can’t lose him again.

You can’t let this happen.

"Hyunjin, I just don’t think—"

But he’s so insistent, so persistent, hands moving up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones like he’s trying to wipe away your hesitation.

"Please," he murmurs, voice softer now, gentler. "It’s been so long since we’ve done something like this. Just trust me."

You do trust him.

But you don’t trust the universe.

You don’t trust fate.

You don’t trust that this isn’t some cruel trick, some fleeting moment meant to be stolen away again.

But the way he’s looking at you—God, the way he’s looking at you, like you are his entire world—makes you weak.

So you swallow the lump in your throat.

You push down the anxiety clawing at your chest.

And you nod.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay."

But your hands don’t stop shaking.

Because deep inside, you know—

This is how it started last time.

📸🎞️…..

The motorcycle hums beneath you, steady and alive, but your chest feels tight—like a vice around your ribs, like hands wrapping around your throat. The wind whips past, tangling your hair, but it does nothing to cool the heat of your panic.

Hyunjin rides ahead, his hands firm on the handlebars, his body warm against yours. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air—soft, familiar, real.You tighten your grip around his waist, holding on as if your touch alone can anchor him here, as if it can stop time from slipping through your fingers.

But the air feels heavier with every mile.

The neon lights of the city blur into streaks, and your mind pulls you backward—back to that day.

The crash. The sound of metal against flesh. The blood on the pavement.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket.

"You okay back there?"Hyunjin calls over the wind, voice light, oblivious.

You suck in a sharp breath. Say something. Anything.

"Yeah,"you force out. "Just cold."

He chuckles, one hand momentarily leaving the handlebar to squeeze yours.

"Almost there, love."

That word—"love."

It clenches something deep inside you, makes your stomach twist, makes your hands shake against him.

Then—

Up ahead.

The turn.

The truck.

The headlights cut through the night, blinding, merciless.

The street ahead narrows, funneling you toward fate, toward inevitability.

This is where it happens.

This is where you lose him.

The roar of the truck’s engine grows louder.

Your heartbeat slams against your ribs.

The air thickens, warps—

And then—

The hum of the photobooth.

The world rewinds.

Suddenly, you are seconds before the crash.

The truck is coming.

Hyunjin doesn’t see it.

You have one chance.

One moment to change everything.

You don’t think.

You act.

Your hands fly forward, gripping the handlebars—

And you yank.

Hyunjin gasps—sharp, startled.

The motorcycle swerves violently.

The truck blares its horn.

For a fleeting second, you think you did it.

You think you saved him.

But then—

The motorcycle skids out of control.

The impact comes fast, brutal.

The street pole looms in your vision before you can react.

The crash is deafening.

Hyunjin is ripped from the bike.

Thrown.

Farther than before.

Too far.

Your body slams into the pavement.

The Pain again explodes—your ribs, your skull, your legs—all burning, all screaming.

Everything spins.

But your eyes—blurry, desperate—search for him.

Hyunjin.

He’s there.

Lying still.

Too still.

"No."

Your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper.

You try to move. Try to reach him.

Your arms shake.

Your vision darkens at the edges.

"Hyunjin,"you choke,He doesn’t respond.

Your fingers find his hand.

Cold.

Unmoving.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You saved him.

Didn’t you? Didn’t you?

A sob wracks your body, shaking you to your core. You made it worse.

Darkness holds you in its grasp, thick and endless. There’s no sound, no sensation—just the weight of something unbearable pressing against your chest. Then, like a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the world pulls you back.

Your body jerks awake.

You’re sitting.

Your head throbs, your limbs feel weightless, unmoored. Your breaths come in short, panicked gasps.

The scent of old film and dust fills your nose.

The hum of a machine echoes softly.

Your fingers clutch at the fabric beneath you, the vinyl seat cool and familiar.

No.

You blink rapidly, disoriented. The walls around you are narrow, the dim glow of the photobooth's screen illuminating the cramped space. The curtain sways gently, as if undisturbed, as if nothing had happened at all.

No, no, no.

You rip the curtain open.

The city is unchanged.

Rain still pours, streaking down the pavement in rivers. Neon lights still flicker, their reflections shimmering in the puddles. People pass by, hurrying under umbrellas, untouched by the storm raging inside of you.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

The motorcycle. The crash. Hyunjin—

Your hands fumble for your phone, fingers trembling as you pull up his number.

You press call.

It rings, but no answer.

The breath you were holding escapes in a broken exhale.

He’s gone.

Again.

Your knees nearly buckle as you clutch your phone to your chest, pulse roaring in your ears.

Then, your eyes drift back to the machine.

The screen glows softly, waiting. A lump forms in your throat.

The photobooth—

It brought you back.

It rewound time.

It gave you another chance.

Your hands shake as you reach into your pocket, fingers brushing against the smooth edge of a coin.

There’s no hesitation.No fear.

You shove the coin into the slot.

The machine whirs, swallowing it whole,and the countdown begins.

"Take me back," you whisper.

The coin is swallowed, as you wait impatiently.

A breath. A heartbeat. A pause that stretches far too long.

The machine does nothing.

No hum, no flicker, no shifting of reality. Just silence.

Your pulse stutters.

No.

You press your trembling hands against the seat, nails digging into the vinyl. The air inside the photobooth is stale, thick with dust and the faint scent of old film. The same as before. But nothing is happening.

It’s not working.

Your vision blurs.

The walls around you suddenly feel too close, pressing in, suffocating.

"No, no, no—"

You shove at the machine, desperate, your breaths turning ragged.

"Please,"you whisper, voice cracking. "Take me back—please, just one more time—"

Nothing.

A sob tears through you, raw and aching, as you collapse against the wall.

It was all in your head, wasn’t it?

You did faint.

You did hallucinate it all.

There was no second chance. No way to fix things.

Hyunjin is gone.

Gone, and you’re sitting in some rusted old photobooth, crying over a ghost.

Your body shakes as you bury your face in your hands.

It’s over.

Click.

The sound shatters through your thoughts.

You freeze.

Your breath catches in your throat as the familiar mechanical whir fills the tiny space.

The screen flickers—light flaring, too bright, too much.

Then—

A flash.

A blinding, all-consuming white.

Everything vanishes.

Flash!📸🎞️………

When you wake, you’re gasping for air.

Your hands scramble against the floor, cool pavement beneath your fingertips. The rain is softer now, a steady rhythm against the streets.

Your head is pounding.

Your limbs feel weak.

But none of that matters.

Your fingers fumble for your phone, slipping in your damp grasp as you pull up Hyunjin’s number.

Please. Please, please, please.

You press call.

It rings.

"Hello?"

The world stops.

Your breath shatters. The sound of his voice—low, gentle, alive.

Your lips part, but no words come out.

"Hey—?"His voice shifts, concerned. “Are you okay?" A sob escapes you, unbidden.

Your fingers clutch the phone so tightly it might break.

“Hyunjin,"you whisper, the name trembling off your tongue like a prayer, like salvation, like something you thought you’d lost forever.

"Yeah?"he laughs softly, the sound familiar, warm. "What’s wrong? You sound—"

You can’t answer.

Your free hand claps over your mouth, stifling the choked cry threatening to spill out. Your body trembles, the weight of everything crashing over you all at once.

He's here. He's real. He's alive.

Tears spill freely down your cheeks, mixing with the rain.

"Where are you?"he asks again, softer now, like he knows something’s wrong. "Do you need me to come get you?"

You nod frantically before realizing he can’t see you. "Yes,"you gasp. "Please—just come get me."

"Okay, okay, breathe, love—"The nickname breaks something inside of you.

You press a hand to your chest, trying to hold yourself together, trying to believe this moment is real.

"I’m on my way,"Hyunjin promises. “Just stay right there."

And for the first time in what feels like lifetimes, you let yourself hope.

The rain has softened into a drizzle by the time he arrives.

The low hum of an engine, the sharp skid of tires against wet pavement—these sounds should be insignificant, nothing more than noise blending into the rhythm of the city.

But for you, they are everything.

Your breath stills as the motorcycle pulls up in front of you, as Hyunjin swings one leg over the seat with the ease of someone who has done this a thousand times before.

Like nothing ever happened.

Like he hasn’t died in your arms.

Like you haven’t spent an eternity clawing through time to bring him back.

His helmet comes off in a single, fluid motion, damp hair falling into his eyes. And then he’s looking at you, searching.

"Are you okay?" he asks, breathless. His brows furrow, voice laced with concern. "Did something happen to you? Why are you here? Did someone—"

"I’m fine," you interrupt, too quickly.

His frown deepens. You know he doesn’t believe you. You know he sees the way your fingers tremble, the way your clothes are still soaked from the rain.

But he lets it go.

For now.

A deep exhale leaves his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, flicking stray droplets of water from his skin. "God, I came here as fast as I could—" He stops suddenly, gaze flickering past you. His lips curve into a smirk.

"You like this booth that much?"

Your stomach twists.

The photobooth stands behind you, silent, unmoving. An unmarked grave for the ghosts of the past, the keeper of all your mistakes.

You force a smile, but it feels wrong on your lips. "Yeah," you lie. "Guess I do."

Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head.

"You’re weird."

You have no idea.

For a moment, there is only the sound of the rain, the distant murmur of passing cars. Then, with a small inhale, Hyunjin straightens.

"I have a surprise for you."

Your body goes rigid.

"A surprise?" you echo.

He nods, eyes glinting with something soft, something impossibly warm. "Yeah. But you have to ride with me first."

Your breath catches.

The motorcycle gleams under the streetlights, water slipping down its frame like silver threads.

You can still feel the weight of it beneath you. The wind against your skin. The brief, fleeting moment when everything felt infinite—before it all went wrong.

Before the world tore him away from you.

But something is different this time.

Your heart still stammers in your chest, but not from fear.

Not from the unbearable weight of inevitability.

This time, it isn’t dread coiling in your stomach.

It’s something closer to resolve.

You exhale slowly, stepping forward, fingers brushing against his.

"Okay," you say, voice steadier than you expected.

Hyunjin beams. "Just like old times."

And this time, you aren’t afraid you knew.

The wind howls as the city blurs past—neon lights streaking like shooting stars, the hum of the motorcycle beneath you steady, powerful. Hyunjin’s warmth is against your back, his hands firm on the handlebars, his breath steady.

For a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe.

That this time, it will be different.

That maybe, just maybe, you have outrun fate.

But then, in the distance, you see it.

That cursed stretch of road.

The place where it all unraveled.

And you know—it’s happening again.

Your grip on Hyunjin tightens. Your heart slams against your ribs, panic clawing up your throat like bile. You cannot let this happen. Not again.

The truck emerges from the intersection, just like before. Its headlights pierce through the night like a cruel, unblinking eye.

You make your choice.

With every ounce of strength, you throw yourself backward, dragging Hyunjin with you.

His body jerks, his startled gasp swallowed by the roar of the engine. The sudden shift in weight tilts the motorcycle just enough—just enough to miss the truck.

The plan worked, You should feel relief.

But you don’t.

Because the pavement is rushing up too fast, too hard.

The bike skids. Your body is weightless, airborne—then crashing, tumbling, scraping against asphalt.

A sickening crack.

White-hot pain sears through you as your skull slams into the curb. Your vision swims, a kaleidoscope of blood and neon.

📸🎞️….

You wake up inside the photobooth.

The scent of dust and old film floods your senses, the seat beneath you stiff and unyielding. The air is thick, suffocating.

Your fingers twitch.

You lift your head.

Outside, the rain still falls—soft and relentless. The world beyond the curtain remains unchanged. As if it hasn’t shattered a thousand times before. As if it isn’t cruel and unyielding.

You reach for your phone with trembling hands.

Dial.Ring.Once. Twice.Then—Voicemail.

Hyunjin is gone. Again.

The breath you didn’t realize you were holding collapses from your lungs.

A choked sob rips through your throat as you press your forehead to your knees.

"Why?"

The machine hums beside you.

Cold. Silent. Unforgiving.

You know what it’s telling you.

Try again.

Try again.

Try again.

But no matter how many times you turn back time

Hyunjin always dies.

The coin is cold between your fingers, edges worn from use, from time, from fate itself.

You stare at it in your palm, light catching the dull metal, reflecting the weight of your choices. It feels heavier than before—or maybe you are just tired.

How many times have you done this?

How many times have you begged the universe to let him live?

And how many times has it spat in your face, laughing cruelly as you failed again and again?

You exhale, slow and unsteady, looking at the machine in front of you.

The photobooth stands the same as always—unchanged, indifferent to your suffering. Its flickering light buzzes softly, casting shadows on the rain-slicked pavement outside. It doesn’t care about your desperation, your grief, your exhaustion.

But then—

The screen flickers.

Words appear, stark and cold against the dim glow.

"LAST CHANCE."

Your breath hitches.

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

"Last chance."

The words sit in your chest like a stone, heavy and unmovable.

No more retries. No more do-overs. No more mistakes.

You close your eyes.

You have tried everything—ripping him off the bike, crashing yourself instead, warning him before the ride. And yet, he always dies.

But not this time.

This time, you know what you have to do.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the coin, pressing it against the slot.

The moment your eyes flutter open, you know.

The air is different—warmer, familiar. The hum of the photobooth fades into the background, drowned by the sound of the rain outside, the distant murmur of the city at night.

You gasp, heart hammering, and stumble out onto the wet pavement. The world is still here. The lights, the streets, the scent of rain mixing with the faint aroma of something—something warm, something home.

You don’t stop to think.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, carrying you through the winding streets, past the corner store, past the bakery that still smells like sugar and early mornings. Every step feels like déjà vu, like running through a dream you’ve lived a hundred times before.

And then—

The door.

Your apartment.

The golden glow from the window spills onto the hallway floor, flickering gently as if inviting you in. Your fingers shake as you fumble with the keys, breath catching in your throat.

You push the door open.

And there he is.

Hyunjin.

Standing in the kitchen, barefoot, humming softly as he stirs something on the stove. The scent of soy sauce and caramelized onions fills the air, the same meal he always makes when he’s been away for too long. He always says cooking makes a place feel like home.

And he’s here.

Alive.

Whole.

"Hey, you’re home," he says, turning with a soft smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I was just—”

You don’t let him finish.

Your body moves on instinct—crossing the room, reaching for him, pulling him in.

Your hands grasp at the fabric of his shirt, desperate, like he might slip through your fingers again if you don’t hold tight enough. Hyunjin barely has a second to react before your lips crash against his—deep, needy, filled with every unsaid word, every lost moment, every lifetime where you never got to do this.

He freezes, startled, but then—he melts.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, fingers pressing into the small of your back. He kisses you back slow, deep, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, like he’s trying to pour all the time you’ve lost into this one single moment.

And God, you let him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more—more of this, more of him, more of the life you were meant to have.

You breathe him in. The faint traces of cologne on his skin, the warmth of his hands against your spine, the quiet sound he makes when you deepen the kiss.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to press his forehead against yours, breathless, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

“Woah,” he murmurs, laughing softly. “Missed me that much?”

You laugh too, but it comes out broken, shaky.

Because yes.

Yes, you did.

You missed him in ways he will never understand.

You missed him across timelines, across tragedies, across every cruel hand fate has dealt you.

You press your lips against his again, softer this time, lingering.

Just in case. Just in case the world tries to take him from you again.

Hyunjin’s fingers slow, his hand hovering over the dish in front of him, but he doesn’t stir it. The quiet of the room stretches out, thick with the weight of your words, hanging in the space between the soft hum of the kitchen lights and the soft simmer of the pot. He doesn’t move immediately. For a moment, everything stops. The world outside the window, with its distant traffic and muffled voices, fades into a distant murmur as if the universe itself is holding its breath, waiting for him to respond.

You watch him, waiting, the question lingering in the air like a fragile thing, delicate and raw, too heavy to ignore. You can feel your heart thudding, loud in your chest, almost too loud for such a quiet moment. You hope he won’t hear it. You’re not sure if you want him to.

"Sometimes I wish I could stop time," you repeat quietly, almost to yourself, your voice trembling ever so slightly. "And just stay here with you, but... I’m scared. Scared that if I do, I might never leave. Do you think that’s selfish?"

His silence presses on you, thickening the air, weighing down the words you’ve let slip from your mouth. You can’t quite tell if you’re relieved or terrified. It’s not a question you wanted to ask, but something in you needed to. Needed to say it, needed to know what he’d say. Because, even if it was selfish, even if it was wrong—wasn't it true? Wasn't it the thing you truly wanted more than anything else in the world?

You can’t bring yourself to look away, to break the connection, to hide what you’re feeling. You’ve spent so long trying to guard it—this feeling, the ache that never seems to leave. But in this moment, with him, with the quiet warmth between you, you can’t pretend anymore. You can’t pretend that you don’t want this to last forever.

Hyunjin is still. Too still. His eyes flicker to the dish, then back to you, like he’s searching for something—some hidden meaning behind your words. His gaze sharpens, as if he’s trying to read the delicate, fragile truth written across your face, but he doesn’t find the words there. Instead, he sees the cracks. He sees the way your lips tremble slightly as you breathe. He sees the sadness hiding in the corners of your eyes, the way your hands grip the edge of the counter like you’re bracing yourself against something, something inside you that you can’t quite shake.

The air between you thickens with something unspoken, and he steps closer, but he doesn’t touch you. Not yet. His fingers are still loosely holding the spatula, but he doesn’t move it, doesn’t stir the dish anymore. Instead, he stands there, watching you, as if his presence alone could somehow help you find the right words. He doesn’t answer right away, and you feel the panic start to stir in your chest, rising up like a tide.

"Hyunjin..." you murmur, the words barely escaping your lips, your voice a whisper. But he doesn’t respond. He simply looks at you, studying you with an intensity that makes your heart tighten. He sees through you. You know he does. He always has.

And then, finally, his gaze softens, the lines of tension around his eyes easing, though the questions still linger, unspoken. He places the spatula gently down on the counter, the quiet sound of it hitting the surface more final than you expected. He steps forward, closing the distance between you, and reaches out slowly, as though he’s waiting for your permission, for you to give him a sign.

His hand, warm and steady, touches your arm lightly, his fingers brushing the skin there as he steps even closer, his presence enveloping you. His eyes are softer now, but they hold something deeper—something that feels like the weight of years, of shared memories, of moments where time felt like it had stopped, just for the two of you.

He searches your face again, and then, finally, his voice breaks the silence, quiet but sure. “No,” he says softly, his words like a whisper, but filled with weight. “It’s not selfish.”

You blink, and your heart stutters in your chest, the relief crashing into you, almost too much to bear. Your breath catches, the tears that have been threatening to spill start to rise, but you force them back. You don’t want to let him see how close you are to falling apart. But you can feel it—the tightness in your chest, the ache that never really goes away.

“It’s human,” he adds, voice low, almost reverent. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost too soft. “I think…” He pauses, searching for the right words, as if he doesn’t want to give you the wrong answer. "I think I feel the same way. I would stay here, too. With you. If I could, I would. But..." He stops, as if caught by a thought that’s just out of reach, a hesitation you both understand. "But life… it moves forward, doesn’t it? And I don’t want you to be stuck here, not when you could have more."

His words, so carefully chosen, feel like a knife against your skin. You don’t want more. Not without him. Not without this.

“But it’s not selfish to want that," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I understand."

And in that moment, something shifts. The weight in your chest loosens, just slightly, and the room around you seems to shrink, as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for you to decide—waiting for you to give into the longing that’s been building between the two of you.

You look up at him, his face so close to yours now, the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breath mixing with yours. And for a moment, it’s like time has stopped—just as you wanted. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe, just for now, that’s all you need.

“Dinners ready!” Hyunjin whispers.

last one!📸🎞️….

As the scent of dinner lingers in the air, the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint clink of dishes blend with the quiet atmosphere of the apartment. The kitchen light casts a golden glow over everything, the calm before the storm of words.

The couch is soft beneath you, the fabric cool against your skin as you sit, your legs tucked up under you, your hands restless in your lap. You wait for him, watching the rhythm of his movements as he tends to the plant—the one he’s always been so careful with, so tender. His fingers, gentle but sure, water it like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, as if each drop of water is a promise, each moment with it an act of devotion.

And you can’t help but watch him, watch the way he leans in so close to the plant, his brow furrowed in concentration.

It’s strange, how something so simple can pull you in. It’s strange how he can make something so ordinary feel like an act of love, like a secret you don’t understand but feel deep in your chest.The way he cares for things—this plant, for instance—is just the way he cares for you. Always so tender, always so gentle, always so patient, as if he’s trying to keep you alive, to make sure you bloom and grow just as he wants you to. As if he’s afraid of losing you.

You swallow hard.

It’s almost too much.

He doesn’t notice you watching him, not at first. But when his gaze lifts, when his eyes meet yours, it’s like he’s caught in the act, caught doing something he didn’t mean to show you. His lips curl into a teasing smile, but there’s a hint of something in his gaze, something softer than his playful tone suggests.

“You’re staring so much,” he says, his voice light, full of affection and humor. He shakes his head, stepping back from the plant, but the smile never leaves his face. “You love me too much. How could you ever live without me?”

His words float in the space between you, and for a brief moment, it feels like the weight of them hangs in the air, thick and heavy. If only he knew.

You smile, but it’s a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a smile that feels more like a mask than anything else. You don’t answer him, not immediately. You just watch him, the way his movements are so fluid, so effortless, as if he’s always been this way, always been the person who’s had the ability to make everything feel easy.

But nothing is easy, is it?

When he finishes with the plant, his movements still slow and deliberate, he finally turns to you, his eyes searching yours, waiting for you to say something.

You hold your breath for a moment, feeling the tremor of anticipation in the air, the kind of quiet that feels like it’s building to something. Something important, something impossible to ignore. Something you’ve been trying to say, but haven’t found the courage for.

Then, he’s sitting beside you, the weight of his presence beside you, his body warm and familiar. His hand comes to rest on the arm of the couch, so close to yours that you can feel the heat from his skin, the invisible line between you both that feels thicker than anything else in the room.

“So…” He turns toward you, his voice soft, almost hesitant in its own way. “What was that we were gonna do?”

You exhale, and for a brief second, you wonder how you could ever tell him what you really need to say. How could you possibly tell him that every moment feels like it’s slipping through your fingers? That the seconds, the minutes, the hours spent with him—they’re all so fragile. So fleeting. As if, in the back of your mind, you can hear the ticking of some invisible clock, counting down to a time when this moment will be gone.

But you can’t. You can’t say it, not yet. Not when you’re so scared of the truth that you’ve been hiding.

So, you look at him, at his soft, warm smile, and you force your voice to be steady, to sound as though everything is fine, when inside, you’re breaking apart.

“It’s nothing,” you say, your words quiet, your heart beating faster than it should. “Just... dinner. Just this.” You gesture vaguely around the room, as if it could explain everything you’ve been trying to say without saying it. "Just us."

His eyes linger on you, searching, as if he knows there’s more, but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t press you for answers, and for a moment, you think you might actually be able to hold this together. To make it through this. To make it through him, through the love that’s eating you alive from the inside out, the love that’s too big for both of you to carry.

He leans closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and his hand brushes against yours, just the slightest touch, like he’s trying to anchor you to him, trying to remind you that you’re here, together.

"Hey," he says gently, his voice tender and full of something you can’t quite place. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

And in that moment, it feels like everything could be okay. Like everything could stay just like this, in this small corner of the world, with him by your side. But you know, deep down, you’re just pretending. Pretending that time won’t eventually catch up with you both. Pretending that nothing will ever change.

And you hate yourself for it.

But for now, you smile, and you let him hold you in the quiet.

The air is thick with an unspoken tension as Hyunjin’s words hang in the air, tempting fate, inviting the unknown. The motorcycle sits idle in front of you, gleaming in the dim streetlight, its engine quiet for now, waiting for the moment to come alive. He looks at you, his face open, his eyes wide with the same easy smile he’s always had—one that hides the truth beneath, one that gives nothing away, one that makes you feel safe even when you’re drowning in your own thoughts.

He doesn’t know. He doesn't know how you feel, how the weight of everything—everything that’s happened, everything that’s to come—presses down on your chest, makes it hard to breathe, makes your heart beat too fast, too hard. He doesn’t know the depths of what you carry, how the scars on your heart are too deep for him to see, no matter how much he’s loved you. No matter how much you’ve loved him.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he says, his voice light, carefree, like it’s just another adventure to add to the endless list of memories you’ve already collected. The same motorcycle. The same promise. The same broken, fragile hope that you’ll find a way to outrun the clock that’s ticking for both of you.

And for a moment, it feels like you might. For a moment, you let yourself believe that you could just ride away, leave all of this behind, and start over. Start fresh. Be new. Be free.

But you know better. You know that life doesn’t work that way.

You force a smile, nodding in agreement, because what else can you do? The fear in your chest gnaws at you, a constant reminder that nothing lasts forever. The inevitability of it. The aching knowledge that no matter how many times you tell yourself otherwise, no matter how many times you kiss him, touch him, beg the universe to let this moment last, it’s all slipping away.

Before you climb onto the bike, before you’re swallowed by the hum of the engine and the wind that will tear at your face, you stop. You stand there for a moment, looking at him, really looking at him, as if you’re memorizing every inch of his face, every line of his body, every movement of his hands.

You pull him close, desperate to feel his warmth one last time. You press your lips to his, deep and needy, as if this could be the only kiss that matters. The only kiss that will make a difference. Your heart is pounding, each beat a painful reminder of the words you can’t say, the things you can’t bear to think about.

As the kiss deepens, you feel the tears prick at the corners of your eyes, hot and threatening. You break away from him, your breath shaky, your hands trembling as you place them on his chest, as if that could somehow steady you. As if you could control this moment, control what comes next.

“Hyunjin,” you say, your voice low and shaky, but full of the truth you’ve been carrying for so long. "Do you know what you’ve done for me?" You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself, but the words keep coming, tumbling out in a rush, like you’re afraid to stop, afraid to give them time to sink in.

“You’ve pulled me out of the darkest places. You’ve saved me from myself more times than I can count. There were moments when I didn’t think I could keep going. When everything felt too heavy. When life felt like a burden I couldn’t bear. And you—you were there. Always. No matter how hard things got. No matter how broken I was. You were there.”

You break down then, unable to hold it in any longer. The tears that had been threatening to spill fall now, hot and fast, streaking down your face as you grip him tighter, like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you let go. Your chest heaves with the weight of everything you’ve been holding in, and you let it all pour out.

“You—You were my light. You were my reason to keep fighting. You... you helped me through everything. The debts. The pain. The fear. You always helped me keep going when I couldn’t see a way out.”

The words choke in your throat, each one harder to say than the last, but you can’t stop now. You can’t go back, not when you’re so close to finally telling him everything that’s been breaking you apart inside.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, the weight of it threatening to suffocate you. “I don’t know what’s left if you’re not here. I don’t know who I am without you, Hyunjin. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s fine when you’re the one who’s kept me alive. I need you more than anything.”

You pull away, wiping your eyes quickly, but it doesn’t matter. He’s seen it now. Seen the cracks in your facade. Seen the truth of what you’ve been hiding from him, from yourself.

And as the tears fall, he doesn’t say anything right away. He just holds you, his arms strong around you, his breath warm against your skin. His heart beats against yours, steady, like everything is fine. But you can feel the shift in the air. The weight of the words you’ve spoken, the gravity of what’s about to come.

And for a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s all worth it. If the risk of losing him, of losing everything, is worth the pain you know will follow. If the love you share can withstand the force of time, of fate, of everything that’s pulling you apart.

But you don’t have an answer. Not yet.

There you were again, the same road, the same fateful turn. The motorcycle hummed beneath you, the world whizzing by in a blur of streetlights and memories, and yet, all you could feel was the weight of inevitability pressing down on your chest. The air was sharp, biting at your skin, but your heart was colder. Colder than the wind, colder than the world around you.

You didn’t know what to do anymore. You didn’t know how many times you had tried. How many nights had passed in this cruel cycle, replaying over and over like some broken record. Each time, you thought you could change it. Thought you could fix it. Thought you could outrun the future. But no matter how many times you altered the course, no matter how many desperate attempts you made—it always ended the same.

Hyunjin would die.

It didn’t matter how early you jumped back, how much you tried to adjust the timing, how much you begged for a different outcome. Every turn, every decision, every twist of fate—they always fell short. Every calculation was wrong. Every move you made too slow. Every plea for mercy too weak.

The screams that tore through your heart each time you crashed, the painful realization that you had failed again. That you had failed. You couldn’t save him. You couldn’t change what was already written.

And so, now, as you swerved once more, you closed your eyes. You closed your eyes because you had finally accepted it. You had finally understood. You had fought so hard, tried so many different ways to bend fate to your will, but no matter what, you always lost. You were always too late.

Hyunjin’s voice broke through the roar of the wind, but you couldn’t hear him—not clearly, not through the ache in your chest. You felt the tug of inevitability in the pit of your stomach, the weight of time pulling you both toward the same end. No matter how much you fought it, no matter how many times you turned the clock back, the outcome was always the same.

It wasn’t about the ride. It wasn’t about the thrill or the freedom you once felt. It was about the crushing certainty of fate, the cruel truth that no matter how many times you tried to alter it, no matter how many times you jumped back to make it right—this was how it had to be.

It was always too late.

And in that moment, a hollow peace settled over you. The fight drained from you, leaving only the quiet despair of acceptance. You didn’t have to run anymore. You didn’t have to keep trying to change something that was already set in stone. Because, in the end, this was always the way it was meant to go.

You had tried everything. And now, you understood sometimes, the only thing left to do is let go.

The final blow came like the end of a cruel symphony—the sound of tires screeching, metal crumpling against pavement, the sickening impact that shattered everything you knew. It happened so fast, yet in those moments, everything felt suspended, like time had drawn its final breath and left you choking on it.

You could see it, feel it, even as the world spun out of control. His body, lifeless, sprawled across the pavement, his blood staining the road—a vision you had seen too many times, yet every time it cut deeper into your soul, leaving a wound that refused to heal. Hyunjin, your Hyunjin, the one who had been with you through every storm, now lost in the chaos, his body broken beyond repair.

The agony was unbearable.

Then, as everything blurred into darkness, you felt the familiar pull. You fell, crumpling to the ground in a heap of shattered pieces, consciousness slipping away, and when you awoke… it was the same.

Inside the photo booth.

The cold, metallic scent of old film lingered in the air. The faint buzzing of the machine was the only sound that met your ears. Your fingers trembled as they reached out, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, suffocating you.

You blinked, disoriented, your mind racing as the realization slammed into you once again. It was happening again. The same cruel cycle.

Tears pricked at your eyes, the rawness of the grief, the guilt, too much to bear. You tried to swallow it, but the ache inside you was too vast, too consuming. Your chest tightened with every sob that choked its way through your throat. How many more times would you have to go through this? How many more times would you have to watch him die, helpless, as fate snatched him from you again and again?

But as the sobs wracked your body, a chilling thought seeped in, cutting through the chaos of emotion. There was no more turning back. No more changing it.

This was it.

The realization settled like an iron weight in your chest. The pattern had been set. No matter how many times you tried, no matter how much you begged, you could never change it. There was no undoing this. Hyunjin was slipping through your fingers, and the very act of trying to rewrite what had happened was only dragging you deeper into the pit of despair.

You weren’t just caught in a loop; you were trapped in fate. The cruel, unyielding truth whispered its bitter song to you, and in that moment, you understood: You were never going to save him.

The machine clicked, breaking your thoughts, and the photo slid from the tray. Your hands shook violently as you reached for it, the trembling only intensifying as you saw the face that had haunted you in every waking moment.

There he was—smiling. Alive.His eyes sparkling with life, just as they had before. Just as they would never again.

Hyunjin.

In the photo, his smile was everything you remembered. The way his eyes lit up when he laughed, the way he had always managed to make you feel like everything would be okay. You could hear his laugh in your mind, see the light in his eyes, the man who was so full of life. The version of him you lost.

You held the photo close to your chest, tears falling freely as you stared at it. The cold, hard truth slammed into you, suffocating any breath you had left. This moment, this piece of him, was all you would ever have. And it was slipping away, just like he had.

You realized, then, with devastating clarity, that no matter how many times you tried to change things, no matter how many chances you took, the story would never change.

There was no more turning back.

Hyunjin was gone. The weight of the finality crushed you—crushed your soul. The endless ache was now a permanent part of you, a scar you would carry for the rest of your days.

The photo fell from your hands, the sound of the paper hitting the floor the only thing that echoed in the silence of the booth. And you let the tears fall freely, knowing that no matter how much you wanted to rewrite history, you could never save him.

Hyunjin was gone. And that was the truth you couldn’t escape.

You stepped out of the photo booth, the night air heavy around you, thick with the weight of what had just unfolded. You stood there for a moment, gazing at the booth, as if it held the answers to questions you no longer had the courage to ask. Its dim glow flickered, casting fleeting shadows on your face, each one a reminder of something lost, something irretrievable. You couldn’t escape the feeling that this was the last time you’d ever see it, the last time you’d ever hold on to the fleeting moments it offered.

You reached into your pocket, your fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the pack of cigarettes you’d grown so accustomed to. Your breath hitched, your heartbeat louder than the world around you. Pulling one out, you lit it with the flick of your lighter, the flame briefly dancing in the cold, before being smothered by the wind. You inhaled deeply, the burn in your lungs a small relief, a distraction from the emptiness that seemed to grow by the second.

You exhaled, watching the smoke spiral upward, dissipating into the night, as if carrying all the pain with it. “This is it, my love,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, caught somewhere between resignation and acceptance. “I don’t know how, but I will… just for you.”

A tear slid down your cheek, the cold night air stinging your skin. You closed your eyes, fighting the suffocating grief that threatened to pull you under. The silence of the night seemed endless, just as endless as the lessons you were forced to learn.

You opened your eyes, staring at the photo booth once more, the memories flooding back. The laughter. The love. The hope. And the devastating truth.

“Having to learn to live without you,” you murmured softly, the words heavy on your tongue, “is a lesson I never wanted to learn.”

And with that, you took another drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs, letting the pain become a part of you.

The End.

©️strangevynl ; I hope everyone enjoyed this series, this story was also inspired by an old cdrama that me and my siblings watched back then. It was so vivid but I remembered it was impactful that I still did not forget it even if it was so long ago. But yes I hope everything goes well for everyone. See you in another decade.

taglist for this series🏷️; none yet!

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 ; 𝐛𝐜

[fem!reader. virginity kink. innocence kink. (no age play) reader’s not a virgin, though. role play kinda? dirty talk. mention of female masturbation. clit play. spit. super brief handjob. pussy job. just the tip. unprotected sex (don’t). pulling out method (also don’t). they’re in love. even though i didn’t specify it they’re in an established relationship.]

wc: 1,5k

a/n: i don’t really like this one :/. not edited as per usual, yay.

18+ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢.

🪷

There’s a game you and Chan like to play.

It starts when you look at him with those eyes you know drive him crazy, and chills run down his spine. The pink cotton pyjamas should’ve been a hint, but the look you give him is the confirmation he needed.

“Wait,” you wrap your fingers around his wrist, stopping him as he’s about to slip his hand inside your pyjamas. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.”

Chan’s breath gets caught in his throat, eyes fluttering shut as he swallows the lump in his throat.

When he looks at you, your lower lip is caught between your teeth, eyes wide open and innocent. He loves you so fucking much.

“Yeah?” He hums, looking at where his hand has stopped, where his fingers are brushing the soft cotton pyjama bottoms. “No one has touched you here before?”

You shake your head, cheeks red and puffy.

“Can I?”

You nod.

Chan’s hand slips inside your pyjamas, his fingers brushing delicately the front of your panties as he traces the outline of your pussy with delicacy and reverence, until his fingers bump on your sensitive clit, making you jump. He smiles sweetly at you.

“What was that, love?” He asks, feigning surprise. “Was that your little clit? Do you touch yourself here, sweetheart?”

You shake your head. “No…”

His eyebrows raise, but it’s all an act. An act that makes him throb inside his pants, a single drop of clear liquid emerging from his cockhead.

“You don’t touch yourself, love?”

“Not often,” you mumble.

“Ah, I see,” Chan nods. “And when you do… how do you touch yourself?”

You blush, hide your face behind your hands. He gently takes grabs your wrist and pulls your hands away, uncovering your face. Then, he leans in and kisses the tip of your nose.

“Don’t get shy on me, sweetheart. You can trust me, yeah?”

You nod.

“Now tell me how you touch yourself, sweet girl.”

“I have a pillow,” you mumble, feeling small, “sometimes I… put it between my legs and…” you trail off, suddenly shy.

“And you hump it until you cum, don’t you, sweet girl?”

“Mh-hm,” you nod, feigning embarrassment.

Chan bites down on his lip.

“You’re gonna let me touch your little clit, aren’t you? Let me make you feel good?”

He asks the question whilst rubbing said clit over the cotton of your panties, and you nearly melt under his touch, forgetting the point of it all.

“Yes.”

Chan groans, knobby fingers gently pulling your panties aside, finally able to directly touch your soft lips, then up, up right where there’s your clit. You squirm, instinctively trying to close your legs, but Chan’s stronger, and he stops you.

“Hey. You said you trust me, right?”

“I trust you.”

He pulls his hand out of your pyjama bottoms, hooks his fingers in the hem and drags them down your legs, exposing you completely to his devoted eyes.

“So pretty…” he whispers in adoration, eyes never leaving the centre of your thighs as he bites his lip. “So soft… I love that no one else has touched you here. Only me.”

“Only you,” you whisper back.

He nearly melts right then, right there. The fact that it’s the truth makes it even hotter.

Chan comes to kneel between your legs, the outline of his erection clearly visible even though he’s wearing his usual grey sweats. It looks big and thick and heavy and it is, you know it well.

You try your best to suppress a guttural moan when he spits onto your pussy, saliva landing mostly on your clit. He’s so sexy and attractive, and he’s cute and shy and a sweetheart out of the bedroom, too, always making sure you’re alright and comfortable.

“Does this feel good?” He asks, fingers drawing gentle and delicate shapes on your clit, smearing his spit all over.

It feels terribly good, but mostly because of how he’s acting— all dominant and stuff while you’re putty in his hands, ready and willing to do whatever it is he wants to do to you.

“Feels so good, Channie.”

Chan groans at the name, eyes fluttering shut as his cock throbs once more.

“The things you do to me, sweetheart…” he murmurs, looking at you through his eyelashes. “Wanna see how much I find you beautiful?”

You nod, intrigued, and with his free hand, Chan manages to pull his sweats and boxer down past the curve of his ass, cock slapping against his skin, hard and ready.

Your eyes widen in shock when you see it, your cheeks turning even redder.

“Channie…” you gasp. “It looks… big…”

Chan grins.

“Have you ever touched one before, sweetheart?” You shake your head, eyes meeting his. “Do you want to?”

He takes your hand in his, looks for any sign of discomfort in your eyes, but there’s none. Chan brings your hand closer to where his hard cock stands, throbbing and leaking precum already, patiently waiting for your touch. He wants you to make the first move.

You tentatively touch it, wrapping your fingers around the thick base.

“A bit tighter, love. Don’t be scared to hurt me,” he instructs, eyes never leaving yours.

“Like this?” You pout, Chan nearly comes.

“That’s perfect. You’re perfect. My sweetheart,” he sighs, content, when you squeeze him. “Can you move your hand, sweet girl? Up and down, slowly— squeeze the tip, baby.”

He touches you and you touch him. It’s slow, heartfelt, sensual. Looking into each other’s eyes — telling each other everything and nothing at the same time. But you know he loves you just as much as you love him.

“Do you want me to make you feel better, love?”

You pretend to not know what he’s talking about, looking at him with wide, curious eyes. “I do, but… how?”

Chan stops touching your clit, you immediately miss the feeling of his fingers on you. He motions for you to stop touching him, and you do.

“Like this,” he presses his body on yours, cock safely nested between your pussy lips, tip resting on your clit.

Then he starts to move, taking your breath away, his cock sliding perfectly up and down your pussy lips — filthy, wet sounds filling the room. You squirm underneath him, and Chan’s eyes widen.

“Careful, baby,” he bites his lip as he continues to move slowly, excruciatingly slow. “I might just slip inside you.”

You moan, fingers digging in Chan’s biceps as you feel yourself throbbing at the delicious feeling of him pressed on you and his filthy words combined.

“I might slip inside and fill you up, sweetheart, careful,” he groans, grinding against you.

“Channie— Channie. Feels so good.”

It’s not an act. It truly feels amazing.

“Can I put the tip inside, sweetheart? Just the tip,” he groans — the spit on your pussy mixing perfectly with your own arousal and Chan’s as well.

Oh God, you’re about to pass out.

You nod, quickly, furiously fast.

“Yes, Channie— please put it inside. I’ll be good to you, I promise.”

“Sweetheart, you… you’re driving me crazy,” he kisses your neck, gropes your tits, toying with your nipple. “Just the tip, yeah? Just the tip.”

He takes his sweet time aligning his tip to your entrance, and then you feel him applying the tiniest bit of pressure.

“I’m putting it in. Is that alright, sweetheart?”

You nod, dig your fingernails into his shoulder when he presses inside of just a couple of inches. Just the tip, like he said. Chan pulls out, then he pushes back in, then out again, fucking just the tip inside of you.

“Oh. Channie— it’s big. It feels so big inside of me, Channie.”

Chan feels a shiver run down his spine. He throbs inside of you, precum ending everywhere inside and outside of you — he’s so turned on it’s unreal.

“Does it hurt, sweetheart?” Chan asks.

“N-No. No, it doesn’t hurt, Channie. It feels so good. You feel so good inside of me,” you whine, let out a desperate cry when his fingers rub your clit quickly. “You’re the first who’s ever been inside of me, Channie.”

It means he’s close, that he wants you to cum as well because he’s about to.

“You’re so fucking perfect, sweetheart. So good for me, every fucking time,” curse words leaving his lips as he feels closer and closer, fucking the tip of his cock inside of you desperately. “You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you, my perfect girl?”

“Yeah. ‘M gonna c-cum f’you, Channie. For you.”

You cum with a loud whine, muffled by Chan’s arm as you bite down on his bicep as you release around him. He groans as well, pulling out of you swiftly, jerking himself off as he kneels between your legs. Then, with a grunt, he releases on your tummy — hot, white fluid all over your sweaty skin.

Then, Chan’s body collapses next to yours, completely spent, and he takes you into his arms.

“I love you so fucking much,” he sighs, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. “You know that, right?”

You look at him, a stupid smile on your face after he’s just finished fucking you silly. “I know. I love you, too.”

🪷

-> 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬. 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧!

the way I loved you

── .✦ content warning : SMUT! MDI!! fem!reader; academic rivals; enemies with benefits; one bed trope; angry love confession in the rain; explicit sex; oral (f and m receiving); dry humping; unproteced sex; litgh degratation; public sex; kinda sub seung;

✮⋆˙ pairing: academic rival seungmin × fem!reader

✮⋆˙ word count: 14,4k

✮⋆˙ synopsis: “We were academic rivals — until we weren’t. Now I can’t tell if I want to outscore him or ride him until he begs.”

✮⋆˙ A/N: heyy!! I had so much fun writing this one cause I kinda reunited all my fav tropes together, so I hope you guys enjoyed it!! please reblog it and lmk what you think ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

Hated those stupid, wide puppy eyes that tricked everyone into thinking he was harmless. Hated the way his hair flopped perfectly over his forehead like he was in some damn shampoo commercial. Hated those stupid, plump lips that probably got away with too much just by existing.

But most of all — I hated that smile. That pretty, cocky smile he flashed like he knew something I didn’t.

Every time he looked at me with that skeptical little tilt of his head, the one that screamed “I'm better than you haha” — yes, I could hear the cartoon villain laugh — I knew, deep in my soul, that I could strangle him.

Still debating tho if I’d prefer to do it with my hands or my thighs.

The worst part? It wasn’t just rage pooling low in my stomach.

It pissed me off how he could make me hate him and want him at the same time.

Fucking disgusting.

When Professor Lee handed back our essays and Seungmin’s stupid name was sitting pretty at the top with a shiny gold “A+”, I didn’t even think.

I whipped my head around, caught his eyes across the lecture hall, and mouthed: “Rigged.”

His mouth curved into that slow, infuriating smirk, the kind that crawled under my skin and set it on fire.

He leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head like he owned the goddamn place, and mouthed back, exaggerated and slow: “Don't be mad just because you’re second best, sweetheart.”

Complete with a wink.

A goddamn wink.

I could feel the heat rising from my chest to my ears. Rage. Or something dangerously close to it.

Seungmin tilted his head, still watching me like I was a particularly amusing science experiment. His eyes glinted, and I knew — I knew — he wasn’t going to let this go.

When class ended, I shoved my notebook into my bag and bolted for the door, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course he didn’t.

He caught up easily, his steps lazy, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets like he hadn’t just declared academic war ten minutes ago.

“Rough day, princess?” he asked, voice dripping mock-sympathy.

I didn’t even look at him. “Bite me, Seungmin.”

“Careful,” he said, his voice dropping half an octave. “Might take that as an invitation.”

I stopped walking and turned to him so fast he almost collided with me. He did collide, his chest bumping into mine with a low thud that made both of us stiffen on reflex.

For a second — a stupid, reckless second — we just stood there. Breathing the same air. Close enough that I could see the tiny mole in the middle of the bridge of his nose. Close enough that I could smell the faint hint of mint gum and something warm and boyish underneath.

His eyes flickered down to my mouth — fast, involuntary. My heart hammered against my ribs. Not from fear. From something far worse. He caught himself a beat too late and pulled back a step, but it was already too late.

I smirked.

“Problem?” he asked, trying to sound bored, but his voice was rougher now. Edgier.

“You wish,” I snapped, shoving his chest lightly with my hand.

It wasn’t enough to move him, but it made him smile — that crooked, infuriating, I-know-you-want-me smile. I wanted to punch him. Or grab him by the hoodie strings and crash our mouths together. Maybe both.

“Tell you what,” he said, hands sliding casually into his pockets, pretending like his pulse wasn’t visible on his throat. “Winner of the next project challenge picks a punishment for the loser. No rules.”

I raised an eyebrow, chest still rising and falling too fast. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, slow, like daring me to back down. “Afraid to lose?” he teased, voice pure poison wrapped in honey.

I narrowed my eyes. “You're on.”

His smirk stretched wider — a flash of sharp teeth and gleaming mischief. “Try not to cry when you lose, princess.”

“Worry about your own dignity first, loser.”

He stepped closer again — not touching, but close enough that my body registered the heat pouring off him. “Oh, princess…” he murmured, low and deliberate. “You’ll be begging me for mercy by the end of it.”

Then, without waiting for my reply, he turned on his heel and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some stupid upbeat tune like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb between us.

I stood there, heart pounding, palms sweating, fists clenched at my sides. Already plotting how I was going to destroy him.

Or how I was going to let him destroy me.

Maybe both.

If working in the same room as Seungmin was supposed to be a punishment from hell, it was starting to feel a lot more like slow torture.

The worst kind. The kind where you like it.

We weren’t even officially working together — our articles were separate — but somehow, like roaches or debt collectors, he always managed to appear wherever I was: library, café, empty classrooms.

And every time, the same thing: Provocations. Smirks. Stupid bets.

We sat across from each other now, laptops open, papers strewn everywhere. My screen glowed under the cheap library lights, reflecting the blank document I hadn't touched in twenty minutes.

Because Seungmin was there. Existing. Breathing. Tapping his stupid pen against his stupid mouth like he had no idea how distracting he was.

I chewed the end of my pencil, glaring at my thesis statement like it was all its fault.

“Need help, princess?” he drawled, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I'd rather set myself on fire,” I muttered, not looking up.

He chuckled under his breath — that soft, infuriating laugh that always made my skin prickle.

I refused to glance at him. Refused to notice the way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, veins visible on his forearms. Refused to notice how he tapped his pen in an unconscious rhythm that somehow matched the way my heart stuttered when he leaned back and stretched like a smug little shit.

Focus. Focus.

I bent lower over my keyboard, typing harder than necessary.

He reached across the table to steal my highlighter, and his fingers brushed mine — quick, electric. My body jolted before my brain could catch up.

He smirked. Saw it. Filed it away for later.

I hated him. Absolutely hated.

If hating him included wondering what his hands would feel like pressed somewhere else, well — that was between me and my rapidly deteriorating sanity.

Three hours, five insults, and two coffee runs later, we submitted our articles

I stood stiffly at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed, waiting for the verdict. Seungmin stood next to me, too close. His shoulder brushed mine once. I moved. He moved closer again.

Asshole.

Professor Lee shuffled through the papers, humming thoughtfully.

Finally, he smiled — a slow, proud smile. “Excellent work from both of you.”

I exhaled. Barely.

“But…” He held up one article.

And I saw it. My name. Bold. Clear. Victorious. I blinked. Once. Twice. I won.

The shock punched through me, followed by something molten and dizzying: triumph. I turned slowly to Seungmin, ready to gloat.

His face was unreadable — that blank, impassive mask he wore when he didn’t want anyone to know he was losing his shit inside. Which meant he was furious.

I smiled sweetly. Sickeningly. “Aw. Better luck next time, loser.”

He tilted his head, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

“Don’t get too cocky. One win doesn’t make you better.”

“No, but it makes you worse.”

He stepped closer, enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Enough that I could feel the heat coming off his skin again.

His eyes dropped to my mouth — quick, instinctive — and I hated how it made my pulse jump.

Before either of us could say something, even dumber, Professor Lee cleared his throat. “Both of you — a word, please.”

We turned, startled, as if remembering there was a whole room watching.

He led us to his desk, his expression serious.

“You two have been selected to represent our department at the International Academic Congress next weekend.” He paused for effect. “An honor. Only given to our best.”

My brain blanked.

Congress? An entire weekend?

With Seungmin?

I felt my stomach flip in the worst way.

Beside me, Seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets, feigning boredom — but I caught the twitch of his jaw. He hated surprises. Almost as much as I hated liking the idea of being trapped with him somewhere far from rules and reputations.

“You’ll be presenting your articles separately, of course,” Professor Lee continued. “But you’ll be traveling together. Hotel accommodations are arranged.”

I nodded, tight, pretending not to panic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Seungmin turn his head, studying me carefully. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking. Like he was already plotting how to use this against me.

I gritted my teeth and forced a tight smile. Seungmin smirked, slow and lethal.

This was war.

And I was already losing.

The conference was supposed to be an exciting opportunity. At least, that’s what I told myself when I boarded the plane. A few days away from the usual routine, presenting my research for relevant people, making connections—sounds like a dream, right? In theory. The reality? Well, the idea of spending two days in close proximity to Seungmin was a *little* less appealing. But hey, I was here for the experience. And because I didn’t have much of a choice.

The flight was long, and Seungmin had already made himself an expert at finding ways to annoy me.

He sat one row behind me, but naturally, he ended up next to me when the seatbelt sign was switched off. Classic Seungmin move. “Mind if I join you?” he asked as if I had a say in the matter.

I didn’t even bother to look at him. “Please, make yourself at home.” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

Seungmin didn’t waste any time. He slid into the seat beside me like we’d been lifelong friends, his shoulder brushing mine in the process. "You know,” he said, stretching his legs out a little too far into my space, “I actually enjoy these long flights. So much time to read, think, or just bother you.”

I pretended to focus on the screen in front of me, but it was hard to ignore him when he practically moved in. “Lucky me,” I muttered, trying my best to be invisible.

He grinned, clearly unfazed. “You could at least pretend to enjoy my company. I’m doing you a favor, really.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” I said dryly.

Seungmin leaned in closer, like he was about to share a deeply profound thought. “I think you’re just afraid of my charm.”

“I’m not afraid of your charm,” I said flatly. “I’m just trying to survive the flight without having to throw you out of the window.”

“You'd kill all of these people if you opened that window, you know that, right?”

Of course I knew, who whe thought I was?

I could practically hear him smirking, even though I refused to look at him. He was annoyingly good at finding ways to make my blood pressure rise with minimal effort.

By the time we landed, I was exhausted—not from the flight, but from keeping my cool around him. The conference itself? That was going to be cakewalk compared to this.

We finally made it through the airport and to the hotel. The city was exactly what I expected: bigger, louder, and more chaotic than I needed. I then with that all my excitement died and I was so ready to be done with everything.

The lobby was eerily quiet, the kind of place where every sound felt exaggerated. When we approached the reception desk, the receptionist greeted us with a smile so practiced it almost looked fake. I wasn’t in the mood for polite exchanges. The way she glanced at Seungmin—almost too interested—made my skin crawl.

She typed something on her keyboard while keeping her eyes on the screen, then lifted her gaze to us with that same, professional smile. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

I stepped up first, handing over my conference credential with a formality I didn’t really feel but was trying to project. It made me look like I had my life together, something that wasn’t going to be ruined by an unexpected trip with my academic rival.

“Hi, we’re from the Department of Social Sciences at National University. We're here for the research congress.”

She glanced at the screen for a moment longer, tapping away before meeting our eyes again. “Ah, of course. Everything’s set for you.” She grabbed a key from behind the desk, placing it on the counter with that same pleasant smile. “Here’s your key. You’ll be in room 325.”

I grabbed the key, but something felt off. The way she handed it to us made me stop, the words almost caught in my throat.

“Just one key?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, hoping the confusion I was feeling didn’t show too obviously. It didn’t make sense that she was giving us a single key for both of us, especially since I knew the rooms were supposed to be separate.

The receptionist looked at me like my question was perfectly normal. “Yes, one key for each couple of participants.”

I blinked, mouth slightly open. A couple? Did she just assume…? I glanced over at Seungmin, who was casually leaning against the counter, an eyebrow raised.

He caught my look and immediately let out a low chuckle. Of course, he found this funny. “What? You didn’t think we were a couple?” He gave me a wink, his voice dripping with that infuriating confidence.

I felt my face flush with a mix of annoyance and… something else. I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand, but honestly, why was the receptionist so sure of that? Was I really giving off those kinds of vibes?

I couldn’t suppress my irritation.

“We’re not a couple,” I snapped, a little too harshly. “We’re just… two students who happened to be presenting at the same event.”

The receptionist merely nodded, completely unfazed. She didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary about the situation. “Oh, I see. Well, the rooms are all prepared. Would you like me to change the key?”

Before I could open my mouth to say anything, Seungmin was quicker. He grabbed the key off the counter with an air of ease that only made me more frustrated. He was enjoying this, I could tell.

“No, it's okay,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking to me with that self-satisfied gleam. “We’re fine with it.”

He turned to me, the smugness on his face practically radiating. Of course, this would be his idea of a good time.

I shot him a death glare but said nothing. He was always so quick to take charge of situations that were inconvenient for me. It annoyed the hell out of me.

The receptionist, apparently oblivious to the tension, gave us a polite nod. “Enjoy your stay!”

I didn’t bother replying. Instead, I grabbed my bag and turned away, trying my hardest to ignore Seungmin’s amused expression as I walked to the elevator.

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” I muttered under my breath, trying to sound angry, but I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Seungmin followed behind me, taking his time.

The elevator ride up to the third floor was a quiet one, and as we stepped out into the hallway, I could already feel the weight of the situation sinking in. The reality of having to share a room with Seungmin was a lot less fun when you were actually facing it.

Seungmin, still as calm as ever, walked ahead of me toward room 325. His hand was already on the doorknob when I caught up.

I hesitated, then turned to him. “I seriously don’t think this is a good idea.”

Seungmin paused, his back to me, then slowly glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. For a second, there was no hint of a smirk. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked quietly.

I wanted to answer— everything —but he was already opening the door.

The door swung open, and I stepped inside, Seungmin trailing right behind me. The room was… fine. Clean, neat — boring in the way all conference hotels were. But then my gaze hit the bed.

One. Single. Bed.

A king-size, sure. But still — one bed. No second mattress tucked in a corner. No pull-out couch. Just that massive betrayal sitting right in the middle of the room like it knew exactly what it was doing.

I froze, dread pooling in my stomach.

Seungmin bumped into me from behind and cursed under his breath. “Wait. Are you fucking serious?” His voice was low, disbelieving.

I didn’t even look at him. I just stared at the bed like it had personally betrayed me.

I turned to him slowly, my face blank with disbelief. “Well, unless you’re planning on summoning another bed out of thin air, yeah, we’re serious.” I waved my hand dramatically toward the offending mattress.

Seungmin stepped around me, eyeing the bed like it had personally insulted his family. “They expect us to sleep in the same bed?” he asked, incredulous.

“Apparently ‘academic excellence’ comes with complimentary sexual tension. Maybe they'll even throw in some rose petals and a bottle of champagne while we're at it too.” I muttered, folding my arms.

He snorted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“No shit. You think I did?” I snapped. The sarcasm was practically a second language between us at this point.

The room already felt too small, the air too charged.

He looked at me, his expression sharpening into something defensive. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. I’d rather cuddle a cactus.”

I gave him a slow, sarcastic smile. “Cute. I was about to say you could sleep outside with the stray dogs. You’d fit right in.”

He threw me a sideways look, half a smirk playing on his lips. “If it’s that unbearable, I can sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want you losing sleep over me.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I practically saw my brain. “The floor’s probably cleaner than whatever germs you’re carrying anyway.”

The tension crackled between us — electric, unbearable. We both stood there, stubbornly glaring at the bed, as if sheer willpower would make it disappear.

Seungmin shook his head, glancing once more at the cursed bed like it might suddenly sprout another mattress. “This is unbelievable. Who the hell organizes a conference like this?”

“Maybe it's a new academic technique.” I deadpanned. “See who survives forced proximity without committing murder.”

He actually snorted at that, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He shook his head, still clearly pissed off. “This is ridiculous. What’s next, sharing a toothbrush?”

I snapped back, my sarcasm sharp as a knife. “Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what’s going to happen. They’ll give us matching PJs next, too.”

We stood there for another long, heavy beat, neither of us moving.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Seungmin exhaled sharply and said: “We’re not gonna survive this if we keep acting like kids.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Screw it. We'll put a damn pillow wall in the middle. Switzerland rules: you stay on your side, I stay on mine.”

“Fine. But if you snore, I’m suffocating you with a pillow.”

“If you steal the covers, I’m kicking you onto the floor.” I shot back.

He met my glare with one of his own, but there was something else beneath it now.

Something heavier. Thicker. Neither of us said it, but we both felt it. The heat. The pull.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, already moving toward the door. “Let's just get through the conference first. We'll deal with... this trainwreck later.”

Seungmin didn’t argue this time. He just muttered under his breath, low enough that I almost missed it: “Yeah... easier said than done.”

We step off the elevator and into a wide, polished corridor leading to the conference rooms. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee, new carpet, and desperation. The walls are covered in generic modern art — squares inside of other squares — like they were trying very hard to seem sophisticated without actually having a soul. I already feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me like a headache.

Seungmin walks beside me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking unimpressed with life itself. His hair falls messily into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. Typical.

His eyes dart around the hallway, scanning faces like he’s already categorizing who’s worth ignoring. “Ready to pretend we care?” he mutters, voice pitched low enough just for me.

“Thrilled,” I deadpan, not even glancing at him. “Can’t wait to have my brain melted by endless talks about sustainable quinoa farming.”

He snorts, biting back a laugh. “Sounds like your dream date.”

“Yup. Right up there with tax seminars and dental surgery.”

We keep walking, moving with the flow of the crowd. I can see the bright lights of the conference rooms ahead, and it's all I can do to not roll my eyes at the sheer formality of it all. The event feels more like a display of ‘look how important we are’ than anything else.

He grins — a real one, small and crooked — before drifting off toward a group near the front, already blending in like a professional social chameleon. I roll my eyes and slink toward the back, sinking into an empty chair, pulling out my phone just to avoid making small talk with strangers who all think they’re smarter than everyone else.

The speaker drones on about something to do with regenerative soil or whatever. I zone out, letting the words wash over me like white noise.

That’s when I notice him — a guy standing near the refreshment table, dressed casually enough to look out of place among all the tight blazers and forced smiles. He’s got a lazy grin, a coffee cup in one hand, and the vibe of someone who definitely isn’t taking this seriously.

Our eyes meet by accident. I immediately look away, pretending to be fascinated by my own shoes.

Too late.

Footsteps approach, and a moment later, he’s there, leaning on the back of the chair next to mine like he owns the place, like he’s got nothing better to do.

“Hey.” he says when he’s standing in front of me, offering a slight, disarming grin. “I don’t know if you’re as bored as I am, but I swear this place feels like a corporate zombie apocalypse.”

I glance up at him. His voice is light, teasing, and there's a mischievous glint in his eye that reminds me — alarmingly — of someone else I know. He's charming, but not in the typical, obnoxious way.

I can’t help a small smirk. “I’m pretty sure zombies would be more interesting. At least they’d be honest about their intentions.”

“You look about as thrilled as I feel,” he says with a grin.

“Is it that obvious?” I say, tilting my head. “I thought I was hiding it so well.”

“Subtle as a brick to the face,” he deadpans, smiling wider.

I snort before I can stop myself. Okay, he's funny. Dangerous.

“Chan,” he says, holding out a hand like we’re not at the most painfully formal event on earth.

“Y/N,” I reply, shaking his hand briefly before pulling back.

Chan smirks. “So, Y/N... what's your poison? Boring keynote speeches or awkward networking attempts?”

I fake think about it. “Mmm... death by boredom sounds slightly less painful.”

He chuckles. “Agreed. I’m just here for the free coffee and questionable snack trays.”

“You’re brave. I think those pastries have been alive longer than some of the speakers.”

He laughs — a real, full laugh — and leans closer like we’re already conspirators. “Survival of the fittest. Or the most caffeinated.”

I smirk, feeling a little lighter despite myself.

“Guess I’ll see you at the coffee table battlefield later, then.”

“Only if you’re prepared to fight dirty.” He winks. “I swear, if they put any more bland hors d'oeuvres out there, I might start questioning why I even left my house for this.”

I can’t help it—I actually laugh at that. “Yeah, I’d rather be at home, in my pajamas, eating cereal. At least I know it’s not going to taste like cardboard.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, so you're one of those people. Respect.”

There's a beat of silence, and for a moment, we just stand there, awkward in the best way. But I don’t mind it. It's kind of refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t immediately making small talk about "networking."

Nick shrugs, his eyes glinting with a bit of humor. “So, what’s your take on all of this? The conference, I mean. I’m assuming you’re not here for the food production knowledge either.”

I think about it for a moment before responding. “Honestly? It’s not exactly what I expected. I thought it’d be more... engaging, that I'd have a great opportunity to talk about my research, but it’s mostly just people trying to sound important.”

Nick nods knowingly, looking amused. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the vibe I’m getting too.”

I’m about to fire back something sarcastic when the temperature of the room shifts. I feel it before I see him — that tightening sensation in the air.

I turn slightly, and there he is.

Seungmin.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, shoulders rigid. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, but it’s his eyes — sharp, dark — that give him away.

He's staring at Chan like he’s a mosquito buzzing too close.

Chan notices too, casting a casual glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize you had company,” Chan says easily, raising an eyebrow at Seungmin.

Seungmin’s smile is a weapon — all teeth, no warmth. “Yeah. She’s with me.”

She’s with me.

My eyebrows shoot up, but I say nothing.

Seungmin’s jaw clenches, and he steps forward, his gaze still fixed on me, but the edge to his voice has softened slightly as he addresses me. “Y/N, we should go.”

Chan shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Right. I’ll catch you later, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling the weight of Seungmin’s presence beside me. “Later.”

He flashes me one last grin before wandering off, utterly unbothered.

The second he’s gone, Seungmin steps closer, his body language screaming tension. His glare burns into me, his jaw flexing as if he’s chewing on all the words he can’t say out loud.

The air between us is thick, but I can’t help it. I need to poke at him, need to let him know that I see right through his little act.

I cross my arms, matching his posture. “You gonna tell me why you look like you’re about to start a bar fight?” I ask sweetly.

He huffs through his nose, looking anywhere but at me.

We head back toward the front, the noise of the conference around us feeling a hundred times louder. The tension doesn’t seem to let up, and I know this is just the beginning of whatever this is between us, the silence between us thick enough to choke on.

I can’t help myself.

“You know,” I say, tilting my head toward him. “you’re acting like I committed a crime by talking to someone with a better haircut than you.” I lied, Chans's haircut isn't better than his long bangs that falls onto his eyes.

Seungmin’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering toward me, but he says nothing. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and the way his fingers flex against his crossed arms doesn’t escape me. He’s annoyed.

I grin to myself, enjoying this just a little too much. “I mean, it’s not like I invited him to a romantic dinner or anything,” I continue, my tone teasing. “But I did notice your death stare. If looks could kill, I think I’d be six feet under right now.”

Seungmin's head snaps toward me, eyes narrowed. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” I tease. “Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like jealousy. Like… borderline ‘punch a guy over a coffee joke’ levels of jealousy.”

He stops walking abruptly, forcing me to stop too. He steps closer — too close — and lowers his voice so only I can hear.

“I’m not jealous.”

I tilt my head, giving him a sidelong glance. “Really? Because it kind of seemed like you were about to challenge him to a duel or something.”

Seungmin glances at me, his expression unreadable, but I can tell he’s getting more irritated by the second. He stops walking again, and his eyes narrow in that way he does when he’s not sure whether to get sarcastic or serious. “I don’t care, okay?” he finally says, voice sharp. “But you could’ve at least told me you were—whatever—you know, talking to him.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, so I’m supposed to run my social interactions past you now? Got it, boss.”

Seungmin’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t smile. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about, exactly?” I prod, stepping closer to him. “You sure you’re not feeling a little... territorial?”

“Territorial?” He glares at me, clearly trying to keep his cool. “What, like some caveman marking his territory?”

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “More like a chihuahua, actually.”

Seungmin glares, his ears pinking. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable when you’re angry,” I shoot back, my grin widening.

He lets out a short, frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Keep pushing, princess. See what happens.”

I arch an eyebrow, leaning closer, letting my shoulder brush his for just a second longer than necessary. “Maybe I’m counting on it.”

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other — the conference noise fading into the background — locked in this stupid, electric standoff.

Then he huffs, muttering under his breath as he turns to walk ahead of me: “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

I smile, slow and wicked, before following him back into the crowd.

The second the door to the hotel room clicked shut behind us, the weight of reality hit again — one bed.

Still just one.

I sighed loudly, dropping my bag near the dresser.

Seungmin tossed his hoodie onto a chair and stretched his arms above his head, way too nonchalant for someone about to sleep three inches away from their mortal enemy.

“Guess we’re really doing this,” I muttered, staring at the bed like it was a battlefield.

“What’s wrong, princess? Afraid you won’t survive one night without jumping me?” he teased, kicking off his shoes.

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

“Please. I’m more worried about you crying because I stole all the covers.”

He laughed, short and sharp. “In your dreams.”

We stood there for a second, facing the bed like it killed someone of our family.

“Truce?” I offered reluctantly, lifting a pillow.

“Temporary ceasefire.” He smirked. “Until you start snoring and ruin my life.”

I flipped him off without ceremony and started building a pathetic little wall of pillows down the middle of the mattress.

He watched, arms crossed, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “Very professional. I feel safer already.”

“Good. Now if you so much as breathe on my side, I’m kicking you out.”

“Looking forward to it.”

I grabbed my pajamas and locked myself in the bathroom before I could throw something at his smug face. Changing into my satin slip felt almost ridiculous. It wasn’t even that revealing — thin straps, low neckline, cut just short enough to be a problem if you looked too long — but somehow, the second I caught my reflection, I hesitated.

Why the hell did it feel like I was getting ready for something? I shook off the thought and stepped out.

Seungmin was sprawled across his side of the bed, now wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, no shirt. His skin caught the soft hotel lighting, warm and distracting. He was tapping away at his phone, pretending not to notice me.

He looked up when he heard the door click.

And froze.

Just for a second.

Eyes raking over me in one quick, betraying sweep before he schooled his face back into something vaguely unimpressed. “Nice pajamas,” he said casually. “Planning to seduce the minibar?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Planning to murder you in your sleep, actually.”

He grinned — wide, wolfish. “Kinky.”

I gave him my middle finger again and climbed into my side of the bed, tugging the covers up to my chest like armor.

Seungmin tossed his phone onto the nightstand and settled against the pillows, arms behind his head. The faint glow of the bedside lamp carved shadows down his chest, and I hated — *hated* — that my eyes kept betraying me, sliding over the lines of his collarbone, the dip of his stomach.

I turned off the light with an aggressive click. The darkness didn’t help.

We lay there, stiff, silent, breathing the same charged air. The pillow barrier might as well have been made of tissue paper.

Minutes stretched. The kind of minutes where you feel everything — the brush of fabric, the shift of weight, the tiny creaks of the bed under him.

I couldn’t sleep.

Neither could he.

I could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven. The bed felt too big and too small all at once.

The shitty pillow wall between us was a joke now — some flimsy excuse to pretend there was still a line we hadn’t crossed.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. The air was thick. Every shallow breath I took, I swore I could taste him on my tongue. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was tense. Ticking. Waiting.

I couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, but I could feel him — every shift of weight on the mattress, every small movement that jolted straight through my body like static.

Finally, Seungmin’s voice broke the stillness — low, rough around the edges: “You keep fidgeting.”

I scoffed quietly, turning onto my side to face the vague outline of his body. “Maybe because I’m stuck sharing a bed with my worst enemy.”

“You flatter yourself,” he muttered, and even in the dark, I could imagine that insufferable smirk of his. “You’re the one who built a wall of pillows like I’m going to jump on you or something.”

He shifted closer, just enough that the mattress dipped between us, erasing another inch of space.

“Well, I've heard of your uncontrollable violent behavior, Kim Seungmin.” I lied, I heard nothing, but anything, now I might just witness it.

He laughed under his breath, sharp and derisive. “You're so full of yourself, it’s a miracle your head fits in this room.”

He didn’t say anything else immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch — heavy, charged — until I was practically vibrating from it.

Then, almost too casually: “Bet you think about it though.”

I blinked, my heart stuttering. “Think about what?” I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I meant.

“This,” he said simply. “Us. Fighting, fucking... whatever.”

I opened my mouth to snap back — some scathing insult on the tip of my tongue — but nothing came out.

Because the worst part? He wasn’t wrong.

The silence between us roared.

Seungmin shifted again, close enough now that the heat of his body seeped through the covers. “What’s the matter, princess?” he teased, voice dangerously low. “Cat got your tongue?”

I hated him. I hated how my skin burned under his words. I hated how badly I wanted to wipe that smug tone off his mouth — preferably with my own.

I swallowed thickly. “You’re delusional.” I said, but it lacked bite.

He laughed quietly, a deep, rumbling sound that curled low in my stomach. “Am I?” he challenged, voice pure sin.

Then, the tension snapped.

I pushed the stupid pillow barrier away with one aggressive swipe, grabbed a fistful of his face and yanked him toward me.

Our mouths crashed together like a fucking car wreck — brutal, messy, unstoppable. We kissed like we were trying to prove something. Or maybe like we were trying to forget something.

He groaned into the kiss, grabbing my waist like he’d been waiting for permission he was never going to ask for.

I gasped when he rolled over me, pinning me down into the mattress, his hips pressing between my thighs with a hunger that sent a shudder straight through me.

His mouth was everywhere — jaw, neck, collarbone — as if kissing me could somehow make up for all the weeks of tension we’d spent pretending we didn’t want this. His hands gripped my thighs, my waist, like he couldn’t decide where he needed me most.

His hips pressed down, slow and firm, and I felt the friction hit just right — enough to make me gasp into his mouth. He did it again. Purposefully this time. Pressing against me like he wanted me to feel just how hard he was. Like he needed me to know what I was doing to him.

Then he started grinding.

Desperately.

There was nothing careful about it. It was all friction and hunger, his sweatpants dragging against my panties, the pressure building every time our hips met. He was breathing heavily now, panting into my neck, his hands gripping my waist like he was trying to keep himself from losing it completely.

I arched against him instinctively, my hands sliding up his back, under his shirt, nails digging in just a little when our hips met again. The fabric between us was too much and not enough at the same time — the pressure maddening, delicious, torturous. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and I hated how easily he made me feel like I was unraveling — so I did what I always did when I felt too much.

I smirked. “Wow.” I whispered, my voice low and venomous as my lips brushed his ear. “I couldn’t imagine grinding was your way of begging.”

He groaned — like the sound had been ripped out of him — and ground harder, sharper, until I could feel all of him pressing against me.

Hard. So fucking hard.

And that’s when I laughed — breathless and wicked — dragging my nails down his back just enough to make him hiss. His breath was shaky against my collarbone, his lips dragging a trail of heat along my skin. He was already panting, his hips grinding into mine like he couldn’t stop himself, like he needed the friction just to stay sane. I felt him — hard, throbbing against my center — and it only made the smirk on my lips grow sharper.

“You’re really down bad, huh?” I murmured against his ear, dragging my nails slowly up his back. “You barely touched me and you're already losing it.”

He groaned, a sound that came from deep in his chest, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “You’re not helping.” he muttered, grinding against me again, slower now, desperate.

“Then beg better.” I whispered, my voice deliberately calm, teasing. “Maybe I’ll take pity on you.”

He pulled back just far enough to look at me, eyes wild, jaw tight, completely wrecked.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, his voice a growl now. “You think I can fucking control myself when you're like this?”

“No.” I whispered, rolling my hips up slowly, deliberately. “That’s the fun part.”

Something snapped in him after that. He thrust against me again, this time rougher, more desperate, and I swallowed a moan as his mouth found mine once more. I felt him everywhere — in the way his body moved, in the way his hands clutched at me like I was something he couldn’t hold onto fast enough, in the way our hips met again and again, friction making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything but feel.

My fingers slipped into his hair, yanking just enough to make him hiss, and I couldn’t help the smug little grin that curled at my lips. He pulled back just enough to look at me, flushed and breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You're dangerous.” he whispered, his voice low and reverent.

“You love it.” I shot back.

He crushed his mouth back onto mine, swallowing my gasp, and his hand slipped down between us to pull at my panties like he couldn’t stand one more second without being inside me. The kiss deepened, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands roaming recklessly.

Seungmin kissed like he fought — relentless, stubborn, like he had something to prove.

And fuck, I loved it.

His hands slid under my nightgown, fingertips dragging up my sides, rough and needy. I arched into him, desperate for more contact, for anything to ground me against the chaos exploding under my skin.

He pulled back just enough to mutter, breathless: “Still think I'm delusional?”

“Shut up.” I gasped, dragging him back down to me.

He grinned against my mouth — cocky, victorious — and then kissed me even harder.

“This is purely academic.” I said, smirking into the dark. “Data collection. Stress relief. Killing time.”

“What, like a science experiment?”

“Exactly.”

“Uh-hum, of course.” he agreed mock-seriously.

Clothes became obstacles. His hands found the hem of my slip, pushing it up, bunching the silky fabric at my waist.

He kissed down my neck, slower this time, like he was trying to savor every inch of skin. My shame was long gone, and so were the layers of sarcasm I wore like armor. His mouth trailed lower, over my chest, down my stomach — and when he reached the waistband of my panties, he paused. Looked up. Eyes dark. Lips swollen. Breath unsteady. Like he was about to kneel at an altar. And I was the altar.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I muttered, trying to hold onto some control.

“Like what?” he said, voice low, his fingers already sliding down my panties.

“Like I’m the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.”

He smirked — not his usual cocky kind, but softer, full of want.

He kissed down my stomach slowly, like he wanted to memorize every inch of skin. There was something almost reverent in the way he did it — not rushed, not greedy — just hungry, in a quiet, desperate kind of way.

When his fingers hooked under my panties and slid them down, he didn’t say a word. But his eyes — God, his eyes were wrecked. Like he’d been waiting for this since the day we met and couldn't believe it was finally happening.

I let my head fall back against the pillows, biting my lip, trying to stay composed. But the second I felt his breath on my inner thigh, I knew I was in trouble.

And then his mouth found me.

The first lick was slow. Soft. Testing.

He groaned like he was the one being touched, and the vibration made me shiver.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair on instinct, trying to ground myself. He didn’t stop.

His tongue moved in careful, messy circles, as if he was learning me — like every stroke was a question and every moan was an answer. He sucked gently, then harder, switching rhythms like he wanted to see what would make me break first.

I hated how good it felt. Hated how easy it was to melt under his mouth.

So I did the only thing I could do — I mocked him. “You’re really putting your whole heart into this, huh?” I breathed, voice shaky but laced with sarcasm.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me, lips already wet, face flushed. “I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time you yelled at me in chem lab.” he said, voice rough. “So yeah. I’m not fucking around.”

Then he went back in, hungrier than before. His hands slid under my thighs, pushing them further apart. He moaned into me like I was something he couldn’t get enough of — and maybe he couldn’t.

I gasped without thinking, barely able to form the words. He looked up at me with a crooked grin and shook his head before diving back in. And I couldn’t stop myself anymore. My hips rocked against his face. My hands tangled in his hair. My breath stuttered and caught.

My body arched. My breath stuttered. My control cracked. “Fuck—” I gasped, rolling my hips into his face. “You’re gonna make me—”

He sucked harder. His tongue flicked just right. And I did. I came with a whimper I tried to swallow, thighs trembling around his head.

Still, he didn’t move — didn’t stop — not until I was squirming away from the overstimulation,

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

dragging him up by the hair and breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He looked wrecked. And so fucking proud of himself. “You should’ve insulted me earlier.” he whispered, kissing the inside of my knee. “I think I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut up.” I said, pulling him into a kiss.

I pulled him up by the hair, still panting, and crashed my mouth into his. Tasting myself on his lips only made it worse.

My hands roamed his bare back — warm, solid, lean muscles flexing under my touch — and I scratched lightly down his spine, earning a low, broken noise from deep in his throat.

He retaliated by sucking a bruise into the hollow of my throat, making me gasp and tangle my fingers in his hair, yanking just hard enough to hear him groan again.

Somehow, he managed to shove his sweatpants down just enough, the condom appearing – from God knows where – clumsily between kisses, torn open with shaky fingers. Even stoned on adrenaline and lust, we managed — barely.

When he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Raw.

We both gasped — harsh, ragged — the sudden connection knocking the breath out of our lungs. Seungmin pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

“Fuck.” he whispered. “You're gonna be the death of me.”

I laughed — sharp and breathless — grabbing his hips and rolling mine up to meet him, forcing a groan from his mouth.

He moved inside me — slow at first, testing, then harder, deeper, each thrust sending little shocks of pleasure ripping through me. I clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulders, my body meeting his rhythm without hesitation.

The world blurred around the edges — just his breath against my neck, the creak of the mattress, the wet, filthy sound of skin on skin.

The tension in my stomach coiled tighter with every rough drag of his hips, every filthy word he muttered against my skin when he thought I couldn’t hear.

“So fucking tight.”

“So good like this.”

“Mine tonight.”

I whimpered, burying my face against his shoulder, biting down just enough to make him hiss and drive into me harder. The buildup was brutal — slow and fast at the same time — until I was clinging to him, gasping his name like a curse.

He felt it too, I could tell — the way his thrusts became uneven, ragged, the way he cursed under his breath when my nails raked down his back.

I shoved him away, straddling him. “Lie down.” I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, letting my thighs press against his bare skin.

He looked wrecked — eyes glazed, mouth parted, like he couldn’t believe this was real. He obeyed instantly. Hair a mess, chest heaving, lips red. Completely at my mercy. He lifted his head, eyes wild, completely wrecked — pupils blown, lips parted. He looked at me like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or cry.

“Please.” he said, barely a breath. “I need you." He whimpered. “You're so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, almost like he hated himself for saying it. “Like a dream I shouldn’t be allowed to have.” His fingers brushing my hair.

The words made something flutter in my chest, but I ignored it. Instead, I pushed him down by the shoulders, forcing him to lie back on the mattress. He obeyed instantly.

“That's right, pretty boy.” I said, straddling his hips slowly, my fingers dragging over his chest.

His breath hitched at the praise.

I leaned down, lips brushing over his ear. — “You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself.” I said softly. “Just for a while. Got it?”

He nodded quickly. Too quickly. His restraint was paper thin.

I rolled my hips down against his again, this time without any barrier. His sweatpants were already low on his hips, and I could feel how badly he wanted it — the way his whole body arched up, chasing friction, chasing me.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, trying so hard not to move.

I shifted down slowly, kissing along his stomach, watching the muscles tense under my lips. When I reached the waistband of his boxers, I heard him whisper my name again — like a prayer. Desperate. Soft. Shaky.

But instead of going lower, I came back up, hovering over him again. His hands clenched at his sides. He was trembling. He looked like he was losing his mind.

And I loved it.

“You want me to fuck you?” I asked, voice still soft, like I was offering something sacred. He nodded again, eyes locked on mine. “No, Seungmin.” I said, smile sharp. “I want to hear it.”

He swallowed hard. “I want you.” he said. “Please. I want you so fucking bad.”

Only then did I slide down onto him — slow, torturously slow. We both gasped. His hands flew to my hips on instinct, gripping tight, but he didn’t move — like he remembered my words. His head fell back. A sound tore from his throat — low, desperate, guttural. — “Fucking hell…”

I started moving, hips rolling in deep, slow circles. He looked wrecked — eyes fluttering, head tilted back, mouth open.— “Shit.” he choked out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

I leaned down, brushing my lips over his. “You’re lucky I like you needy.”

He grabbed my wrist, eyes locking with mine again — glassy, overwhelmed. “You’re in fact a dream.” he whispered. “You’re a fucking dream, I don’t wanna wake up.”

He was completely under me — wide-eyed, overwhelmed, needy. I rode him slow and deep. He reached up, fingers trembling as they gripped my thighs. “Fuck… you’re unreal.”

I leaned forward, dragging my lips down his jaw. And I kept going. Until he couldn’t speak. Until he was all moans and gasps and praise whispered into my skin. Until the only thing either of us knew was this — us — messy, out of control, too much and never enough.

And this time, I didn’t tease. I kissed him — slow and deep — as I kept moving, feeling him tremble beneath me, completely undone

It hit me like a wave — hot, violent, overwhelming.

I came with a cry I couldn't bite back, my body clenching around him so hard it ripped a guttural moan from his mouth. A few more frantic, desperate grinds and he followed, coming with a rough, broken sound against my ear.

We collapsed together, sweaty, shaking, our bodies tangled messily in the sheets and in each other.

For a long moment, we just lay there — breathing hard, the air heavy with sex and everything we weren't saying.

He didn't move away.

Neither did I.

I woke up tangled in the sheets, the faint light from the window cutting through the darkness of the room.

The room was cold, but the heat of his body next to mine made it almost unbearable.

I shifted under the covers, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding through the curtains.

Seungmin was lying on his side, facing me. His hair a mess, his mouth slightly open, his arm carelessly thrown over the invisible line that we had so dramatically ignored the night before. He looked criminally good for someone who had completely ruined my ability to think straight.

For a second, I just stared at him. At the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. At the faint scratch marks I’d left on his skin.

It should’ve made me feel guilty.

It didn’t. It made my stomach flip in a way I refused to name.

I shifted under the covers, careful not to wake him. Not because I cared. Because I didn’t feel like dealing with the smugness that would explode across his stupidly handsome face when he realized he had officially broken my sanity.

But of course, the bed creaked, and his eyelids fluttered open. He blinked slowly at me, his mouth curling into a lazy, dangerous smirk. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I rolled my eyes hard enough to sprain something. “You drooled on my pillow.”

“You moaned on my neck.” He said it so casually I almost threw the remaining pillow at his face.

I rolled over with an exaggerated huff, pulling the blanket up to my neck.

The bed shifted a second later, and a raspy voice muttered: “You're staring. Creepy.”

I snorted without turning. “Dreaming. About how much I regret this.”

“Sure.” He stretched, the covers sliding lower on his body, revealing way too much bare skin for a casual glance.

I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I tossed a pillow at his head.

It hit him square in the face. He grunted. “Assault. That's how you say good morning?”

“You should thank me. I could’ve done worse.”

He laughed, low and rough. God, that laugh should be illegal before 9 a.m.

“You already did worse last night.” he teased, flashing that stupid grin that made my chest tight for no good reason.

“Delusional much?” I snapped, pushing the blankets away and standing up, my satin slip sticking to my thighs.

His eyes dropped — quickly, involuntarily — and when he realized, he immediately smirked wider.

“If I'm delusional, at least it's a nice view.”

I threw another pillow at his face and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door harder than necessary.

Behind me, his laugh chased me like smoke under the door.

The last day of the conference loomed over me like a thundercloud. People buzzed around the lobby and corridors, all polished shoes and stiff blazers, pretending not to be nervous while clutching folders a little too tightly.

I sat at the back of the auditorium, my hands cold and clammy around my notes. My stomach twisted itself into knots. My brain, usually so quick and sharp, felt sluggish and heavy.

What if I mess up?

What if they laugh at me?

What if I open my mouth and nothing comes out?

A quiet nudge at my side snapped me out of my spiral. I turned sharply — already defensive — only to find Seungmin sliding into the seat next to mine, a crooked grin on his face. “You look like you're about to pass out” he said under his breath, eyes glinting with amusement.

I scowled. “Thanks for the support, Seungmin.”

He smirked, unbothered. His arm brushed mine as he leaned back casually, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, I was over here two seconds away from vomiting.

He studied my face for a moment, his smile fading slightly. “You’re gonna kill it.” he said, voice lower, more serious.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Wow. High praise coming from my archnemesis.” I said, raising an eyebrow.

Seungmin snorted. “Don’t get used to it.” He tapped my folder with the back of his hand. “But seriously. You’re smarter than half the people in this room. Probably smarter than me, too. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud.”

My chest tightened strangely at that. I tried to cover it with sarcasm. “Aw, how cute. If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Don't flatter yourself. I just don't want to be associated with someone who faints mid-presentation.”

I let out a shaky laugh despite myself, some of the weight on my chest easing. I glanced at him sideways, heart hammering for a different reason now. “You think I can really do it?” I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

Seungmin’s gaze softened. He didn’t tease this time. He didn’t smirk.

He just nodded once, firm and certain. “I know you can.”

Something in me cracked a little at that. Before I could embarrass myself further by actually tearing up or something equally pathetic, the coordinator called my name.

I stood up too fast, my knees almost buckling. Seungmin reached out instinctively, grabbing my wrist lightly to steady me. His touch was brief, casual — but it set my skin on fire.

“Go show them why you scare the shit out of me.” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

I managed a breathless laugh, clutching my notes like a shield as I walked toward the stage.

His gaze followed me the whole way. I could feel it — hot and unwavering, like a tether pulling at me even across the room.

And somehow, because of him, my hands steadied. My voice, when I finally spoke, didn’t shake.

When I finished my presentation and stepped off the stage, heart still hammering, my eyes found his immediately.

Seungmin sat casually slouched in his seat, arms crossed, looking every bit the cocky bastard he always was. But when he caught my gaze, he gave me the smallest nod. Barely there. But it hit harder than a standing ovation.

I looked away quickly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide. I shouldn’t have cared. But fuck — I did. More than I wanted to admit.

By the end of the last presentation, I was vibrating with tension from the happenings of today and yesterday. I couldn't help myself but let my eyes wander to him every second.

Then suddenly, Chan — the guy from the day before — found me again, appearing with a crooked smile and two cups of coffee. “We really survived it, huh?” he said, handing me a cup. "Yeah..." I took it automatically, forcing a smile.

But my eyes weren’t on him. They were locked across the crowd, watching Seungmin sling his backpack over one shoulder, heading toward the exit without even glancing back.

Something inside me twisted violently.

I barely heard Chan say something else. I just shoved the coffee back at him with a muttered excuse and slipped into the crowd, my body moving on instinct.

I followed Seungmin. Out of the conference center. Down the hall. Toward the elevators.

He didn’t turn when he heard my footsteps. He just stepped inside the elevator. Waited.

When I caught up, panting slightly, I saw the look in his eyes. Tense. Dark. Dangerous.

He hit the button for our floor, and the doors slid closed with a soft ding. The elevator was filled with nothing but heavy breathing and electricity.

Neither of us spoke. Neither of us had to. As soon as the room door closed, I acted on pure instinct. I shoved him. Hard.

Seungmin stumbled back against the wall, his eyes widening in shock — and something hotter — before narrowing with a slow, dangerous smile.

I didn't wait. I closed the distance, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and yanked him into a kiss.

This wasn’t soft. It was furious, messy, teeth and tongue clashing as I pressed him back harder against the wall, claiming him. He grabbed my hips, hauling me closer, but I was faster — shoving him backward until he hit the bed.

I pushed him down, climbing on top of him with a wicked grin.

He stared up at me, breathless, pupils blown wide.

“You like being bossed around, huh?” I teased, grinding down on him mercilessly.

“Only when it’s you.” he rasped, his hands gripping my thighs like he was seconds from losing it completely.

Fury and need and regret crashing together in a way that didn’t make sense but at the same time felt like the only thing that did.

Campus looked the same. Gray, busy, loud.

But everything felt different.

We didn’t talk about what happened. We didn’t even look at each other.

Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend we weren’t carrying around the memory of each other’s bodies burned into our skin

In class, he sat two rows behind me. I could feel his eyes burning holes into my back, searing a path down my spine. Every. Single. Second. By the end of the lecture, I was practically shaking with frustration.

I grabbed my notebook, marched out into the hallway — and waited.

When he passed, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the nearest empty classroom, slamming the door shut.

For a second, we just stood there, staring at each other, the tension so thick it felt like drowning.

“Problem, princess?” he asked, mock-innocent.

I shoved him lightly. “Yeah. You're breathing again. What the hell is your problem?” I hissed, arms crossed.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, lazy, unbothered, like this was amusing. “Problem? I don't have a problem.”

I stepped closer, glaring. “You stare at me like you want to burn me alive and then act like nothing happened.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I do want to burn you alive.”

I shoved him hard. He didn’t even flinch.

Just smiled — slow, infuriating — and let his eyes drag down to my mouth.

My chest heaved with fury. “Stop looking at me like that!” I snapped.

“Like what?” he said innocently, gaze dropping to my lips again.

I groaned and rolled my eyes before grabbing the front of his hoodie and kissed him.

Hard.

He responded immediately, hands sliding to my hips, slamming me back against the door.

The kiss was brutal, messy, full of months — maybe years — of frustration detonating all at once. Starved. Wild.

We stumbled back against the teacher’s desk, knocking over papers and god-knows-what, neither of us caring.

When we finally broke apart, panting, he whispered against my mouth: “You’re fucking annoying.”

“Takes one to know one.” I whispered back, yanking him down for another kiss.

And somehow...

It became a habit.

It wasn’t supposed to become a habit. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But suddenly, he was everywhere. In my bed. On his bed. In the backseat of his shitty old car, the windows fogged, the gearshift digging into my thigh as he moved inside me, rough and desperate. In the abandoned book storage, under a dusty skylight, where he bent me over an old desk and muffled my moans with his mouth. And now, in the farthest corner of the library.

He had me pinned against a bookshelf, one hand gripping my hip, the other tangled in my hair as he fucked me from behind. The worn wooden shelf rattled with every thrust, the sound obscene in the silent library.

My skirt was bunched up around my waist, panties forgotten somewhere on the floor. His jeans pooled around his ankles.

I couldn’t hold back a shaky moan when he lifted my leg higher, the new angle making me see stars.

His mouth was pressed to my shoulder, muffling his moans against my skin, teeth grazing whenever I clenched around him. He grabbed my wrist, guiding it to his mouth, biting the heel of my palm, making me gasp, as he fucked me harder.

Seungmin growled low in his throat, and I smirked wickedly, whispering breathless: “Can't handle it, can you, baby?”

He growled low in response, fucking into me harder, faster, more desperate, making it clear who was really in control.

And it wasn’t him.

The orgasm hit so fast it almost knocked the breath out of me, my forehead pressed against the dusty shelf to stay standing.

He followed a second later, groaning my name like a curse, collapsing against my back for a few shuddering breaths before pulling out, carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he tucked himself back into his jeans.

We straightened ourselves quickly — or as quickly as two wrecked, sweaty people could in the middle of a goddamn library.

He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder like nothing had happened. I smoothed my skirt down, pretending my legs weren’t shaking.

As we walked out of the library, Seungmin shoved his hands into his pockets and said, almost casually: “I... bought that soju you said you liked once.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Was thinking... maybe you could come over. Study. Drink a little. Then…” He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “You know.”

I blinked at him, caught off-guard.

“Wait. That soju? How the hell did you even find it?”

He scowled, defensive. “I just found it, alright?” he muttered, like he hadn’t spent two hours scouring online stores for it.

I raised an eyebrow. “You scoured the internet for it, didn’t you?”

He rolled his eyes, ears pink. “Whatever. Just... if you want to come over later. Study. Drink. Maybe…” He shrugged.

I grinned wickedly. “I'd love to drink myself into a coma with you.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t hide the way the corner of his mouth tilted up.

And maybe...

Maybe I was already too far gone to care

When I stepped into Seungmin’s apartment, a gust of cold air followed me inside, swirling around my ankles and raising goosebumps along my arms. The windows rattled faintly, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low rumble of thunder, soft but persistent, like a warning. The faint smell of clean laundry and takeout lingering in the air.

It was neat, tidy — almost aggressively so, like he had scrubbed it just to have something to do with his hands.

Seungmin closed the door behind me a little too quickly, shutting out the cold — but not the tension that immediately filled the room.

He didn’t even bother with his usual sarcasm. He just moved toward the kitchen, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders stiff. In that brief moment, I could tell something was off.

I kicked off my shoes and shook the chill off my skin, frowning slightly as I watched him.

Something was wrong. Something more than the storm brewing outside.

“Hey.” I said, having him help me take off my coat and eyeing him suspiciously.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and motioned toward the living room, where the bottle of soju sat already open on the coffee table.

We moved to the couch, cracking open our notebooks, pretending we were actually there to study. At first, we did — sort of.

I read over a few pages. He pretended to make notes. We sipped soju in between, the alcohol smoothing the edges of the tension, but not erasing it.

It only grew heavier, thicker. He barely looked at me. His jaw clenched every time I shifted closer.

After nearly half an hour of fake studying and awkward silences, I slammed my pen down dramatically.

“Okay.” I said, turning fully to face him. “Spill it. What the hell is going on with you?”

He didn't answer immediately. Just scribbled something meaningless in his notebook, avoiding my eyes like they were lethal weapons.

“Nothing” he muttered.

I snorted. “Bullshit. Come on, Min. You’re a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.”

I reached across, closed his notebook slowly, deliberately, and stared him down.

“You’re acting like someone kicked your puppy. You’re moody. You’re stiff. And not even in the good way.”

His lips twitched slightly at that, but he still didn’t meet my gaze. “I said it's nothing.” he repeated stubbornly, but his tone cracked halfway through.

It was almost adorable.

Almost.

I leaned in closer, so close that our knees bumped. “You’re not getting away with it.” I said in a mock-sweet voice. “Not tonight.”

I let my hand trail up his thigh slowly, watching the way his breath hitched. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t move.

“If you're not going to talk…” I murmured, holding his gaze, sliding off the couch and kneeling between his legs, “then I'll just have to loosen you up another way.”

His eyes widened slightly, but he still didn’t say a word — stubborn even now.

I tugged the drawstring of his sweatpants loose, my fingers moving with slow, calculated intent. He was already half-hard — a clear sign that no matter how much he was pretending to be unaffected, his body wasn’t lying.

I freed him with a slow, deliberate motion, my hand wrapping around him. He groaned, low and desperate, his head falling back against the couch.

I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the sensitive tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin. He shuddered, his hand immediately sliding into my hair, not pushing, just... anchoring.

When I took him into my mouth, slow and deep, his head fell back against the couch with a broken groan.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, voice already wrecked.

I set a slow, torturous rhythm, hollowing my cheeks, dragging my tongue along every inch of him, savoring every helpless sound he made. His thighs trembled under my palms, and the way his hand tightened in my hair made me smirk against his skin.

His free hand came up, brushing the hair gently away from my face so he could see me — see everything. And then, in the middle of a particularly deep stroke, he whispered it — raw, desperate.

“I saw you…” he rasped, pushing the hair gently away from my face, his thumb brushing my temple tenderly. “At the library... talking with that asshole… laughing… looking so fucking pretty”

I hummed around him, and he let out a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly.

“Fuck, Y/N... I hated it, it made me crazy.” he admitted, his voice cracking as he stroked my cheek. “Wanted to punch him.” he gasped. “Wanted to drag you away... claim you…”

The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through me. I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my hand stroking him lazily. My heart pounded at his raw honesty, but I didn’t let up. If anything, I doubled down — moving faster, stroking the base with one hand while my mouth worked him expertly.

He was unraveling. Completely. And he didn't even try to hide it anymore.

“Fucking jealous.” he muttered, his head tipping back, exposing the long line of his throat.

I felt him tense, his thighs trembling slightly. Before he could lose it completely, he tugged me up by the shoulders, pulling me into his lap with a growl.

“Get up here” he ordered, voice rough, desperate.

Without another word, he pulled me up by the arms, yanking me onto his lap. I straddled him, sliding my body against his, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingers. Our faces inches apart, both breathing hard.

The soju had given him a slight flush — his cheeks pink, his chest heaving — and it made him look almost innocent. Almost. He wasn't.

I could feel his eyes on me, his gaze dark and filled with something I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge. His hands were on my hips, gripping me so tightly it almost hurt, and for a moment, I let myself savor that — the way he was barely holding on, like if he let go, I might slip away from him.

I pulled my sweater off slowly, teasing him with every inch of skin that was exposed, the fabric sliding over my shoulders and down my arms, before I tossed it carelessly aside. His breath caught when my bra followed, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes devoured me, like he was trying to memorize it, the hunger in them making my pulse race.

I stood up, feeling his gaze track every movement as I slowly unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my lace panties. Seungmin was breathless now, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths as he reached out to touch me, his fingers brushing against my bare thighs, reverent, sending a wave of shivers through me.

“Fuck, you're killing me…” he whispered, voice hoarse.

I leaned in, kissing him slow and deep, feeling the desperation vibrating through him. Without breaking the kiss I slid my hand between us, guiding him to my entrance, and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, I sank down onto him.

The feeling of him inside me was overwhelming — I could feel every inch of him, stretching me, filling me completely. Both of us gasped at the same time, my body shaking slightly from the intensity of it.

I stayed still for a moment, letting the sensation settle, trying to focus on the way his hands gripped my waist, his fingers digging into my skin as if he was trying to keep me grounded.

“You feel so fucking good.” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “I can’t even…”

His hands moved from my waist to my hips, his thumbs pressing against the sides of my ribs, and then he helped me move, his body matching the rhythm I set. I leaned back slightly, letting him fill me deeper with every movement, my hands resting on his chest for balance as I rocked against him. He reached up, running his hands over my waist, my stomach, my breasts, like he couldn't get enough.

His eyes never left me, watching the way my body moved over his, the way I controlled the pace, the way I made him feel like he was losing his mind. I leaned down, kissing him hard, desperate, letting him taste the hunger that had been building between us.

His hands slid up my back, pushing my hair away from my neck, and he kissed me there — soft at first, then with more urgency. The contrast between his gentleness and the rawness of our bodies crashing together made my breath catch.

“You’re fucking perfect.” he muttered, his lips against my skin. “God, you feel so perfect.”

I increased the pace, rolling my hips faster, harder, the friction between us driving both of us to the edge. He was moaning now, his hands moving to my breasts, squeezing and massaging them as I continued to ride him.

I could feel him getting closer — his movements more frantic, more desperate — and I loved the way he was losing himself in me.

“Y/N... Fuck, you’re incredible…” he groaned, his hands slid under my ass, guiding me, helping me move faster, deeper.

I felt my own orgasm building — the pressure, the heat, the way our bodies were in perfect sync, like we were both caught in the same storm.

I leaned down, kissing him again, this time slower, more tender, as I continued to move on top of him. He pulled me closer, his hands sliding up my back, pulling me into him as if he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you’re beautiful.” he praised me again, his voice cracking. “You're a fucking dream, Y/N.”

That broke me. The words, the way he said them with such vulnerability, the way he couldn’t hide how much he cared — it was too much.

I came first, my body shaking as the pleasure coursed through me, and Seungmin followed right after, his whole body tensing beneath me as he groaned my name.

We collapsed together, both of us gasping for air, trembling from the intensity of it all.

Seungmin’s hand found my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he pulled me into a slow kiss, still out of breath but somehow still wanting more. He pulled back after a moment, his forehead resting against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

I smiled, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw as I looked down at him.

The slow kiss between us deepened, his forehead pressed against mine, so close I could feel the soft flutter of his eyelashes against my skin, his arms still cradling my waist, his body still warm and heavy inside me. Seungmin's hand traced slow, lazy circles along my spine, as if he had no intention of letting me go.

As if I belonged there.

With him.

The world outside blurred into nothing — just the soft rumble of thunder far away and the faint tremble of Seungmin's breath against my lips.

And somewhere, in the middle of all that… my heart stuttered violently. But it wasn’t like before — not the rush of lust, not the usual reckless thrill.

It hurt.

A sharp, aching kind of pain that made my chest tighten and my lungs forget how to breathe.

And that was when it hit me.

I loved him.

The realization knocked the air out of me, heavier than the storm clouds gathering outside the window. Panic flared instantly in my chest, hotter than anything I had felt that night. The thought sliced through me with terrifying clarity.

I tried to breathe, tried to ground myself, but my mind betrayed me — flooding with every moment, every memory that led me here.

The way he encouraged me before the presentation and said — in the most nonchalant way possible — “You’re gonna kill it.” and “You’re smarter than half the people in this room.” Like it was the most normal thing to say to the girl you're supposed to hate.

The way he used to sit across from me in the library for hours, flicking tiny crumpled paper balls at my forehead every time I started to lose focus, pretending it was just to annoy me — but never leaving until I finished every last page.

The way, after the first time at his house we crossed the line, he wordlessly pulled me up from the messy bed, his arms steady and sure, carrying me straight to the bathroom. No teasing, no smirking — just warm hands steadying me under the shower spray, his fingers gently untangling my hair like I was something precious.

The way he disappeared into the kitchen afterward, reappearing fifteen minutes later with a grilled cheese — tragically burnt, awful grilled cheese — because he thought I might be hungry.

The way he always had some sarcastic comment ready to throw at me — just to see me roll my eyes and smile.

The way that when we were alone his fingers always found my wrist, my waist, the small of my back — little touches so casual they could have been accidental, but they never were. Like he needed the reassurance that I was real and still there.

The way he never once made me feel like I owed him anything in return.

The way he just... stayed.

All of it crashed into me at once, a kaleidoscope of moments that I hadn't realized mattered so much until now.

I opened my eyes, searching his face. He looked so peaceful. So real. His hair messy from my fingers, lips swollen from my kisses, a faint pinkness staining his cheeks from the soju we’d shared earlier. He looked like something I could never deserve but stupidly still wanted. No — needed.

The love sat heavy in my chest, raw and suffocating.

I love him.

I loved his stupid sarcasm. I loved his soft touches hidden behind gruff words. I loved his messy hair, his crooked smile, his smartass mouth. I love his little mole on the bridge of his nose. I loved the way he fought me, pushed me, infuriated me — and still made me feel seen in ways no one else ever had.

Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

No.

No, no, no.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this. I wasn’t supposed to love Seungmin.

Reality slammed back into me.

I shifted slightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel vast again. Seungmin's brows furrowed, his hand tightening instinctively on my waist.

Leaning away from him, my body trembling as I scrambled off his lap. I could feel the sudden chill on my bare skin as I grabbed my discarded clothes, pulling my sweater over my head with frantic, clumsy hands, avoiding his confused, sleepy gaze.

“Y/N?” he called softly, his voice was thick, confused, still hoarse from our kisses. “Where are you–”

I didn't answer. I grabbed my skirt, slipping it back on quickly, reaching for my bag like the room was on fire.

“Where are you going?” he asked, standing up, his brows furrowing.

I didn’t even look at him. I needed to get out. Out of that room, out of the weight pressing down on my chest. I needed to breathe.

Before I did something irreversible. Before I begged him to love me back.

He moved toward the window and then froze. Outside, it had started to pour — sheets of rain hammering against the glass, the sky flashing briefly with distant lightning.

“It’s's raining.” he said, voice cautious. “Why don't you just... stay tonight?”

I shook my head frantically, shoving my feet into my shoes, my fingers trembling. “I can't.” I choked out, barely able to breathe, my throat closing.

He reached for me but I bolted, slamming the door behind me, running down the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the walls, my heart breaking with every step.

I ran down the stairwell, skipping steps as I sprinted downward, my heart racing, my vision blurring. The sound of rain getting louder, closer, until I burst through the front doors into the storm.

The moment I pushed the exit door open, the cold rain hit me like a wall, instantly soaking me to the bone — I had forgotten my coat —. I stumbled forward blindly, tears and raindrops blurring together on my face.

I barely made it a few steps before I heard him.

“Y/N!”

His voice, sharp, desperate, cutting through the downpour.

I ignored it. Kept walking. And then suddenly —A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back, spinning me around.

Seungmin stood there, drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like he had just run a marathon, anger and hurt twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable.

His other hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back slightly so I had to look at him. We were soaked, trembling, our breaths steaming in the cold night air.

His face was wild with frustration, with something deeper, something raw and terrified. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, his voice cracking with anger and something else — fear.

I shoved him. Hard.

My hands slamming against his chest, tears spilling from my eyes. “This is your fault!” I screamed, my voice raw, breaking. “Your stupid hair– your fucking smile– your goddamn eyes–”

I shoved him again, sobbing now, my fists hitting his chest uselessly. “I wasn't supposed to feel this! I wasn’t supposed to love you!”

Seungmin grabbed my wrists, holding them tightly, forcing me to stop hitting him. His hands were rough but not cruel — desperate. “You think this was easy for me?!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “You think it didn’t fucking kill me to see you every day and pretend you weren't everything I wanted?!”

I struggled against him, tears streaming down my face, mixing with the rain.

“You think I didn’t want to scream every time someone else looked at you like you weren't mine?!” he gasped, voice hoarse with the weight of everything he had been holding back. “I wanted to tell everyone. I wanted to grab you and say— she’s fucking mine.”

The rain pounded harder, soaking through our clothes, making our bodies slick against each other.

I tried to pull away again, but he gripped my shoulders tighter, pulling me closer, locking his burning eyes to mine. “You felt it too.” he whispered fiercely. “Tell me you felt it too, Y/N.”

I shook my head weakly, trying to pull away from him, the rain blinding me, my heart pounding so loud I couldn’t think. “I can't–” I gasped, my voice barely audible.

But he didn’t let me go. He stepped closer, almost shaking with the effort of keeping himself together. “Look at me.” he demanded. “Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me it wasn’t real. Tell me you don’t feel anything. Tell me you don’t love me.”

I opened my mouth. Tried to speak. Tried to lie.

Nothing came out, not a single curse or remark. Nothing except a broken sob.

“Tell me you don't feel it, Y/N.”he shouted. “Tell me you don't love me.” His voice broke on the last word, and for a second, the world around us went silent except for the rain pounding against the pavement.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat closed up, the words stuck somewhere between terror and heartbreak. “I don't– I–” I tried, but I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t lie.

The pain on his face when I faltered nearly broke me in half. He saw the truth in my eyes before I could even say it.

We crashed into each other. The kiss was brutal, angry, full of tears and frustration and all the love we were too scared to admit. Full of every unspoken word, every feeling we were too terrified to say out loud.

His hands tangled in my hair, yanking me closer, desperate, like he needed me to breathe. My fists clutched his soaked shirt, pulling him down to me as if I could tear him apart and rebuild him at the same time.

Tears mixed with the rain on both of our faces, the salty taste of heartbreak on our lips as we clung to each other in the storm, drowning in everything we had tried so hard to deny.

We kissed like we were drowning. Because maybe we were.

We were soaked. We were shaking. We were real. And for the first time, we weren't hiding anymore.

He pressed his forehead against mine, rain soaking us, his hand trembling on my waist, his breath was shaky against my lips.

“You're messy, infuriating, impossible — no one never would wreck me the way you do. But I'd let you, a thousand times over, cause that's the way i love you.

Always You

Pairing: Best friend! Bangchan x Afab! Reader

Summary: It’s hard to enjoy a party when your best friend who you’ve been in love with for years turns up with his girlfriend…

Warnings: MDNI, dom!chan, sub!reader, possessive!chan, unprotected sex (don’t be like them) dirty talk, cum eating, multiple orgasms (f!rec) fingering (f!rec) mentions of mastubation, spitting (chan spits on it yk..) tummy bulge, creampie

Wc: 2.7k

a/n: did I write and edit it this in one sitting? yes I did,,, is this also my return to writing fics after 5 years bc I’m so attracted to chan idk what to do?? Also yes 🤪

‘‘Lixieee watch my drink, I nearly dropped it’’ You roll your eyes and smile at Felix as he practically jumps on you. His parties were always rowdy, especially when Jisung wormed his way into the planning. Colourful lights strewn around every pillar and doorway, countless bottles and cheesy red cups littering the granite countertops in the dorm kitchen, the air thick with smoke and the sickly sweet scent of liquor.

Part of you loved how committed the boys were to throwing the most stereotypical frat parties, the perfect way to unwind from the stress of uni life. You scan the room for that all too familiar face but find no sign of him, your shoulders dropping slightly, the disappointment in your chest too strong to ignore.

You and Chan had been best friends since you were 12, your parents pushing you together as an unlikely duo. You'd immediately become inseparable,spending every second with each other. People had always questioned your relationship, everyone thought you must be dating if you were so close, but you and Chan were just friends, at least that's what you convinced yourself it had to be.

You first started having feelings for Chan at 18, you were university freshmen starting the next big chapter of your lives together and you couldn't get him out of your head. His deep brown eyes that sparkled when he spoke about the things he loved, his soft curly black hair that you loved ruffling to annoy him and his dimples that became impossibly deep when he smiled. Being around him was both torture and comfort. Three years later and you were still completely in love with someone who views you as his best friend, nothing more. In other words, you're utterly fucked.

‘’Lix, have you seen Chan tonight? I thought he was coming’’  Felix still clinging to you in his tipsy state. His messy blonde hair slightly covering his eyes and freckle-dotted cheeks, a pink blush dusting his skin thanks to the many drinks he’d already knocked back.

‘’Nah not yet, he said he's coming later after his date’’ he slurs his words a little, all giggly and happy, not knowing the ache his words cause you. You hum in response, suddenly feeling less sociable than a few minutes ago.

‘’Ahhhhh speak of the devil’’ Felix laughs and nods toward the doorway, Chan's broad shoulders making it look tiny. His hand interlocked with hers, observing the room and briefly locking eyes with you before looking away.

Chan had been dating Euna for a few months, but it never got easier seeing them together. 

They'd met in one of your classes, Euna was sweet, pretty  and very popular with both the students and teachers. It hadn’t taken Chan too long to fall for her and spend less and less time with you. He swore nothing had changed between you two but you knew better. It wasn't long after they started dating that Chan began cancelling your plans because ‘Euna planned something’ or he ‘just couldn't make it that day’ You wanted to believe that it would all go back to the way it was soon enough but that day never came, Chan drifting further as time passed. 

You missed his smile, the way he would make you laugh, the way he would bring you your favourite food when you were tired or upset. You thought that maybe one day you would be together, that Chan would see you as more than just his best friend. Sometimes it felt like more between you two. 

He and Euna weave their way through the crowd, her trailing slightly behind, Chan looking back at her every so often with a smile, the sight of them making you nauseous though you wish it didn't. Chan lets go of her to pull Felix into a hug, Euna eyeing you awkwardly as the two of them catch up. Euna had never been rude to you, never made a snarky comment about you being friends with Chan, but she never really said much around you if you were honest. 

‘’Your dress is super pretty’’ you squeak out attempting to break the silence between you two, She offers up a small thank you and a tight smile and turns to Chan as he pulls her into his side, his attention now on the two of you instead of the tipsy blonde Aussie

 ‘’Hey y/n’’ Chan smiles as he lets go of Euna and pulls you into a quick side hug, letting go as quickly as he’d pulled you in, his soft musky scent filling your senses. The four of you make small talk, Chan's eyes catching your own as Felix rambles to Euna about his current pc build. The air starts to feel suffocating, his glances making you feel trapped. You quickly make an excuse to leave, Chan's smile faltering as you excuse yourself from their conversation and disappear into the crowd of bodies. 

It was impossible to think while Chan was standing there, his arms wrapped around Euna unapologetically. The jealousy burning more than the straight tequila sloshing around in your cup, you start to sway to the music begging yourself to forget about him and enjoy your night. You feel a pair of eyes follow your silhouette but you continue to drink and dance, the alcohol making its way through your system and drowning out every thought.

 You feel a figure behind you grabbing your hips and swaying with you, turning your head to see the blurred outline of Hyunjin, his hair in his eyes, a pair of red sunglasses perched on his nose. You let yourself melt into him, you'd always found him attractive anyway. You and Hyunjin move together perfectly, his smooth movements guiding your own as he whispers the lyrics to the song in your ear, his plump lips catching your skin slightly. You finally move your eyes to Chan still feeling someone watching you, secretly wishing it was him. You’re met with a sharp glare, his eyes never leaving you and Hyunjin, his jaw locked in annoyance, you roll your eyes at him and turn around to face Hyunjin winding your arms around his slender neck. 

You turn back to glance at Chan to find him charging your way, ripping you from your dance partner's embrace and towards the stairwell. 

‘’Chan what the fuck are you doing?’’ you yell, trying to wriggle your wrist from his strong grip as he pulls you upstairs and into one of the empty bedrooms.

‘’What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are YOU doing y/n? Grinding all over Hyunjin like that’’

‘’We are not doing this right now, why does it have anything to do with you, Chan? Why do you even care?’’ venom coating your words, attempting to open the door and leave but being stopped short when he stands in the way, eyes burning into yours. Chan had never been like this with you, what had gotten into him?

‘’What? Are you suddenly into Hyunjin?? We both know he's not right for you y/n’’  his eyebrows knitted in annoyance.

‘’And how would you know what's best for me Chan? We hardly talk anymore!’’ you run your fingers through your hair, easing the tension building up behind your eyes. 

‘’Of course we still talk, you know i've been busy’’ he fires back, disregarding how much space really had built up between the two of you. 

’Give it up Chan and go back to Euna, what I do with Hyunjin has fuck all to do with you’’ you can't deal with the confusion, why is he acting like he's jealous of you and Hyunjin? Why does it matter to him? 

‘’’I’m your best friend y/n of course it has something to do with me, he's not right for you’’ 

‘’Oh my god get your head out of your ass chan, just like you said, you're my best friend not my boyfriend. You can date but I can't? I'm not gonna wait on you to notice me for the rest of my life’’ You turn your face away from him, your confidence and fire slipping as Chan studies you intensely, the room silent apart from your breathing. 

‘’My god you’re an idiot’’ Chan mumbles before grabbing your chin and smashing his lips onto yours, you melt into the kiss at first before snapping out of it and pushing him away

Chan what are you doing?’’ You feel dizzy as you maintain your balance, your hands still pressed against his toned chest. your lungs heaving in time with the thud of the music coming from below. 

‘’You really have no idea, do you? I’m fucking in love with you y/n, why do you think I even started dating Euna in the first place, I wanted to get over you, why else would I jump into a relationship with a girl I hardly knew??’’ The annoyance in his voice evident as he goes on, he runs his hand through his hair repeatedly,  messy waves falling in his face. 

You stare up at him stunned, your lips parted in surprise, he pulls you back in, his lips covering yours as he presses you into him with fervour. He deepens the kiss and walks you backwards, his hands pressing into your hips, his hold nothing like hyunjins. He pulls away his eyes searching yours for something, anything. 

“Tell me to stop, if you don't want this I’ll walk away” his voice is breathy and pained, evident that the last thing he wanted was for you to say now.

You've waited too long for this, for him to need you, touch you. You know it's wrong, his girlfriend just a floor below but you’ve wanted and waited too much to stop and walk away, you can deal with your moral shortcomings tomorrow. 

‘’Please, Chan’’ you whisper, desperate for him to touch you again, clenching your thighs together as heat pools in your lower stomach, your insides on fire for him. He watches how desperate you are for him, your answer clear.

‘’Fuck you’re perfect’’ you look at him pleadingly and he can't hold back anymore, he’d thought about you like this too many times to count, in dreams and when awake. When he can't sleep and he fucks his fist wishing it was you, how pretty your moans would sound as he rocked into you, how tight you'd be around him, how his cum would leak out of your fluttering hole. He was too far gone, a man possessed. 

You gasp as he pushes you back on the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress perfectly, he licks and nips at your jaw, his hand finding your soaked underwear under your skirt, circling your puffy clit through the slick fabric. 

“You’re so wet for me baby, bet Hyunjin could never have this effect on you. Gonna fuck you so good you'll forget he exists’’ his words making you tingle, his fingers exactly where you need them.

‘’Only want you’’ Your voice comes out breathy and fucked out even though he’s barely touched you and it sends a rush of blood to Chan's already rock-solid cock, straining against the tight fabric of his black jeans.

He sinks two fingers into your tight pussy and you scream in pleasure and pain at the intrusion, his fingers so much thicker and longer than yours, the stretch taking your breath away 

‘’Yeah be a good girl and take my fingers in that tight little cunt, I know you can’’ The way he whispers as your pussy stretches around his fingers and wet squelches echo through the room has you throwing your head back, Chans other hand finding your tits as he stretches you out for him. You shake as he moves his fingers in and out of you, the stretch now dissolved into intense pleasure. He can tell you're close, your eyes closed in pleasure as you sigh out his name.

‘’cum for me pretty, cum around my fingers’’ You moan his name over and over as he rubs your soaking clit and plunges his fingers into your sopping hole,  your back arching in pleasure as he works you through your high. Shouting his name as you cum on his fingers. He pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean. The sight alone already making you needy for more 

‘’Need you so bad baby, need to feel you milk my cock’’ he breathes out as he undoes his belt, desperate to be inside of you. You spread your sticky thighs, your glistening pussy on full display for him. His cock springs free from its confines, his pink tip leaking down onto the rest of his thick veiny length. It was no surprise he had the prettiest cock you'd ever seen. He gives it a few pumps, slapping your clit with his bulbous tip, and you moan in pleasure at the sting. 

‘’Take it, baby. Gonna stretch you out so good, gonna make you mine’’ his voice shaky as he presses into you, your pussy spasming around his hard length splitting you open, he slowly bottoms out with a moan stilling inside you. His cock making your stomach bulge with his size 

‘’Fuckfuckfuckkkk you're still so tight, such a perfect pussy’’ his words coming out more like a mantra, the feeling of you around him making him pussydrunk. He fucks in and out of you grabbing your thighs, spreading you wider for him, watching where you’re joined as he takes you. 

 ‘’talk to me baby girl, tell me how I make you feel’’ 

‘’Love it when you fuck me Channie, love your cock so much’’ your voice strained and whiny, writhing against the sheets as he sets a rough pace. He spits on your pussy, the liquid dripping down to where you meet, the sight only aiding his pleasure. 

‘’Bet you thought about this huh? Thought about how good it would feel when I ruin you, hmm baby? Bet you’d touch this little clit thinking about how good I would fuck you?’’ His thrusts become sloppy as he nears his orgasm, his fingers coming to circle your clit. Your moans getting louder as you get close for the second time.

‘’Cum with me baby, wanna cum in this pussy, fill you up with my cum’’ his thrusts getting more erratic and desperate as you orgasm together. You scream his name, your nails digging into his toned back muscles. Chan stills as he spurts his hot release into you, his cum painting your insides a milky white. He collapses onto you, his muscled chest pressed against your fucked out form, both of you breathing heavily. 

‘’Fuck you're mine, just mine’’ he whispers, his cock still inside you, both your release leaking out around his still hard dick.. 

‘’Yeah just yours, Channie’’ you breathe out dreamily, still coming down from your high  

You both lay like that for a while, Chan's face tucked into your neck, leaving gentle kisses, his cock stiffening again inside of you, the party coming to an end downstairs. Things had happened so fast you hadn't realised Chan brought you to his own room, the purple lights giving his skin a lilac hue. 

‘’Chan. What happens now?” You hesitate not wanting to ruin the moment, praying you didn't just fuck everything up with him with a simple question.

He sighs into your skin snuggling closer ‘’I meant it when I said you're mine y/n, Euna knows she and I are done, she knew I was in love with you. I want this, I want you’’ his voice soft and sleepy. 

Your heart nearly explodes, ‘’I love you too Chan, I want you too’’ you kiss him passionately, his tongue fighting yours for dominance, smiling into the kiss as he begins moving inside you again. It feels like a dream and you can't believe he's in love with you too, that he wants you like you want him. Now you have him you'll never let him go, you have always been his, even if he didn't know it. 

‘’It's always been you y/n’’

-ty for reading!! Alr working on more hehe

𐙚 i want it ⋆ h.js x fem! reader pt. 2

part one ⋆ part two

pairing: han jisung x inexperienced! reader genre: smut, smau warnings: swearing ⋆ spit kink⋆ virginity ⋆ needy han ⋆ slight perv!han ⋆ reader is called “baby” and “pretty girl” ⋆ no use of “y/n” ⋆ reader is referred to by she/her pronouns ⋆ piv ⋆ munch jisung ⋆ oral sex (fem recieving) ⋆ fingering ⋆ light cum play ⋆ lots of praise ⋆ dialogue heavy wc: 3.2k synopsis: a week after jisung eats you out, he takes your virginity at your eager request. author's note: i feel like this is a safe enough space to say that i kinda didn’t wanna write this pt 2. i struggled a lot, but it’s finally finished!! didn’t wanna leave you guys hanging so i pushed through and delivered! if you like it feel free to reblog or comment bc those make my day <3

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

a pit of guilt grows in jisung’s gut. he promised you months ago that he’d take it slow. he broke that promise the moment it got too difficult to keep his dick in his pants. months ago, you would barely make out with him. you were so shy when it came to being intimate. but slowly, you got more used to it. slowly. 

he promised you that your first time together would be at the right moment. and he begged to get your pussy in his mouth before you were ready. he was such an awful boyfriend.

at least, that’s what he thought. 

jisung was oblivious to the lust that clouded your mind the following days. the way you’d wake up in the morning, only to feel slick between your thighs from the wet dreams the night before. the way you’d be going about your day, and suddenly the image of your boyfriend rubbing his dick on your pussy flashes in your mind. or the way you fantasize at night about how it’d feel to experience it all over again–his tongue, his fingers. how you'd fall asleep to the thought of his cock inside you.

he started a fire inside you without even knowing, and he needed to quell it before you lost your mind.

he’s barely even went further than kissing you since he ate you out. you know that jisung is scared to force you. but you also know that you’re ready. 

instead of asking him to fuck you, like any rational person would do, you decide the best way to what you want is to seduce him into it. it isn’t hard. really, it’s stupid easy. even a virgin can do it. 

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

when jisung gets into your apartment, all he wants to do is cuddle you while you stroke his hair. it’s one of the tamer things he’s been dreaming of all day. 

“baby?” he says, and shuts your apartment door. it’s silent. “baby?”

“bedroom.” is all you reply. when he opens the door, he pauses. he definitely had something to say with the way his mouth hangs open, but as soon as he sees you it’s thrown out the window. you see his adams apple bob as he swallows, and takes in the sight of you: naked except for a thin, cropped camisole and panties, your sweatshirt barely covering your arms before it falls to the floor.

“jisung.” you try your best to keep the amusement out of your voice. 

“shit! sorry, baby.” he snaps out of it quickly, adverting his gaze to the wall behind you. half of his thoughts for the past week come back to him all at once. seeing you barely covered makes the blood rush to his face, and his dick. it’s an instant reminder of how he had you just a week ago. he doesn’t look back to you, he might be strong enough mentally, but his dick sure isn’t. traitor.

“how was your day?” you're so casual about it, sauntering up to him and hugging him like you're not practically naked in front of him. like your tits don't press up against his chest when you hug him tightly.

“good. it was good. i missed you.” he's trying to stay calm. keep his dick from flying out of his pants like some deranged, horny adolescent who just discovered porn.

“yeah? still wanna cuddle like you wanted to earlier?” you ask, referencing a text he sent you a few hours ago.

screw his dick, his heart needed you more.

jisung sits on your bed, his back resting against the headboard. he watches as you climb into his lap, bare thighs against his sweats. you're so warm, and you smell so good… you're gonna kill him one day.

the moment your hands are in his hair, he's taking a deep, grounding breath. he loves when you play with his hair, it's the perfect stress relief for him. his girl, all pretty in his lap, running her fingers through his hair. dream come fucking true.

jisung can't help the low groan that escapes his lips as he adjusts his position. his arms wrap around you, shifting you in his lap so you're not sitting on his dick.

“fuck, baby.” he mutters. his eyes are shut, teeth biting at his lip to keep himself quiet.

it's cute, really. how worked up your boyfriend gets over you. you can't help but kiss the corner of his mouth, your hands cupping his cheeks as you try to push things further.

“kiss me, jisung?” the way you ask him is so sweet, so innocent sounding. like you don’t have a plan (you do) and all the pieces aren’t falling into place (they are). he can't resist, leaning up to kiss you short, sweet, and chaste. 

it's not enough. you take charge, kissing him and shifting in his lap to get a better angle. he gets the message, and lets you lead the kiss. in no time you're deepening it, your tongue in his mouth, and jisung's quick to pull back, your unusual boldness finally catching him off guard. 

“you good, baby?”

“mhm.”

“really?”

“you haven't kissed me in forever.” you're quick to defend yourself with a pout. forever, a week… same thing.

“c'mon, baby. you know i don't wanna rush you… i wanna take it slow with you, you asked me that and i'm doing my best…” he's looking at you like you’re too good for him, or he’s too bad for you. “you really don't know how hard that is for me, sometimes.” he mutters, eyes averting away from you. his hands come to rest on your hips, and it illustrates his point: he can't keep his hands off you.

“you're so gorgeous… prettiest girl i’ve ever seen. and you've got no idea how badly i just wanna push you down on the bed and fuck you sometimes.” jisung takes his hands off you, like they'll betray him. his hands ball up into fists at his sides. “you deserve someone who's able to wait for you, patiently.”

you don't like the implication of jisung's words. that you might ‘deserve’ someone better than him. your hands reach for his wrists, and guide his hands back to your body where they currently belong.

“i don't want anyone else, jisung, only you. it felt good when you ate me out. i liked it. i want more.” you cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. “fuck me. please?” you ask, thumbing over his cheeks. your eyes are so warm, so full of love for your just slightly perverted boyfriend.

“i don't wanna make you wait anymore. i'm ready now. please? i want it.”

jisung can't resist you: his dick is throbbing in his sweats, his mind clouded because you look so damn good on his lap. you're begging him to take your virginity. you’re clearing up the doubt and guilt in his mind. who is he to deny you any further? 

“i love you.” he grins, shaking his head. his hands travel up from your hips to your waist, and he presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “lie down, baby. let me take care of you.”

you’re quick to push yourself off his lap, and lie down beside his sitting form. there’s an air of excitement bouncing between you two as he kneels between your legs. he sits back to admire you beneath him. 

the way your hair lies behind you, the eager look in your eyes, the gloss of your lips from the messy kiss you shared. the way your top scrunches up beneath your tits, the strap barely falling off your shoulder. It’s the little nuances of your appearance that have him feeling like the wind’s been knocked from his lungs, and he wants to commit that beauty to memory, write about it like he’ll ever find the right words to describe you.

debauched. hot. perfect. ‘mine’. 

he can’t control himself, hands wandering your body to brush up your thighs. they reach your ribs and begin pushing up your top, freeing your tits for him to grope and tease. he takes in the way your breath catches, notes the things he does what makes you react. you’re so reactive and all he’s done is feel you up.

“shh… baby, i know…” he whispers as he takes your nipple between his thumb and index finger to give it a rough pinch. “want it so bad, right? want me to just put it in?” 

you nod. he’s worked you up quickly. “not yet. my girl deserves a special first time. i can’t just put it in. what kind of boyfriend would i be?”

“but, ji–” jisung’s hands trailing down your ribcage to your hips. his thumbs soothe over the skin, but his grip is firm, and keeps you in your place. 

“don’t be a brat.” the sudden sternness in his voice has you shutting up immediately. you don’t think he’s ever spoken to you with such strictness… it turns you on. with that, he stands, and pulls you to the edge of the bed. 

“let me take care of you.” his voice is softer as he speaks and drops to his knees on the floor. he ends all your thoughts of impatience the moment he begins kissing up your inner thighs. “gotta prep my girl first, okay?”

there’s a gentleness in his touch, as he spreads your thighs a little wider, taking in the sight of you. as if he didn’t make you cum on his tongue with no regards for your virgin status just a week ago. “relax f’me.”

he spreads your pussy open with two fingers, and in seconds there’s a slow, wet trail of his spit dripping down your clit. jisung starts with slow, gentle licks that have you melting into his touch. he works up a fire inside you that spreads with every deep shallow breath, every barely audible whine from your lips. when your wetness and his saliva are all glistening across his chin, he pulls away. “how’s it feel, pretty girl?”

“good.” you breathe out, and suck in a deep breath. “want more.” you roll your hips, desperate to get his mouth back on you. 

"yeah? more what?” jisung rubs your thighs, giving you a break whether you like it or not. it’s a form of self control for himself as well, he can’t get lost in eating you out if he stops. “what do you want more of, baby? tell me.”

honestly, you don’t know. you just want more of the feeling he’s giving you, the fire that builds slowly and threatens to take your breath away. luckily, jisung is more than happy to give you options. “want more of my mouth? or do you want to try my fingers?”

“just wanna feel good.” you decide, and jisung smiles. you’re cute, and you trust him with to make you feel good, even if you don’t know what you want. he’s eager now, your plea spurring him on. jisung teases his finger at your entrance, and slowly inserts it as he begins to suck on your clit. it’s not enough, not for jisung. as soon as he feels you relaxing around one finger, he’s quick to insert anther. it’s not a hard stretch. not when your pussy’s being so greedy, sucking in his fingers as he sucks on your clit. 

all the while you’re moaning his name so sweetly, rutting your hips up into his mouth like he’s just a pillow for you to hump. “fuck, baby…” he’s moaning into your pussy, reaching his arms beneath your thighs to pull you closer.

“ji…” the way you moan his name is obscene. he wants to hear it again.

“cum on my tongue.” it’s somewhere between a command and a plea. however he asks, he needs to see it again, feel it again–fuck, he needs to taste it again. “cum on my tongue and you can have my dick, baby. ‘s all yours.” 

it’s not lost on him that you’re close when your hands reach for his hair, tugging in a way that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head. he knows before you do, and he’s doing all he can to make you tip over the edge. 

“please–” 

the fire he coaxes within you builds and builds. until you’re warm to the touch and can’t speak anything but his name in broken moans. he holds you down when you cum, your hips fighting against his strength as his fingers fuck you through it.

“good girl… that’s my good girl…” he praises. his eyes are glued to your face, taking in every frame of you as you come undone on his fingers. once your breathing calms, and you lie still on the bed, his eyes trail down to your pussy. his fingers gather the wetness of your cunt and pull out in tandem with your whine of “too much!”

“look at you, baby…” he coos as he stands. “that’s my good girl, cumming on my tongue so pretty for me.” his clean hand trails up your body, and rests against your throat. his hand is warm, almost weightless as it rests above your throat. it’s oddly grounding for you.

“made such a mess, though…” an idea pops into his head.  “you ever taste yourself, baby?” you shake your head no. jisung brings two fingers up to your lips. “go ahead.” he brushes the slick pads of his fingers against your bottom lip.

“clean up the mess you made.”

jisung groans as you take his fingers into your mouth. He can’t recall seeing a sweeter sight in his life. the way you look up at him, eyes wide and glossy as his fingers hit the back of your throat. you don’t stop though. you keep sucking, even beginning to bob your head a little and it goes straight to his dick.

he’s enjoying this too much.

jisung slides his fingers out of your mouth, and runs the same hand through his hair. “feel good?” he takes note of the look on your face, so fucked out already. you nod. it’s not a good enough response for him. “talk to me.” he’s gentle as he speaks, and brushes your hair out of your face. 

“feels good, ji.” you sigh, and shut your eyes. 

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“want more? or are you done for the night?” jisung’s thumb caresses your cheek, the other hand sits softly at your waist.

“more, please?” 

“of course, baby. you did so good for me. i promised you i’d give you my cock, didn’t i? gotta give my pretty girl what she wants.” it makes him impatient, to know that he has you prepped and eager for him. but he has to start slowly. 

he pushes his sweats down beneath his thighs, too impatient to fully take them off. he fists his heavy cock in his hands as the tip prods at your entrance. 

“gonna put it in now, okay?” he doesn't give you much time to think about it and before you can reply, he's pushing in. 

“jisung…” your eyes shut as you moan his name, and jisung watches the way your pussy welcomes him. you watch jisung: the hungry look in his eyes, the messiness of his hair, the way he breathes deep and slow as he takes you. half his cock is nestled inside you when he finally breaks the silence.

“you're doing so good, baby…” he mutters, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “taking me so well…” 

it's then that he starts to thrust. calculated and slow strokes that have you gasping as clenching around him. jisung is captivated. his eyes are glued onto the way you suck him in. he's barely able to keep himself from fucking into you deeper. 

your eyes wander down from taking in jisung's expressions, to the way his hips fuck into you with all the restraint he has. it makes you want more, want to feel him completely.

“more,” it's not an ask or a plea. it's a demand. you keen into his touch, and your eyes lock. “i want it all.” 

jisung laughs. he can't help it, you're cute. “more, baby? you want all my cock?” he teases and slowly begins to pull out.

“yes!” you whine, “jisung, please?”

it's cute. you're so desperate for him. it's hypocritical almost. he's using all his self control trying not to fuck you like he's a fucking rabbit in heat.

without any warning, he's grabbing your hips and pulling you closer. he slides into you, slowly. he groans as he bottoms out. you reach out to grip the sheets, but he's quick to grasp your hand instead.

“good job, baby. fuck, pussy's made for me–hold my hand, pretty girl…”

jisung pulls back and he swears he sees stars. “fuck…” he doesn't know how much longer he can control himself. his thrusts are deep and slow, falling into the familiar routine he fucked you with earlier. 

it's not enough for you. not enough pleasure to satiate the fire hes stoking inside of you. “more.” you demand. “more, ji.” something snaps in him. he’s quick to fulfill your request, fucking into you faster. 

“so dirty, baby. never been fucked before and already can’t get enough.” you can’t deny his words, or respond. all you do is moan his name again and arch into his touch.

“close?” you mutter, almost unsure of when your own orgasm is coming. with that, jisung spreads your pussy open with his fingers, and spits right on your clit. the high pitched whine that leaves your lips makes him smirk. 

“i know, baby.” his fingers work fast circles against your clit, and he feels the way you tense and squirm against his touch. “too much!” and it’s not. jisung knows it’s not. it’s just enough.

 “cum for me, baby.” and you do: with little whines and moans of his name, with little rolls of your hips to chase the pleasure he’s giving you. you’re clenching around him like a vice, each flutter of your pussy brings him closer to cumming, and he’s already trying his best to hold off.

he can’t take it anymore. jisung pulls out quickly and fists himself as he cums on your tummy. “that’s my girl… did so well.” he praises, his free hand soothing over your hip. 

jisung watches as you come down from your high. you're so pretty. his pretty girl. all ruined. your hair's a mess. the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead. his cum all over your tummy.

“how are you feeling, baby?” he asks with a soft smile on his face. 

“good,” you nod, a barely there smile on your face as you reach for his hand. “more than good.” 

you tug his hand, trying to pull him down to cuddle you. it's a signal that jisung responds to immediately. he's pulling you to the side to spoon you. 

one hand rests against your tummy, and he rests your head against his other arm. he kisses your nape, then your shoulder, then rests his head against you. it’s peaceful. 

“i love you, jisung.”

“i love you, baby.”

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

𐙚 : STRAYKIDS FINDING OUT YOU CAN'T CUM (text) ֶָ֢ !

request: heyy love your work can i req a bsf! skz text in which reader admits they can't cum and bsf!skz offers to help them out :D🫶

authors note. i hope you like it ❤️🫶🏾

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

©️LUVYENI

TILL DEATH DO US PART.

Lee Know x reader. (s)

Synopsis: You and Minho head to a cabin for a weekend getaway but beneath the seemingly normal relationship, both harbor dark secrets and hidden desires to end the marriage by any means necessary. (13,1k words)

Author's note: Happy birthday to the poster boy to my spooky Halloween fics, Lee Know 🦇

Content warning: Violence, graphic imagery, blood, toxic romance. Readers discretion is advised!

Minho wants to kill you.

He’s reached the point where he can no longer tolerate you. You've crossed the line of things you shouldn’t do and checked off every item that finally leads him to this decision: he wants to kill you. He carefully crafts a plan, asking himself all the basic questions.

What? A plan to kill you.

Minho has been holding back his rage, but it keeps mounting and mounting. He believes that ending your life will release it all, finally bringing him peace. He thinks of it as a purge, sending you to your demise to purify his soul.

Who? It’s you.

You'll be the victim of his plan. His wife, the one he no longer wants to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. But the ‘till death do us part’—he’ll gladly do that himself, with his own bare hands.

And it’s him who's going to kill you.

Minho considered hiring a contract killer—it would’ve been easy, and he could have kept his hands clean. But the little compassion he has left for you tells him this needs to be done personally, and in private. No one has to know the terrible things you've done to make him want to kill you.

As a husband, the least he can do is protect your dignity as his wife.

And as a killer, he’ll try to make it quick and painless.

When? This weekend.

Last night, before bed, he told you he wanted to spend the weekend together. You didn’t ask why, just agreed right away. You needed time away to memorize and practice your lines for the short film you’ll be starring in at the end of the month.

Minho has barely begun but his plan is already in motion.

-

Minho sees you lugging a duffel bag in one hand and your purse in the other. Without hesitation, he strides over to help.

“Let me take that,” he offers, snatching the duffel from your hand.

You flash him a smile and plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

While you settle into the car, Minho places your duffel in the trunk next to his own bag. He unzips his bag briefly to double-check the contents: all the tools he needs for the weekend—sharp, heavy, and metallic—gleam in the sunlight as it hits them. He zips it up and slams the trunk shut, ready for the three-hour drive ahead.

You, already comfortable in the passenger seat, put on your sunglasses and prop your feet against the dashboard. Flipping through the script in your lap, you chew gum obnoxiously, popping bubbles every few minutes, each burst louder than the last.

“There are snacks in the backseat,” Minho says, hoping to distract you from the gum.

You turn just enough to see the stash of chips, drinks, and bottles of wine. Supplies he bought for the weekend in the cabin. Without much interest, you go back to reading.

“I bought your favorite,” he tries again.

“I concentrate better when I’m chewing gum,” you respond flatly, flipping the page.

Minho grits his teeth but stays silent. You hear the scoff he doesn’t manage to suppress.

Dropping your feet to the floor, you snap the script closed, marking your place with a finger. Turning toward him slightly, you say, “It’s scientifically proven that chewing gum improves concentration in visual memory tasks. Surprised you didn’t know that, being a doctor and all.”

Though you aren’t looking, he knows you're wearing that condescending smile, the one that implies you’re smarter than him. It’s a look he’s grown used to over the years, but today it grates more than ever.

Minho’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. He fights the urge to jerk the wheel into a tree—just one hard turn would wipe that smug grin off your face. But no, that’s too messy and he’s not ready to blow his plan just yet.

He inhales deeply to steady his nerves. “What kind of movie are you working on this time?” he asks, pretending to show interest.

You raise a brow at his sudden curiosity but answer anyway. “It’s a thriller.”

“What’s it about?” Minho presses, not because he cares, but because he needs to keep you talking. Anything to shut you up about the gum.

“A girl gets kidnapped and held in a basement,” you explain briefly, scribbling notes in your script.

Minho forces himself to feign interest. "And what’s the catch?"

You plainly chuckle. "Like I’m going to spoil it for you."

"Because I probably won’t get to see it anyway," he retorts with a laugh, the irony not lost on him—after all, you won’t be around to finish it.

You sigh but eventually give in. "The girl tries to make her captor fall in love with her."

Minho holds back a laugh. He already knows it's going to be another bad movie. Lucky for you, he’ll be saving you from further embarrassment.

"Let me guess. You’re going to get naked again?" he asks, sneering.

Your deep, frustrated sigh is all the confirmation he needs. “So what if I am? It’s my body.”

He shrugs, eyes fixed on the road. “Sure, but haven’t you done it enough already? That’s like what… your fifth movie in a row?”

Your pencil scratches violently across the page. “Are you bored of my tits now?”

Minho stays silent, gripping the wheel tighter. Your next comment stings more than you know.

“Remember when you used to be obsessed with them? Oh, wait—when was the last time you even touched me?” You sneer, adding a little “tch” at the end of your sentence that makes his blood boil.

He once again pictures slamming on the brakes, imagining your pencil impaled your eye. But no. He breathes deeply and reminds himself that you’ll be gone soon enough.

“I need to pee,” you grumble, shifting in your seat.

“We’re almost there. Hold it,” he snaps, not caring about your discomfort.

“I'll pee in the car then,” you retort, already unbuttoning your jeans.

With an exasperated sigh, Minho jerks the car into a sudden U-turn, sending your head against the window. He pulls into a gas station, parking roughly by the entrance.

“Go ahead. Do your business.”

You storm out of the car, slamming the door behind you as you head inside. After a few minutes, Minho watches as you return from the restroom, only to stop and flirt with the cashier.

He taps the steering wheel impatiently, his eyes narrowing as he sees you and the cashier sharing a laugh. His patience runs thin, and before long, he exits the car, marching over to you.

"Let’s go," he growls, grabbing your hand.

You pull away, smirking. "Let him guess first."

"Guess what?"

The cashier laughs, clearly amused. "Trying to guess which movie I’ve seen her in," he explains.

You lean against the counter, offering the man a flirty smile. "I’ll give you a hint. It has something to do with the color blue."

Minho’s eyes darken, his anger bubbling beneath the surface, he knows exactly that you’re doing this just to annoy him.

The man’s face lights up as he gets the answer, "Blue Daisy!"

You clap softly and smile brightly, "That’s right! What did you think of my tits in that movie?"

The cashier falters, his smile faltering as he glances nervously at Minho. "Pardon?"

"Oh, come on. There's a scene where I take off my bathrobe," you tease, toying with the lighters on the counter.

"They’re... nice," the man replies and then looks away, clearly uncomfortable.

You sigh dramatically, glancing at Minho as you say, "Apparently, my husband doesn’t think so."

The cashier looks at Minho in disbelief. "You’re married?"

"Unfortunately, yes," you answer with a fake, sad smile.

Minho takes a deep breath, trying to keep his composure, he grabs you hand tighter and asks, "Are you done?"

You yank your hand away and brush past him, your shoulder grazing his as you head back to the car.

Just a few more hours, he reminds himself. Soon, it’ll all be over.

-

Now that you've known the who, the what and the when. The next question is where?

The cabin looms in the distance, nestled deep within the woods by the lake. As he gets out the car, Minho takes in the familiar sight—the water reflecting the afternoon sun, the towering trees surrounding the cabin, the peace and quiet. It’s secluded, far from the rest of the world.

You get out of the car and head straight for the trunk to collect your things.

"I’ll take the bags inside," Minho says, rushing over before you can lift the trunk lid, "Just grab the groceries from the backseat "

Shrugging, you open the back door and gather the bags of groceries, holding them against your chest. You don’t ask questions, not when you’ve been here so many times before. You punch in the code to retrieve the key from the safety box, opening the cabin door with ease.

Minho stands by the car for a moment, breathing in the last of the summer air before the season shifts. He pauses, scanning the quiet surroundings, appreciating how isolated it all feels.

No neighbors. No signal. Just the lake, the trees, and the silence.

It’s perfect.

-

Minho drags all of your things and his inside, then drops them in the living room. He’s greeted by the musty air of a cabin that hasn’t been lived in for over a month, and the dusty framed photos on top of the fireplace—his family, his parents, a childhood snapshot, and one of the two of you spending a week here for an extra honeymoon.

He remembers taking the picture with his phone, the two of you looking so happy lying in the hammock together, your heads resting against each other. Your hair was still its natural color back then, before you bleached it for the movie role.

What he doesn’t remember is how in love he was—why he decided to marry you. His eyes, once filled with affection, now only see hatred and resentment, two black orbs filled with void.

The sound of rustling plastic snaps him out of his thoughts, and his gaze shifts to your figure in the kitchen, tossing expired food into a trash bag.

Before you can notice, Minho silently takes the small duffel bag into the basement, placing it next to the cupboard where the hunting rifles are stored.

When he returns, you’re still in the kitchen, unpacking groceries. He gathers the remaining bags to take upstairs, but as his foot lands on the first step, you call for him.

“Are you going to cook dinner?” you ask, filling a pitcher with tap water.

“Yes. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he replies without looking.

Minho drops everything in the corner of the bedroom, noticing your makeup bag already by the sink in the bathroom. He changes his clothes quickly before heading back downstairs to cook, just like he promised. He starts preparing dinner, laying out the ingredients on the counter. While seasoning the tenderloins with salt and pepper, he watches you chop vegetables at the other end.

“You have to cut them thinner,” he says.

“What difference does it make?” you mutter, ignoring him.

Minho carefully lays the tenderloins on the hot pan, the meat sizzling as it hits the metal. “Watch the meat,” he says, swapping tasks with you and taking over the vegetable chopping.

He notices you eye roll as you reluctantly take his place by the stove. After a while, you attempt to flip the steaks and he quickly stops you.

“It’s not ready yet!” he snaps.

You immediately throw your hands up in defeat while still holding the wooden spatula in one, “You know what? I’ll just wait at the table, drinking wine,” you say, this time making no effort to hide your eye roll.

Since the sun hasn’t fully set yet, you suggest dining on the back patio, where the sunset offers its best view, even though the air is getting cooler.

It’s always been like this—sitting far apart, the space between you thick with dead air. You both eat in silence, sipping your wine.

Minho remembers that tonight possibly will be your last so he decides to start a conversation.

“How’s the script going?” he asks, wiping the sauce off his plate with the last piece of meat.

“Going well,” you reply curtly, licking your lips.

Minho leans back in his chair. “Who’s that guy… the one helping with your acting?”

You pull your jacket tighter against the cool wind. “Ryan?”

“Yeah, him,” Minho says, taking a sip of his wine. “You’re not working with him for your next role?”

“He’s busy with other things,” you answer, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Minho stabs a piece of carrot with his fork. “So, you’re not the only one he’s… working with?”

You stop eating abruptly and look at him, “Pardon?”

“He’s working with other actors too, right?”

“Well, yeah, it’s his job,” you reply, more casually this time.

As the last rays of sunlight hit you, casting a golden glow like a halo, Minho feels a pang of something. Sadness, maybe. He’s certain it’ll be the last time he sees you on this light so he takes it all in.

Soon, you catch him staring. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” he simply answers with a cryptic smile.

Your eyes meet for a moment and Minho searches for something in your gaze, some lingering emotion, but the gaze doesn't last long enough for him to know for sure as you look away.

After dinner, you both sit in the living room, playing a quiet game of chess. The ticking of the old clock fills the silence as Minho watches you fall into the trap he’s set. It’s ironically fitting, like you’re handing him your life, allowing him to end it with a simple move of the black knight.

“I won,” he says, a faint smile of triumph on his lips.

You don’t respond but instead, draining your wine in one gulp. “I’m tired,” you sigh.

As Minho packs away the chess pieces, he throws a smug comment your way. “You always get tired when you lose.”

You ignore him, heading to the kitchen to leave your glass in the sink and head upstairs.

Once you're out of sight, Minho makes another trip to the basement, unlocking the cupboard with the hidden key. Inside, he finds the hunting rifle. It’s been a while, but he still remembers how to use it.

Loading two shells into the chamber, he clicks it shut and for a second, he feels tempted to fire a shot just for the thrill, but that would ruin the surprise so he tucks the rifle back into the cupboard and turns off the lights as he heads upstairs.

When he gets to the bedroom, the bed is empty. He hears the water running—you're probably halfway through your skincare routine. He changes into sleepwear and lies down, charging his phone even though the reception is useless here.

The rustling of leaves outside is the only sound he's hearing until Minho begins to drift off. Just then, he feels a kiss on his cheek.

His eyes flutter open, and he finds you leaning over him, your lips brushing against his. The kiss is long and lingering, your hand gently cradling his face.

When you pull back, you smile softly. “Goodnight, honey.”

For a moment, Minho says nothing, watching as you turn and lie down, your back to him. A strange feeling twists in his chest—a hesitation he hasn’t felt in a long time. The kiss... something about it felt different.

He shifts slightly, his brow furrowing as suspicion creeps in. Was it genuine, or was it part of your own plan? For a second, he wavers, doubt gnawing at the edges of his resolve. Could you really be so oblivious to what’s coming? Or are you hiding something, just like him? He clenches his jaw, forcing the thought away.

It’s too late for second-guessing now. Still, as he stares at your back, he can’t shake the lingering sense that maybe, just maybe, you're not as unsuspecting as you seem.

-

The next day, the cabin is flooded with golden rays as the sun rises high in the sky. Minho stands by the kitchen window, washing the breakfast dishes, his eyes following you as you sway gently in the hammock, engrossed in your script.

He finishes quickly and heads to the back door, pausing in the doorway as he calls your name.

You turn your head slightly. “What?”

“I’m going for a walk around the lake. You coming?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. It’s just for show, a part of the performance, to keep suspicion at bay.

“No, thank you,” you reply, turning your attention back to the script.

Perfect. It’s exactly the answer he wanted. Everything is going according to plan.

As he steps outside, Minho's eyes dart back toward the hammock, checking to see if you’re watching. From a distance, he can still see the top of your head peeking over the edge, unmoving. Satisfied, he walks toward the shed, retrieving a small bag before starting his trek around the lake.

As he jogs along the edge of the water, he scans the ground for the right kind of rock—one heavy enough for what he needs. He finds it near the water’s edge, half-covered in moss. It’s heavier than he expected, and he has to flip it over with his foot before using both hands to hoist it into the bag.

His eyes drift back to the cabin, paranoid that you might somehow be following him. But no, you’re still in the hammock, or at least it seems that way.

He drags the bag back to the shed and hides it behind a stack of old tires. Everything is in place. Just one more thing to prepare—but he realizes he forgot his car keys.

The whole morning slips by as he meticulously works on his plan and by the time he returns to the house, the hammock is empty, swaying lightly in the breeze. Your script book is left behind, pages fluttering in the wind.

Minho’s chest tightens with unease. He steps cautiously toward the front door, his senses heightened. “Honey?” he calls out, but there’s no reply.

He steps inside, the air thick with tension. “Honey?” he repeats, louder this time, his voice echoing in the silence.

In the kitchen, he spots you standing behind the island, your back to him.

“Honey?” he says again, his tone more uncertain now.

You turn slowly, and that’s when he sees it—the gleam of a knife in your hand. The blade catches the light, sending a sharp reflection into his eyes.

A jolt of panic surges through him. His plan was flawless. But somehow, he hadn’t accounted for this—the possibility that you knew. And if you knew, he was already doomed.

He swallows hard, trying to think of something to say. “What are you doing?”

Without a word, you turn back to the counter, your hands moving in a way he can’t fully see. He takes a cautious step back, bracing himself for a sudden attack.

But instead, you turn around holding a head of lettuce. “I’m making sandwiches for lunch,” you say innocently, setting the vegetable down on the chopping board with a loud thud.

Relief floods through him, and he lets out a low breath, clearing his throat to mask his moment of weakness. “Sounds good,” he comments, though his voice lacks conviction.

You calmly slice the lettuce, your knife moving with unsettling precision. “Were you looking for me?”

The question jolts him, reminding him of his real purpose. “Uh… yeah, I was looking for my car keys,” he says quickly, scrambling for an excuse. “I left my charger in the glove box.”

You glance up from the chopping board, still holding the knife in one hand. “You can use mine. It’s upstairs by the bedside table.”

There’s something in your smile—a strange, almost sinister edge that makes his skin crawl. Like you know something he doesn’t.

“No, I’ll use mine. It’s more convenient,” he says, forcing a polite smile, though inside, every instinct tells him to leave. Now.

You hold his gaze for a moment too long before turning to the fridge. “It’s on the hook next to the boat keys,” you reply, slicing open a pack of bacon with a swift flick of the knife.

“Thanks,” he mutters, backing away.

He doesn’t waste another second. Grabbing the car keys, he heads for the door, but then you call his name, stopping him in his tracks. He turns, his heart thudding in his chest. You stand in the middle of the room, a strange smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice tight.

“Lunch will be ready soon,” you say, still smiling that unsettling smile.

Minho nods, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that lingers. He hasn’t seen you smile this much in a long time, and it’s not even noon yet. It’s unnerving, like you’re doing it to make him feel guilty. Like you’re daring him to go through with his plan.

-

Minho decides to proceed with caution.

The little smile you gave him earlier is enough to put him on edge, so he takes a seat on the stool, eyes fixed on you as you meticulously prepare his sandwich. You slice it in half and place it in front of him. He doesn’t hesitate to eat it, knowing that he hasn’t taken his eyes off the process. This way, he’s sure you haven’t tampered with his lunch.

"Good?" you ask, watching him closely.

He chews, waiting for any signs of something off in his body, but nothing happens.

"It’s good," he replies, nodding.

You smile, then sip your orange juice, making a little gasp of satisfaction. "Orange juice?" you offer, holding up the pitcher.

"Sure," he says.

You get a clean glass from the cabinet, which checks off another one of his worries. He saw you drink from the same juice, and the glass is fresh. No reason to suspect anything, right? Maybe you’re still unaware, and things are still going according to his plan.

"You’re not eating?" he asks, testing the waters.

You finish your glass and shake your head. "I’m still full from the smoothie I had earlier."

You walk over, placing a hand on his shoulder, then gliding it to the back of his neck, massaging gently. "I’m going to take a long bath," you say, smiling down at him.

"Okay," he mutters, looking up.

You lean down, brushing your lips against his in a brief kiss. "Enjoy your lunch."

This is the perfect opportunity.

Minho only manages to finish half of the sandwich before draining his glass of orange juice, feeling a bit parched from all the work he’s been doing since the morning. He heads down to the basement, ripping open a bag full of tools. He picks the hammer, gripping it tightly in his right hand.

As he makes his way upstairs, he marvels at how smoothly everything is going. If he manages to bash your head in the bathroom, he doesn't need to worry about the mess. The only challenge is getting your body downstairs, but that’s a problem for after.

Right now, all he has to do is get in there and deliver the fatal blow.

But as he climbs the final stairs, his vision blurs, and his limbs grow heavy. He tries to shake it off, widening his eyes and slapping his cheek to wake himself up. It must be the adrenaline, right? That’s why he feels so lightheaded.

He reaches the bathroom, hearing the water running and your soft humming. The door is left ajar, steam wafting out. Minho peeks in and sees you sitting on the edge of the tub, still in your bathrobe, one side slipping off your shoulder.

Slowly, he pushes the door open just enough to slip inside. The sink is cluttered with your things—makeup, a toothbrush, and what he assumes is some spilled powder from your makeup routine.

Confident you can’t see him through the fogged mirror, he raises the hammer above his head, ready to strike. Suddenly, his legs give out, and he stumbles backward, the hammer slipping from his grasp, then clatters to the floor.

You whip your head around, startled, and see him crumpling against the bathroom wall. Squatting down in front of him, you say softly, "Honey?"

Minho fights to open his eyes, but his body is shutting down against his will. "I’m—I…" he stammers.

You lean in, your forehead resting gently against his as you sigh. "Shh… it’s okay," you murmur, stroking his hair.

With one hand cupping his face, you look into his eyes, a sinister glint now replacing the warmth. "Just go to sleep," you say softly, your voice almost soothing.

Minho’s vision starts to fade, but he sees it in your eyes. You did this. "You—"

Before he can finish, everything goes black.

-

The sound of a knife scraping against the surface of a plate jolts Minho awake in the worst possible way.

Disoriented, he squints his eyes and realizes he's downstairs, seated at the dining table. You're sitting across from him, chewing on a piece of meat with a soft groan.

"I think I flipped it too early again," you mumble, dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

You look up from your food and gasp when you notice he's awake, "Honey!"

Grabbing the bottle of wine, you pour it into his glass, the intoxicating scent of it filling the room. "I'm sorry I started dinner without you."

Minho tries to move his hands but can't. He glances down to find them tied to the chair.

"Ah! Let me help you with that," you say, standing beside him as you unfold a napkin and spread it over his lap. You kiss him on the cheek, wiping away the lipstick mark with your thumb after.

"How was your nap?" You ask once you're settled back to your seat.

Minho glares, his nostrils flaring with the rage boiling inside him. He curses himself for letting his guard down, for believing things were going his way when they never did. Shaking the fog from his head, he focuses on you.

"Sleeping pills, huh?" His voice drips with disdain, realizing too late that the white powder he'd seen earlier wasn’t makeup—it was the remnants of crushed sleeping pills.

You don't answer, just sip your wine with a satisfied smile.

Minho scoffs, tossing his head back. "How clever!"

Refilling your glass, you raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"It wasn't the sandwich, not the juice..." He lets out a bitter laugh. "It was the glass."

You clink your wine glass against his with a smirk. "Almost got caught there, didn’t I?"

"So, you know," he mutters.

You set your glass down and rest your hands on the table, an innocent grin spreading across your face. "Know what?"

Minho’s dark eyes remain fixed on you, simmering with fury.

"I'll let you have your dinner later," you say, pushing his untouched plate to the side, clearing the center of the table.

You retrieve something from the chair beside you—a hammer. The same hammer he’d planned to use on you. You place it on the table between you both.

"Are you asking if I knew you were going to use this to smash my head in?"

Minho’s gaze flickers between the hammer and you.

You chuckle mockingly, hand pressed against your chest. "Thank God the pills kicked in just in time!"

Though not surprised, Minho wonders if you’ve uncovered his entire plan. As if reading his mind, you bend down and drag a duffel bag onto the table with a loud thud.

"Or are you asking if I knew about this?" you ask, emptying the contents—rope, duct tape, a blade, a wrench, a saw, and an axe—spreading them across the table like hardware on display.

Sitting back down, you examine the tools with a smile. "You’re thorough, I’ll give you that."

"You know I never do things half-heartedly," he replies, voice laced with sarcasm.

Your laughter echoes around the room. "And look what I found," you say, lifting his hunting rifle, pointing it directly at him with your finger hovers dangerously close to the trigger. "It’s loaded."

Minho’s calm exterior falters. He knows all too well that he loaded that rifle himself. How fitting it would be for him to die by his own hand.

"BANG!" You shout, trying to startle him, but he doesn't flinch.

Your laughter fades as you lower the rifle, setting it aside. You cross your arms, eyes studying him intently and he can sense the curiosity swirling in your mind.

"Go ahead," he taunts, leaning forward as much as he can. "Ask your question."

You trace the rim of your wine glass with your finger. "So, that's the plan? To kill me?"

He tilts his head, eyes burning with intensity. "Yes."

"Let's say you manage to knock me out with the hammer..." You cut a piece of meat and continue eating. "What happens next?"

Minho stays silent, watching as you play this little guessing game.

You raise a hand before he can speak. "Wait, wait, wait, let me guess."

You chew faster, sipping your wine between thoughts and begin guessing his whole plan. "You wouldn’t kill me with the hammer—too messy. Too much work. And definitely not upstairs. It would be a hassle dragging my body down."

You glance at the ropes on the table and continue, "You’d tie me up once I was unconscious. Then, once secured, you’d get to work."

Your hand hovers over the tools spread on the table. "As for the weapon of choice..." You pick up the blade, testing its sharp edge with a playful gasp. "Ouch. This would’ve made it fun for you."

Minho’s lips twitch into a small, sinister smile.

"But no," you continue, setting the blade down and then you point at the rifle. "You’d use this. Quick. Easy."

"Exactly," he admits, slightly impressed by how well you know him.

Your eyes drift toward the saw next as you continue talking. "And the saws... well, those would be for afterward. To dismember me, right? You’d chop me into little pieces and dump me in the lake."

Minho raises an eyebrow, impressed. You got most of it right. The how.

"Did I guess correctly?" you ask, tilting your head.

He nods slowly in approval. "I’d applaud, but..." he glances at his tied hands.

You clink your glass with his. "See? I’ve learned a lot in our marriage."

As you sip your wine, he asks the one question still lingering in the space between. "Aren’t you going to ask why?"

You pause mid-sip, placing your glass down before pulling a handgun from your bag.

Minho’s breath catches in his throat. You want him dead just as much as he wants you gone.

"Because we hate each other enough to kill," you say, placing the gun next to your plate. But you rummage in your bag again and pull out a letter—divorce papers. Sliding them toward him, you add, "Or, we could avoid the drama. Sign this, and I’m gone. Forever."

Without hesitation, Minho shakes his head. Strongly refuses to do it any other way.

"Why not?" you ask, brows furrowed.

"I need to kill you," he says, voice unwavering.

You burst out laughing. "You hold that many grudges, huh?"

He doesn’t answer. His silence speaks volumes.

Sighing, you try to reason again. "I’ll disappear. You won’t even know I exist."

Minho leans forward, his voice a low growl. "I have to be the one to do it."

You shiver despite yourself. His intensity is chilling, but you remind yourself that he’s tied up, unable to do anything.

"You're a doctor, Minho. You know you're supposed to save life not—"

"I have to kill you," he cuts you off, nostrils flaring, eyes burning with determination.

Realizing there's no convincing him, you slide the gun back into your bag and put it on your lap. "I don't care if you sign the papers or not."

You take your wedding ring off and put it on top of the papers, making a bold statement. You stand, walking to his chair and then leaning close to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Good luck with everything," you whisper, knowing those words will provoke him further.

As you head for the door, bag slung over your shoulder, he calls after you. His voice echoing against the eerie silence.

"I’ll find you... and I’ll kill you," he screams as he fights his way out of the bind. "Do you fucking hear me?"

As you set one foot out of the door, Minho screams one last time, "IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU, NO ONE CAN!"

You break into a run toward the car and with your heart pounding, you shove the key into the ignition and twist it, the car sputtering to life. Relief floods your body for a moment as the engine hums beneath you, and you slam your foot on the gas.

The car lurches forward, gravel crunching under the tires as you speed away from the cabin. But the relief is short-lived.

After just a few yards, the engine sputters and dies. Panic grips you as the car slows to a stop, and your hands tremble as you frantically try to restart it. You twist the key over and over, forcing the ignition, but the engine won’t turn over.

“Come on… come on!” you mutter desperately, glancing into the rearview mirror, afraid that Minho somehow break away and chase after you.

You continue to restart the car engine but it still won't turn on, you slam your hands on the steering wheel out of frustration and reorganize your breath to let your brain able to work.

With your brain is well oxygenated, you start checking the car and that's when you see the gas gauge and the needle points to the E. Fuck! Minho must have drained the tank empty.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" You continuously scream in dread now but the real dread is glancing through rearview mirror and see the cabin door is open.

That’s when you see him.

Minho is storming out of the cabin, rifle in hand, his face a mask of cold determination. Your blood turns to ice. He’s coming for you, and you have no time.

"Shit!" you curse under your breath, your breath quickening. Abandoning the car, you fling the door open and bolt into the woods, legs trembling as you stumble over roots and uneven ground.

The sound of the rifle cracks through the air. You gasp, ducking as the bullet strikes a tree near you, splintering bark and sending shrapnel flying. Your heart nearly stops.

You pick up the pace, adrenaline coursing through your veins, but the forest floor is unforgiving. Your foot catches on something—a root, a rock, you don't know—and you crash to the ground with a hard thud, pain shooting through your body.

Before you can scramble back to your feet, Minho is already there. His heavy footsteps pound against the earth as he catches up, his presence looming over you. You try to crawl away, your muscles screaming, but his hands grab you from behind, yanking you around with brutal force.

“Got you,” he growls, his voice cold and menacing.

You barely have time to scream before his hands are wrapped around your neck, squeezing with a vicious intent. Your hands fly to his wrists, clawing and yanking at them, but he's too strong.

"Don’t worry, honey. I'm not going to kill you just yet."

He tightens his grip, cutting off your air supply. Panic floods your body as your vision begins to blur, your strength draining away with each passing second.

"I'm just going to stop the blood flow to the brain through constriction of the carotid arteries and..."

You kick, aimlessly hitting him, your movements growing weaker as the world around you starts to fade.

Minho’s face is the last thing you see before the darkness consumes you entirely.

-

A gasp escapes your lips as you regain consciousness, immediately followed by a coughing fit.

Disoriented and lightheaded, you try to sit up, only to realize your hands and feet are bound to the bed. The ropes burn against your skin as you thrash in place, but you’re held fast. Helplessly stuck, you let out a loud scream, frustration boiling over as your cries for help go unanswered.

"Is that the best you can do?"

Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, to see Minho leering at you from across the room.

He’s rummaging through a duffel bag, calm as ever, his dark eyes glinting with malice. You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and only a rough cough escapes your lips.

Minho pulls something from his bag—a small, rectangular box. It looks like a jewelry box, but the careful way he places it beside your body tells you it contains something far from precious.

He stands at the foot of the bed, staring down at you with a mocking grin. "Comfortable?"

Your fury flares. You swallow hard, forcing your voice to work. "You should have told me you were into bondage," you sneer, eyes narrowing.

His laugh is deep, amused by your defiance. Without warning, he climbs onto the bed and sits between your open legs, his gaze locked with yours, making it impossible to escape his predatory stare. "Let’s make you even more comfortable," he says, a sinister smile creeping across his face.

With deliberate slowness, he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a pair of scissors. He places them on the bed next to the mysterious box, letting you get a good look, as if daring you to figure out his next move.

A slow sigh escapes his lips as his hand reaches for your face, fingers slipping into your hair. For a moment, you think he’s going to cut it, but instead, he brushes your damp hair to the side and he also wipes the sweat from your neck with the back of his hand.

"It’s hot, yeah?" he murmurs.

"Isn’t that why you married me? Because I’m hot," you bite back, glaring at him with all the hatred you can muster.

Minho laughs again, this time brushing more strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead. "A part of it, yeah," he shamelessly admits.

"What about the rest of it?" you ask, surprising yourself with your curiosity. You’ve never asked him that before; romance was never a part of your relationship.

Nothing about your marriage was romantic, not even from the start. One day, he asked you to marry him, and you said yes. No questions, no love stories. Just a quiet agreement. But over time, things soured, leading to this moment of bitter hostility.

"Do you really want to know?" Minho asks, his face hovering dangerously close to yours, his hand resting beside your head on the mattress.

"You’re going to kill me anyway, so why not?" you reply, a daring smile playing on your lips.

For a long moment, he simply stares at you, his knuckle lightly tracing the curve of your face. His eyes darken, as if he’s about to reveal something, but then he pulls away abruptly.

"You always make me forget what I’m about to do," he says, picking up the scissors again.

Your heart rate slows as he holds the scissors, doing nothing but staring at them, lost in thought. His eyes flicker to you, then to your chest, where he presses the flat edge of the scissors. You can feel the cold metal through your clothes, making the weight of the moment unbearable.

You believe his final weapon of choice is inside the box so the sight of the scissors doesn’t scare you. You suspect he’s just toying with you, testing your fear.

Suddenly, Minho drags the scissors up your chest until they reach the base of your throat. The metal’s coldness makes you instinctively gulp, your breath hitching in your throat. But you refuse to break. Your gaze meets his, unwavering, even though you know exactly what he intends to do.

Unexpectedly, Minho laughs again, pulling the scissors away from your throat. "This is why I married you," he says, placing a hand on your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart.

"You’re so calm," he muses, dragging the scissors lower, stopping at your thigh. He slides the hem of your dress between the blades. "Way too calm."

In one swift motion, he cuts through the fabric of your dress, the blades slicing up to your chest in one clean stroke. You stop breathing for a second, the fear catching up to you, but you don’t let it show.

"And for a while, I was grateful to have you as a wife," he says coldly.

He moves the scissors to the side, cutting through the sleeves of your dress, leaving you in nothing but your damp underwear. You can’t tell if the sweat is from the stifling heat or the tension building inside you.

"But nothing good lasts, right?" he says, tossing the scissors and the torn dress to the floor.

Your heart skips a beat as his fingers ghost over your bare stomach, barely touching, but sending a shiver through your body.

"I’ll give you a chance to admit it yourself," he whispers, squeezing your hip.

You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you refuse to give in. You won’t hand him that satisfaction. "I have nothing to say to you."

Minho expected that response. He’s always loved your rebellious streak. With a shrug, he turns to the mysterious box beside you. He picks it up, opens it, and without showing you the contents, he says, "Maybe this will help carve the truth out of you."

Your heart races with anticipation, both curious and terrified. His eyes sparkle as he pulls the object from the box like a prized possession.

It’s a scalpel.

Not just any scalpel—a tool Minho is all too familiar with. He’s been using it for years in his line of work as a doctor, his hand accustomed to it, it's technically a part of his hand.

You let out a dark, low laugh, impressed by his choice of weapon. Not letting the fear take over you and give him the satisfaction.

"You think this is funny?" He asks, his voice low and dangerous, the scalpel gleaming in the dim light. His eyes narrow as he watches you closely, waiting for a reaction.

You suppress another laugh, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear coursing through you. "I guess I always knew you'd find a way to cut me out of your life, but this is a little dramatic, don't you think?" You flash a bitter smile, masking the terror rising in your throat.

Minho’s lips curl into a slow, sinister smile. "Oh, this isn’t about cutting you out. Not yet, at least." He leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin as the scalpel hovers near your collarbone. The cold metal grazes your skin, a teasing pressure that sends a shiver down your spine.

You pull at the ropes again, frustration and helplessness bubbling to the surface. Your skin stings from the friction, but you know it’s useless. He tied the knots too well. Still, you refuse to show fear.

"You really think this will make me tell you what you want to hear?" Your voice is hoarse, but there’s defiance in your tone.

Minho chuckles darkly, sliding the scalpel down the center of your chest, just grazing your skin enough to leave a faint trail without cutting. His eyes follow the path of the blade with eerie calmness.

"You’re tougher than I expected. I like that." His gaze locks onto yours again, and there’s a chilling coldness in his eyes that makes your blood run cold. "But everyone has their breaking point."

He drags the scalpel lower, letting it dance across your stomach, teasing the edge of your hip. You can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the blade comes dangerously close to cutting through your skin. Every muscle in your body tenses, waiting for the inevitable pain.

"You’re hiding something," he says, his voice a near-whisper now, filled with a quiet intensity. "You’ve always been so calm, so composed. It made me wonder, what are you hiding beneath that exterior? What is it you think I don’t know?"

He pauses, his fingers tracing the path of the scalpel with a feather-light touch, as if he’s savoring this moment. His eyes glitter with amusement as he watches your face, waiting for the fear to slip through your mask.

"You don’t scare me," you say, though the waver in your voice betrays you.

Minho’s grin widens, and he brings the scalpel up to your throat, just pressing the flat of the blade against your skin, reminding you of how sharp it is. "Maybe not yet," he replies. "But that will change."

His hand moves slowly, deliberately, the scalpel brushing your skin as he leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I’m going to carve out every lie you’ve ever told me, every secret you’ve hidden."

The scalpel flicks across your skin, leaving a shallow scratch, just enough to sting. "Let’s start with why you tried to run," he says, his voice a dangerous whisper.

The blade trails down your chest again, teasing but not yet cutting deep enough to cause real pain. "You’ve been planning this, haven’t you? Just waiting for the right moment to escape."

Your mind races, trying to stay ahead of him, but his control over the situation is suffocating. "What makes you think I’ve been planning anything?" you manage to ask, though the tremble in your voice betrays the fear creeping into your chest.

Minho smirks, enjoying the game. "Because I know you," he murmurs. "I’ve watched you. You think I didn’t notice the way you’ve been distancing yourself? The way you look at me like you’re just waiting for me to make a mistake."

He presses the scalpel a little harder against your skin, and you wince. "I’m not going to let you slip away so easily," he says, his voice dripping with menace. "So why don’t you save us both some time and tell me what you’ve been hiding?"

You grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a confession. "I have nothing to hide from you," you say, though every instinct in your body is screaming that he’s already too close to the truth.

Minho’s expression darkens. He moves the scalpel down again, this time slicing through the thin fabric of your underwear. You flinch as the cold air hits your bare skin, but you refuse to give him the reaction he’s looking for.

"Last chance," he warns, the scalpel glinting in the dim light. "Why Ryan?"

So this is the why.

Your heart stutters, your body stiffening at the mention of the name. Of course, he knows. He’s always known. But now, it’s out in the open, and there's nowhere to hide. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay composed even as the truth hangs dangerously between you.

Minho shifts, bringing the scalpel up to your throat again, applying just enough pressure for you to feel it, the sharp edge threatening to break skin.

"You really thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you?" His tone is calm, but the anger simmering beneath the surface is palpable. "You thought you could sneak around, play your little games with him, and I’d be none the wiser."

Your throat tightens, and you struggle to breathe through the panic rising in your chest.

He presses the blade down, just enough to make your pulse quicken. "Why him?" Minho asks again, his voice quieter, almost a whisper now. "Why Ryan?"

"I—" you start, but your voice cracks, your throat dry. You don’t even know what to say, how to explain something that’s so tangled in layers of resentment, anger, and escape. Instead, you try to hold on to the composure you’ve managed to keep for this long. "It wasn’t—"

Minho cuts you off with a bitter laugh, pulling the scalpel back but keeping it poised, ready. "Don’t bother lying," he says, his eyes dark with fury. "I already know everything. I just want to hear it from you."

He sits back slightly, still straddling you, his eyes locked on yours with a kind of chilling intensity. The blade dances over your skin, teasing but not yet cutting.

"Why?" he asks again, softer this time. "What did you think Ryan could give you that I couldn’t?"

Your mind races, heart pounding. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of your truth, but there’s no way out. His patience is wearing thin, and you can see it in the way his grip tightens on the scalpel, his jaw clenching as he waits for your answer.

"It wasn’t about him," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know if this will calm him or enrage him further, but it’s all you can offer. "It was never about him."

He tilts his head, watching you closely. "Then what was it about, huh?" His voice sharpens, cutting through the air like the blade in his hand.

You flinch at the venom in his words, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. "You don’t understand," you say quietly, tears prickling at the edges of your eyes despite your best efforts to stay strong.

Minho’s face hardens, and he slides the scalpel down your body, stopping just above your abdomen, his fingers tracing the line of your skin with a maddening slowness. "Then make me understand." His voice is dangerous, low and threatening.

His grip on your throat tightens, and the blade slides down to your chest again, this time pressing harder, enough to draw a thin line of blood. You gasp, the sting sharp and sudden.

Minho watches the blood bead up, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "I said make me understand why you betrayed me."

Before you can utter a word, the door to the cabin bursts open. Ryan stands in the doorway, his face a mix of shock and fury as he takes in the scene—the scalpel pressed dangerously close to your throat, Minho’s body straddling yours, and the faint line of blood on your chest.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ryan’s voice echoes through the cabin, and in a blur, he charges at Minho.

Minho barely has time to react before Ryan slams into him, knocking him off of you. The scalpel clatters to the floor as Minho is thrown back, struggling to regain his balance. Ryan swings a hard punch, landing square on Minho’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. You scramble up from the floor, gasping for air, as the two men break into a full-on fight.

Ryan manages another punch, harder this time, knocking Minho to the ground. Minho’s body slumps for a moment, and Ryan quickly grabs the scissors lying on the bed, cutting the ropes free from your hands and feet. He helps you get up and grabs your arm, pulling you toward the stairs.

“Come on,” he urges, his voice low and frantic. “We have to go—now.”

You follow him downstairs, still in shock, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as he grabs his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

“I came as fast as I could when I got your message,” he says, his eyes scanning your face, full of concern. “Are you okay? Did he—”

But before he can finish, there’s a sound behind you—a violent thud. You both turn just in time to see Minho launching himself at Ryan from the top of the stairs.

Minho slams into him with terrifying force, sending the two men crashing to the floor in a violent heap. They grapple, fists flying, legs kicking, as they roll across the floor, locked in a brutal fight for dominance.

Ryan struggles beneath Minho’s weight, his eyes locking on the rifle resting against the wall near the sofa. He looks at you, desperation in his gaze, and subtly gestures toward it.

"The gun," he pants between blows. "Shoot him. Now!"

Your heart pounds in your chest as you rush to grab the rifle. Your hands shake as you lift it, your finger sliding onto the trigger. The weight of the weapon feels surreal in your hands, the cold steel pressing against your skin as you aim it at Minho, who is now pinning Ryan to the ground. The two men are still wrestling, but you have a clear shot.

“Do it!” Ryan yells, gasping for breath as Minho’s hands tighten around his throat.

Tears blur your vision, your breath coming in ragged sobs as you hold the rifle steady. Minho’s eyes catch yours, wild and unrelenting, and in that split second, everything seems to freeze. Your finger starts to push down on the trigger, your mind spinning with the weight of the decision.

“Why?” you scream at Minho, your voice breaking with emotion. "Why did you ever doubt me? Why couldn’t you trust that I loved you?"

Minho’s gaze softens for a fraction of a second, his grip loosening ever so slightly on Ryan’s throat. “You call this love?” he spits back, his voice hoarse but filled with pain.

Your finger trembles, hovering on the trigger, and you’re on the verge of pulling it—when something inside you snaps. In one swift motion, you shift your aim, your heart thudding painfully in your chest.

The gun goes off.

The shot rings out, echoing through the cabin as the bullet rips through the air—and buries itself in Ryan’s skull, right between his eyes. His body goes limp instantly, his hands falling away from Minho as he collapses to the floor, lifeless.

You drop the rifle, your whole body trembling, tears streaming down your face. You can’t stop sobbing, can’t even catch your breath as you take a shaky step toward him and ask, “Is that enough to show how much I love you?”

-

The silence that follows is deafening.

Minho looks at you, his chest heaving, covered in Ryan’s blood, shock registering in his eyes. After a moment, he gets up from the floor, calm and composed, as if the violent act that just transpired hadn't fazed him at all. He walks over to you without a word, his footsteps barely audible in the heavy silence.

From the dining table, he picks up a napkin, its soft fabric starkly contrasting with the blood staining your trembling hands. Gently, he wipes the blood droplets away, his touch careful, almost delicate.

“I cheated on you because—” your voice breaks as the words leave your lips, trembling under the weight of your sobs. “Because I wanted to know if you still care.”

Minho doesn’t respond, but his silence speaks volumes. You watch as he moves across the room, grabbing a jacket from the coat rack. He replaces Ryan’s jacket—the one draped loosely over your shoulders—with his own. His movements are methodical, yet somehow tender, like he’s dressing you for something far more intimate than this horrific moment. You stand frozen, the tears streaming down your face, helpless in your grief and confusion.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you choke out, your voice barely above a whisper, the sobs making your chest heave.

Minho zips up the jacket, making sure it fits snugly around you, before pulling you close. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, one that reminds you of the warmth you used to find in him. Even with his blood-streaked face, you can see that familiar, intense gaze—the warmth you had longed for finally returning to his eyes.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his hand cradling your face with a kind of reverence, “and if I can’t have you, no one can.”

His lips crash against yours again, this time harder, deeper, and with a hunger that ignites something dangerous inside you. His voice, dripping with possessiveness, makes your heart pound in a way that both terrifies and excites you.

“You’re mine,” he says, the words claiming you with an unyielding finality.

And it’s that very possessiveness that pulls you deeper into him. It’s why you married him in the first place—because Minho doesn’t just love; he consumes. His love is fierce, intense, teetering on the edge of madness, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. You crave it, need it, and right now, it feels like it’s the only thing grounding you in this twisted reality.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, nodding as if you’re sealing your fate with those words.

The two of you kiss again, and this time, it feels like everything is falling back into place, like the chaotic balance of your marriage has been restored. The blood, the violence, the madness—it all shifts back to where it belongs, the perfect equilibrium of your dark, twisted love.

For a moment, the chaos of what you’ve done slips away, and you both stand in eerie stillness, as if nothing happened.

However, the sight of the body lying lifeless on the floor snaps you back to reality.

Minho silently moves to pick up Ryan’s jacket, using it to cover the gaping wound on his head, though the blood has already soaked into the rug. Without a word, he starts dragging the body onto the rug, and you, numb and dazed, help him. Together, you roll the body into it, cocooning Ryan in the bloodstained fabric.

"Go get the body bag from the basement," Minho tells you, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.

Your legs feel heavy as you make your way down to the basement, retrieving the thick, black bag. The two of you struggle to maneuver Ryan’s body into it, your hands slipping on the slick fabric as you zip it up.

The weight of what you’ve done sinks in deeper with each passing second, but you push it aside, focusing on the task at hand. Together, you drag the body outside into the dark night. The only sounds are the rhythmic scrape of the bag against the ground and the low rustle of wind in the trees.

Minho busies himself with the boat, the mechanical hum of the engine cutting through the stillness. You clamber onto the boat, watching him as he grabs the large rock he collected earlier—the weight that will ensure the body stays submerged beneath the water, lost to the lake’s depths.

Once everything is set, he starts the boat, and it moves silently over the water, cutting through the eerie calm of the night. You sit in the cold air, the distant shore shrinking as he drives far enough from land.

Finally, he stops, and you both work in grim silence to lift the heavy body bag over the edge. The splash echoes in the darkness as it hits the water, and for a brief moment, the sound lingers, unsettling and hollow.

You and Minho stay there, eyes locked on the spot where the bag submerged, waiting, watching. The bubbles rise to the surface, swirling for a few moments before fading away into the night. The water smooths out, becoming calm once more, its surface reflecting the endless stretch of the night sky above.

Nothing comes back up. Only silence, only stillness.

-

With the body gone, there’s no time to waste.

Minho doesn’t say a word as he moves toward Ryan’s car, his movements swift and calculated. You watch as he wipes the door handles, steering wheel, and gear shift clean of fingerprints before driving it to the edge of the river.

The car slowly inches forward, and as it begins to roll into the water, you stand at a distance, watching the lake swallow it whole, the final glint of metal disappearing beneath the surface. The water ripples for a moment before settling back into silence, leaving no trace of the vehicle behind.

You head back to the cabin to tackle your part. The living room feels eerily quiet, haunted by the chaos that took place just hours ago. You move quickly, gathering the objects that were stained with Ryan’s blood: the napkin, the rug, anything he touched.

With methodical precision, you scrub the floor clean, the sound of the rag scraping against the wood filling the room. You make sure to use bleach, wiping down every surface, making sure no bloodstains or lingering scent remains. The stinging smell of bleach replaces the coppery odor of blood, and you inhale deeply, feeling the chemical burn in your lungs.

When the room looks spotless, you gather the last of the evidence: your clothes, Minho’s bloodstained clothes, and the tools he brought. All of it goes into a large bag—anything that could tie either of you to what happened. Together, you make your way into the woods, where the night feels darker, heavier, as if nature itself is holding its breath.

Minho starts the fire, the flames flickering to life and casting a soft, orange glow over the trees. The bag is heavy as you both throw it onto the growing blaze, the crackling of burning fabric and wood filling the air. You watch as the fire consumes everything, turning it into ash and smoke. The smell of burning evidence—your clothes, Ryan’s blood, every trace of him—rises with the heat, drifting into the night sky.

Minho grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. There’s a quiet intimacy in the way you stand there, side by side, watching as the fire devours the last remnants of the crime. The warmth of his hand grounds you as the flames burn higher, until all that’s left are glowing embers and ash, scattering into the wind.

There’s nothing left now. No evidence. No trace. Just the two of you and the darkened woods.

-

The sun is slowly rising on the horizon when you walk back to the cabin

The final task is washing away the evidence from your bodies. You and Minho share the shower, alternating turns under the warm water as it washes off the blood and dirt clinging to your skin. At times, you help each other scrub, his hands trailing over the places where bruises and cuts mar your flesh.

There’s a quiet intimacy in the way you tend to each other, rinsing away the aftermath of the night before.

Once you're out of the shower and standing in front of the mirror, you notice the injuries. There’s a bruise blooming around your neck from where Minho had choked you, a thin cut across your chest from his scalpel, rope bruns on both wrists and ankles, and scrapes on your knees from tripping in the woods. The marks are raw, reminders of the violence that had passed between you.

“Come, sit.” Minho’s voice cuts through your thoughts. You turn to see him sitting on the bed, first aid kit in hand, his eyes already fixed on your wounds.

You obey, sitting beside him as he opens the kit. His fingers graze your skin as he pulls the robe open, exposing the cut on your chest. The light touch sends a shiver down your spine.

Minho leans in, studying the wound with careful attention before smoothing ointment onto it. You wince as it stings, and he immediately blows cool air on it to soothe the burn.

He moves to your knees next, his hands gentle as he applies more ointment and covers the scrapes with band-aids. His gaze lingers longer on the bruise around your neck, his fingers softly pressing against the swollen skin.

“Does it hurt?” His voice is softer now, a hint of worry in his tone.

“Not really,” you lie, and then it's your turn to ask about the bruise blooming on his jaw from Ryan’s punch, "How about it?"

He catches your hand and kisses it. "I'm okay."

Satisfied with your answer, he puts the first aid kit aside. His hair is damp, tousled as he pushes it back, and when his eyes meet yours again, there’s something dangerous and tender in his gaze.

“Aren’t you going to kiss it better?” you ask with a sly smile, teasing him.

His lips curl into a smile, and before you know it, his hands are on your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of your robe.

“Want me to kiss it better?” he murmurs, his voice low, his brown eyes fiery as they lock on yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, your hands resting on his shoulders, needing his touch.

Minho leans in, placing a slow, deliberate kiss on the bandaged cut on your chest. His lips linger, and you feel the heat of the kiss searing into your skin. He doesn’t stop there, parting the robe further to press fluttering kisses along your collarbone, down to your breasts.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer as he buries his face between your breasts. He’s kissing, licking, and sucking your skin, his tongue leaving a wet trail in its wake. He takes his time with you, his fingers joining in, rolling and rubbing your nipples between them until they harden under his touch.

You tug at his hair, watching him, entranced by the way his mouth worships your flesh. His lips part with a soft pop as he releases your nipple, leaving it wet with his saliva.

“I’m obsessed,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your sternum. “I’ll always be obsessed with your body.”

He doesn’t need to say it—you can feel it in every touch, every kiss. His admiration for your body is palpable, his gaze lingering on your skin as though he can’t get enough. Your heart races, your desire growing hotter with each second that passes.

“Want you, Minho,” you moan breathlessly, your hands tightening on his shoulders. “I want you so much.”

Minho needs no further encouragement. He lays you back on the same bed where he tortured you earlier, his body moving over yours with a desperate hunger.

When he enters you, the intensity of his thrusts takes your breath away. His eyes flicker between watching his cock slide in and out of you and studying your face, seeking your reactions with every movement.

He slows down suddenly, leaning down to kiss you deeply, pulling away only when you’re gasping for air. He presses his forehead against yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours.

“Are you mine?” His voice is rough, commanding.

You nod quickly, barely able to speak.

His fingers graze your lips. “Words.”

“I am yours,” you say, your voice trembling with need.

A dark grin spreads across his face, and he kisses you again, more urgently this time. “That’s right. You’re mine.”

Minho resumes his thrusts, picking up the pace. One hand moves to wrap around your neck, squeezing slowly, cutting off just enough air to blur the line between pleasure and pain. His thrusts don’t falter as his grip tightens, his voice a dark whisper in your ear.

“You’re mine. All mine. Only mine.”

Your vision swims, the pressure on your windpipe mixing with the waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You look into his eyes, and what you see there—lust, love, madness—sends you over the edge.

Both of you reach your peak together, bodies trembling as the release washes over you in shuddering waves.

When it’s over, Minho collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. He places a soft, lingering kiss on your lips that makes your heart stutter.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin. His hand rests over your chest, right where your heart beats wildly.

Then, his voice drops, a dark promise in his words. “I want to cut you open and climb inside, so we can become one—forever.”

Anyone else would think it was madness, but to you, it’s just Minho. It’s the way he loves you—raw, obsessive, and unrelenting. And you love him for it, for every twisted piece of him that’s unlike any man you’ve ever known.

“And I would die for you,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with the weight of it. “Kill for you. I love you.”

It has always been your wish to be loved to the point of madness and Minho made that come true for you.

-

You wake to sunlight spilling through the cracks in the curtains, the warmth coaxing you from the comfort of sleep. The bed feels impossibly soft, but the familiar ache in your muscles reminds you of everything that happened the night before. Slowly, you stretch, your body protesting as you roll onto your side, blinking into the brightness.

The cabin is silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves outside and the occasional chirp of birds. You glance at the clock on the bedside table—it’s already late morning. You sit up, pulling the robe tightly around your body as you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

Your eyes fall on the small bandages Minho placed on your wounds last night. They’re a stark contrast to the serene morning around you, a reminder of the intensity that’s always lurking beneath the surface. But that’s how it is with Minho—love and danger, pleasure and pain, always intertwined.

The smell of food drifts up from downstairs, making your stomach growl. Minho must be downstairs.

You pad softly down the stairs, your bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor. As you step into the kitchen, you find Minho at the stove, the light from the window framing him in a soft glow. He’s already dressed in a white shirt that accentuate his broad shoulders and there’s a calmness in the way he moves as he plates food.

He turns, a warm smile spreading across his face when he sees you.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, his voice smooth and gentle, as if the events of last night were a distant memory.

“Morning,” you reply, still groggy as you walk toward him.

You wrap your arms around his waist, leaning your head against his chest, breathing him in. His arms immediately encircle you, pulling you close as his lips press a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You slept in,” he teases, one hand coming up to brush your hair away from your face.

“I needed it,” you murmur, tilting your head up to look at him.

His gaze is tender, and there’s something disarming about the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss, slow and sweet.

The world outside feels far away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you—wrapped in each other, the chaos of your love quiet for once.

Minho pulls back, his thumb lightly tracing your lower lip. “I made lunch. Thought you’d be hungry.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I'm famished.”

He cups your face, kissing you again, this time deeper, more lingering. You melt into him, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging gently as his lips claim yours. It’s moments like this that make you feel utterly consumed by him.

When you finally break apart, both of you slightly breathless, Minho rests his forehead against yours. His hands slide down to your waist, holding you close.

“How about we go for a ride on the boat today?” he suggests, his voice low. “It’s a beautiful day.”

You look up at him, your mind still foggy from the kiss. “A boat ride?”

He nods, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Yeah. The lake’s calm, the sun’s out. We could use some fresh air.”

The thought of spending the day out on the water with Minho, with nothing but the peacefulness of the lake around you, sounds perfect. You can already imagine the cool breeze against your skin, the way the sunlight will dance across the surface of the water.

“I’d love that,” you say softly, leaning into his touch.

Minho’s eyes glint with satisfaction, and he presses one last kiss to your lips before stepping back to finish preparing lunch. “But first, finish your food.”

As you sit down to the table, Minho places a plate in front of you, the meal simple but delicious. You eat in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging soft smiles and touches, your hands brushing across the table as if neither of you can stand to be apart for long.

For the first time, the two of you are connected in a whole new level that it feels like nothing can tear you and Minho apart anymore.

-

The boat glides across the tranquil waters, the rhythmic sound of the oars slicing through the lake the only disturbance in the otherwise still air. The sun hangs high above, casting a shimmering path of light across the surface, making it look like a trail of gold leading them deeper into the heart of the lake.

You sit facing Minho, watching the muscles in his arms flex and contract as he rows, his gaze fixed on the water, intense and focused. There’s something serene about this moment, a rare softness between the two of you. It feels almost surreal, considering what happened just last night.

Last night, when this very lake was a silent witness to the horror you both created. Now, it feels like a different place—calm, almost idyllic. But the memory is still there, just beneath the surface, lingering like a dark shadow that no amount of sunlight can chase away.

Minho slows the boat as you reach the middle of the lake, his eyes shifting to meet yours. There’s a glint of something unreadable in them, a darkness that always simmers just beneath his surface. It’s the very same darkness that pulled you in, binding you to him in ways that go beyond love. It’s obsession, need, and something far more dangerous.

He lets go of the oars and shifts closer, his knees brushing against yours as he reaches out, his hand sliding into his pocket. You tilt your head, watching curiously as he pulls out something small and shiny.

Your breath catches when you realize what it is. Your wedding ring.

Minho holds it up between his fingers, the gold band catching the sunlight. You stare at it, your heart pounding as memories of your vows come flooding back. The promises you made to each other, promises that were shattered and reforged into something far more twisted and unbreakable.

“I believe this belongs to you,” Minho murmurs, his voice low and soft.

There’s a tenderness in his gaze that disarms you, makes you feel as if he’s peeling back every layer of yourself and looking straight into your soul.

He takes your left hand, his touch featherlight as he slides the ring back onto your finger. You shiver at the sensation, your eyes locked onto his as he recites the very vow you spoke on your wedding day.

“In sickness and in health…” he begins, his voice barely a whisper but strong, his gaze unwavering. “For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer…”

You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribcage. There’s an odd sense of finality in his tone, as if he’s sealing not just a promise but something darker—a pact, a blood oath that binds you together not just in love, but in sin.

“...Till death do us part,” he finishes, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, where the ring now rests again, a symbol of everything you are to each other.

You draw in a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “Till death do us part,” you repeat, your voice just as soft, but the weight of the vow feels heavier now, burdened by all the blood and secrets you share.

Minho’s eyes light up at your response, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the still air.

“We’re bound again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “In life, in death, in everything. You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine,” you whisper back, your fingers curling around the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. There’s a fierceness in your words, a possessiveness that matches his own. Because you are each other’s, wholly and completely, in ways that no one else could ever understand.

Minho cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he kisses you—soft at first, almost reverent. But then it deepens, turning into something desperate and consuming. You can feel the intensity in every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue against yours.

It’s not just love; it’s hunger, an insatiable need to claim and be claimed.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless. Minho rests his forehead against yours again, his fingers threading through your hair.

“With you, I’m never alone,” he whispers, his voice raw and honest in a way that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re the only one who understands me, the only one who’ll stay.”

“And I will,” you reply, your fingers tightening around his, “Always.”

Minho’s smile is small but genuine, and for a moment, he looks almost boyish, the hard edges of his face softened by the sunlight filtering through the trees around the lake. He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes dark and intense as they lock onto yours.

“We’re more than just lovers now,” he murmurs, his voice low.

Your gaze shifts to the water surrounding the boat, to the spot where Ryan’s body lies hidden beneath the surface. A chill runs down your spine, but it’s not fear—it’s the thrill of what you’ve become together. Bound by love, by blood, by the darkness that twists through both of your souls.

You softly nod in agreement as you turn back to him and with that, the two of you are bound once more—not just by the ring now resting on your finger, but by the weight of the secret that lies at the bottom of the lake. It’s your bond, your burden, and in a twisted way, it’s also your triumph.

Because what you have with Minho isn’t normal, and it isn’t sane. It’s dark and consuming and entirely your own. It’s a love that defies all reason, a connection that can’t be broken, no matter how much blood is spilled.

After all, when love is not madness it is not love.

-

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i drink your blood and i eat your skin | part seven.

pairing: vampire! hwang hyunjin x f!reader

warnings: angst

masterlist

playlist

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It was another day and as more time passed by, spending it only in your room, the more the boredom creeped up on you. Even the books you took with you from the library started to get boring, words on pages blending together and creating just a bunch of nonsense. The delicious food turned as bland as your world. The known unpleasant feelings started to show and not even the beautiful house could not keep you away from embracing them. You haven’t seen Hyunjin after the dinner and in some way it bothered you. Loneliness, feeling you knew all too well, quickly joined the party and now it felt way stronger, even deeper. You didn’t even realized that his presence was effecting you in some way…

More like his absence. You however knew better than let your intrusive thoughts win. It is so wrong to want his attention, him. It was so wrong that it felt good…right. You don’t know if he truly was a bad person, maybe it’s just your own head playing tricks on you. Or maybe it was just instinct, maybe it was keeping you safe from him. He is a predator and you were his chosen type of prey after all. He told you that he wouldn’t hurt you but you both know that in some way or another he already did. You weren’t in the wrong to think like this.

You are just careful around him, because you still fear him in some way. Even if you get to know him, will you ever not be afraid? You knew what power he holds and that scares you. He could snap your neck by a blink of an eye.

But…wasn’t that also so exciting?

Hyunjin is so strong, a creature created from the darkness. A vampire that walks with an aura so menacing but also so alluring. It makes you want to have just a little taste of it and before you would know it, you would be already drowning in it. And it would taste even better because his deepest desire.

You really should sort out your feelings. You wished for Mia right now. You missed her, even if it were just days but being ripped away from her like that — you didn’t like it. You choose to stay, you have to remember that.

As you were gazing through the closed windows, you wondered if you could go there. You needed some fresh air and the slightly open window in the bathroom wasn’t enough anymore. After you went to the library the door to your bedroom was mysteriously left unlocked, maybe he knows that you won’t try to run away again. For one you are sure that you wouldn’t be able to, even if you tried your hardest and second of all you don’t really want to….but maybe a walk outside wouldn’t hurt anyone.

To your surprise you found a long, warm coat for you in the closet and also some boots. Every time you had opened it, you always found new things for you. It was endless and you couldn’t help yourself from going over the multiple boxes of shoes. He really does have a taste but being alive for God knows how long, it should come naturally.

It felt wrong going out of your room like this or was it just in your head? You weren’t really a prisoner but still everyone was so careful around — with you. You weren’t that sure which way lead to the back of this place but you were definitely familiar with which way was the main entrance. You calmly made your way to the big staircase and you momentarily stopped, gripping the railing with your hand. You glance into the dark hallway just few steps away from you, you haven’t been there before. There is still so much for you to explore but your lungs really call for the fresh air you promised yourself.

As you made your way down, you noticed that you weren’t alone at all to your surprise. The house looked like it was finally waking up. Two guards were standing at each side of the main door, dressed neatly, bodies pin straight and eyes hard, it made a lump form in your throat. Maybe it’s not going to be so easy.

They didn’t spare you a glance first, even if you now stood right in front of them and you were a little thankful for that. You clear your throat, clasping your hands before you. “Ehm — hello, may I go outside?” Even by clearing your throat, you still sounded like a hurt kitten. ‘Even my voice is not on your side.’

Finally they take a glance at you briefly, before giving each other looks that you couldn’t quite place. You stood there for a while, swinging on your feet slightly. The one on your right with fair hair and looking a little older than you sighed. You weren’t so sure about his age, after all you feel like this house only reeks of the undead but this man didn’t look like it. He doesn’t have the aura around him, the different eyes or anything. He looked like you, human. His company however didn’t. He was more like your age, tall and skinny with dark curly hair and light eyes which for a second reminded you of him. This was interesting. Were there many like you here?

The older man step out, unblocking the view of the door. “I will accompany you, miss.” He said. At that excitement pumped through your veins, finally feeling some kind of relievement in these past days.

You shake your hand, waving him of, making your way to the door. “You don’t have to.”

Before you could wrap your hand around the handle, he put his hand on it, again blocking the entry with his body. You look up at him at that. “I will accompany you, miss.” He said slowly, not that sternly but letting you know that you didn’t have a choice.

“Okay.” You replied. The prices you have to pay to just get a whiff of fresh air…

The other man step aside as well, probably to not get hit with a stream of light that might shine through the now open door. You are curious about what is and what is not true about these creatures but you can tell for sure that they did not like the sun. It wasn’t that sunny outside however but you could smell the warm spring peaking around the color. The sky was still grey, maybe it was because of where you are, middle of the woods and cut from any other people that weren’t residents of this house. But is it really a house? It looked like a mansion, mixed with cathedral, you couldn’t quite place it. At least you now had time to fully analyze it.

The man walked few feet behind you and you find yourself not minding it that much, maybe because he was like you. Did he knew about who — what he was working for or was he compelled? That question ran through your head while you walk around the building, however you didn’t ask. It was none of your business but you hope that they did not keep him, like a alive blood bag…

Tracing your fingers over one of the statues, you wondered again where this marvelous place was located or more like where you were right now. You remind yourself that they had the power to do everything and more, you almost scoffed how easy it must be for them to live. The nicer weather even made the bushes bloom, you remembered that they were empty just days ago but now red roses peaked out from them.

You touched one of the roses softly, it wouldn’t propably hurt anyone to pick one up but you still glance back at your company that watched you silently the whole time. “Can I have one?” He raised his eyebrow, looking confused to why you would ask permission for that but still nodded nevertheless.

You snap the stem then, careful not to cut your finger because that definitely wouldn’t end well if you did. Twirling it between your fingers, you decided to go around, to the direction where you would look out of your window. Just as you wanted to cut the corner you suddenly appeared somewhere else.

The smell hit your nose, just as well the noises of the animals in the stables. Your mouth opened slightly. The stables were right at the edge of the mansion, so there was no way for you to ever guess to be meet with horses. You thought that vampires enjoyed more of dead company than anything. Glancing back momentarily at the guard, seeing that he doesn’t have anything against you to you going there, you pick the end of your long coat and step inside.

The heads of the horses peak out at you and you immediately went to pet each and every one of them, still careful because there wasn’t certitude that they would like you but to your surprise they did. The second your hand touch the soft skin of their neck, it seemed that almost a heavy weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Petting an animal really does help with nerves. As you passed through them, giving them each enough pets for them and for you to be satisfied, you came across a one horse that had its back to you. It probably could sense your presence, turning to finally walk up to you and have a look and you gasp softly at the beautiful white color and the black spot at it’s back.

Your lips after so long lift softly at the corners as it leaned into your open hand. You really don’t want to pick and choose favorites but this one surely speak out to you and it definitely liked you the most so far out of everyone. The stables were big, bigger than you expected, this place sure has it’s secrets and surprises.

A loud noise startled you, hand jumping away from the neighing horse to whip your head to the direction. There at one of the stalls stood a man, leaning on the wood, looking you over and you wondered if he’s been there the whole time. Your body stiffened at his dark eyes and matching black hair.

“H-Hello.” You greeted, unsure, looking back your company that to your surprise kept his distance, standing at the entrance to the stables. Looking back to meet the eyes of the lean, tall man, you don’t receive any answer. He looked like one of those statues in the gardens, the aura and his unraising chest giving you the answer about who — what this man truly is.

The horse you were just petting nudge the back of your head, making you jump before your focus was back on the still silent vampire who was still sizing you up. You cleared your throat, straightening your back, suddenly feeling insecure under his gaze. “I am–“ Before you could finish introducing yourself he beat you to it.

“I know who you are.” He said.

“Oh…”

A small smirk appears on his face at your response. “My brother can’t shut his mouth about you.”

‘Really’ You thought. You weren’t so sure what to say to that so you kept quiet. The silence however made you feel uncomfortable, turning around to continue at your petting of the horse. As you do that you could feel him getting closer, you couldn’t hear his footsteps but the burning stare at the back of your head gave him away. You turned back to him, his gaze hard but not looking so unwelcoming, maybe it was just his natural expression and also he was much closer to you that you thought. Basically right next to you

“I’m sorry for asking this but…” You begin. “–are you all…following me?” The question was answered by silence, his face unmoving. “I feel like you are…”

He hummed almost like in thought, his own attention falling to the animal before you two. “Just keeping an eye on you, like everyone.” The vampire answered. ‘What does he mean by everyone?’ Your eyes briefly flicker to the guard.

“Hyunjin likes his sleep…” He continued, making you snap out of your thoughts to look at him as he nodded his head to the direction of the horse. “You ride?”

You shook your head widely, still slightly stuck at his statement. “Oh n-no, but I for sure always wanted to try.” You careased the soft skin of the horse, smiling at it’s noises of contentment.

The vampire watch you in silence, petting the happy animal. The news of your existence shocked everyone, it was such a crazy theory that even he didn’t know what to think. He, like everyone else didn’t want to give Hyunjin the satisfaction that maybe he was right about you. The fact that this animal, your so called soulmate’s untenable horse let you pet him so freely was for sure a little significant. All eight of them had their own look at you at some point, peaking from behind corners in curiosity. Their brother was so mesmerized by you that they just had to have a look themselves. They however didn’t expect you to be like this — look like this. Such a beautiful soul but also so sad, wide eyed like you finally opened your eyes after years of living. Walking amongst the living but so close to the dead. Still you looked and smelled so sweet, like a flower, maybe you were just tormented, lost soul like them. Maybe you are more enchanting than you think…

The black haired man startles you as he suddenly opened the gate to let the horse out. “What are doing?” You asked in wonder. The question only made him roll his eyes in annoyance. He was only doing this for him. Maybe if you saw kindest in others, you could finally start seeing it in him.

You watched the vampire as he put the saddle on the horse. “We are going for a ride.” He stated casually, making you choke on your spit. Because of the gate now being open you could fully see how magnificent this animal is and it made you nervous to even approach it now.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He again rolls his eyes. If this bordered him so much, why was he even doing it then? Your body froze slightly as he suddenly made his way up to you, so quickly that you didn’t even have time to react. One second you were on the ground and now you were being picked up by your waist like you weighed nothing. A small gasp leaves you. “Wait! Wait, I don’t even know your name…”

“Seungmin.” He answered simply, while helping you up on the horse’s back and if you weren’t so focused on balancing yourself you would’ve seen the small amused smile.

The vampire walked with you in his arms, before helping you to get fully seated. “Wait! Aren’t you not supposed to be able to go outside.” You stated, clutching the leather of the saddle tightly as the animal moves under your weight.

A sigh, almost like a laugh comes through his nose at your words. “I appreciate your concern but however the sun can’t harm me from here.” You opened your mouth in realization.

You were know seated on the horse, body so rigid that now you were the one looking like a statue. The vampire still had his arms stretched out, like you were going to fall at any second into them but you were basically frozen at your spot. The animal moved a little, making you grip the saddle even tighter.

“Do you want to go down?” Your company asked softly. You didn’t say anything because you simply didn’t know the answer but as seconds passed by you started to not mind your position. Maybe the whiplash from how quickly you were put so high up was wearing out. “Or do you fancy a walk around the castle?”

Your head snapped to his direction. “Can I?” You asked softly.

“What do you think.”

You sighed through your nose, body not so tense anymore. “I would love to.” You really would.

His lips formed into a small smirk and not because of your words but from the annoyed sigh coming from inside the house that only he was able to hear. His hand then wrapped around the reins, making the horse move from it’s spot, you immediately tensing up again. But after some few steps as you walked your way to the direction of the guard who you almost forgot about, you found the hang of it.

“Accompany her, make sure she doesn’t get hurt on my brother’s behalf and sanity.” Said Seungmin and you couldn’t miss the difference of the tone of his voice nor the way he looked into the man’s eyes.

The guard nodded, blinking away rapidly and grabbing the reins to the horse. “Yes, sir.”

Seungmin turned to you, even if you had the higher ground, you couldn’t possible share the same authority as him. “For my well being I won’t be the one to give you the tour.” ‘Oh? So direct sunlight was the enemy.’ Your eyes then fell on the two man again.

“Just around the forest.”

“Yes, sir.”

You felt a little bad for this unknown man but there was nothing to do. You simply don’t have the power to even have a say about who or who not should be compelled. The way Seungmin now was looking at you, made you think that he could read your thoughts. This intense glare probably came with every vampire though.

You smiled briefly at him. “Thank you, Seungmin.”

He waved you off, looking into the distance. “I did this for myself because I can’t tolerate my brother’s whining any longer.”

“Huh…” You frowned because you couldn’t imagine him doing that, eyes traveling back again at the vampire who stood under you.

“You made a choice to stay.” He stated. “So at least try to enjoy it and stop your own whining.”

“Excuse me?” Flies out your mouth because had nothing other than that to say at the moment but he just ignored your question, turning around to make his way back inside, exactly as the sun appear on the exact spot he stood second ago.

“Goodbye miss Y/N.”

‘Vampires are going to be the death of you.’

────

It was a cold night, so cold that even Hyunjin shivered. Though was it really the breeze, coming from behind the closed door that made goosebumps appear on his skin, perhaps it was the unsettling feeling bubbling inside his chest, ready to burst at any moment. He stood behind the closed door to your bedroom, silently getting over the words inside his head. His thoughts were so loud that he didn’t even have time to listen. Hyunjin listened to the sound of your beating heart every second, since you’ve been here, even the many walls separating you apart couldn’t safe you from his ears. The thumbing soothes his soul, like a lullaby but now the sound makes his ears ring. The sound…so close yet so far.

He wanted you to know that yours made his own beat again. There’s no way for him to express his emotions throughout words. He tried plenty of different ways to show his devotion to you but you dodged every one like a bullet. Did you even know that every second without you made him mad? It made his skin crawl, itching, burning and fangs hurting and wanting nothing more than to pierce the soft skin of your neck and make you his. Hyunjin wanted to mark you so bad that he had to bite his own lips to ease the temptation, while imagining they were yours instead.

The vampire didn’t want to say this but your rejections were so confusing to him. He knew how and what he could evoke in humans, he was the creature that trilled on the seduction and the pleasure after all. You however didn’t return it. Or did you? He would like to say that he could see in the depths of the soul that people try so desperately to keep hidden and you weren’t really good at hiding your it. Your eyes gave you away every time he would look into them. The desire, the desperation they held, the wanting and longing to be finally seen. ‘Why won’t you let me in, Y/N?’ Let him in and he promises to ravish every corner of your heart, every piece of your untouched skin and lips…

Hyunjin has to contain himself a little but how when you were the reason and also the answer to his suffering and redemption?

He finally found the courage to knock on the door. The sound echoed through the old mansion, like the creaking wood under his feet and yet he didn’t hear anything from the other side. He waited a little bit for an answer but every moment made suffering even worse. Hyunjin knew you were in there…so he let himself in. He hopes you won’t be angry with him.

His eyes traveled over the room. From the unmade bed, to the multiple books on one of the nightstands. They stopped at the open window to the balcony, the very reason of the cold seeping inside the room. The strong wind made the heavy curtains float but the smell of your sweet scent didn’t immediately hit his nose, like he expected. Sense of panic washed over him, making him take quick steps to the balcony. ‘Have you ran away, jumping from the balcony and running for freedom through the forest? What if you were injured?’

Just as quickly as the panic had reached him, it flew away through the wind as a gasp ringed in the air. He turned around, coming face to face with your shocked expression and he had to slightly sigh in relief, taking in the smell of your skin.

One moment you were enjoying your bath in silence, washing away the smell of the animal you spent your whole day with and then there was a vampire standing inside your bedroom. You didn’t expect him to visit you at all and definitely not so soon after the horrible dinner and also not so late but what seemed like late to you was the beginning of the day for him. Your white nightgown gave you little to no coverage, wrapping your arm around your chest, the man following your action before quickly everting them. “May I ask what are you doing here unannounced?” You spoke up, eyes glancing at how the moonlight casted shadows on his face.

Hyunjin look up at your words, glancing over your figure so quickly that you didn’t even catch it. He had to licked his lips to ease the thirst. ‘God what she’s doing to me?’

“I did.” He said. “I knocked but you didn’t answer.”

“Alright.” You said, nodding not really sure what to say to that. You again watched each other in silence for a while. These moments were making you unsure if they made you uncomfortable or…comfortable. His presence doesn’t brother you that much anymore but you still haven’t got used to it.

Pressing your lips together, you walked to your bed, passing by him shifty. He had to take a deep breath as the wind blew your hair away from your neck. You knew exactly what he was doing as there was no need for him to breathe at all, however you tried to ignore it. You climbed into the bed, taking the duvet closer to your chest. It created a small imaginary distance from him, shielding you from his glaring eyes but you knew that if he wanted to he would tear it apart together with you.

You gave him a look of wonder because for what was he exactly here for? The expression made the vampire snapped out of whatever trance he was in. “I came here to talk to you.” Hyunjin answered simply.

You frown. “To talk to me?” You quoted. “About what?”

He gave a weird look, almost like in thought, before he sighed. “Anything…” He walked up at you, stopping just at the end of the bed. “I just want your company.” Hyunjin almost sounded desperate and how he towered over you, it reminded you of something.

How he looked at you that night and how he made you feel. You knew that it was just your imagination, a dream and it didn’t particularly ended well for you but the way he made almost everything look so appealing…His sultry voice and his eyes, lips, hands — your eyes flicker to his rings, wrapped around his long fingers.

Looking up from the dark color of the duvet, you could see that he had moved a little closer to you with just a moment of your inattention. He leaned his weight on the column of the bed’s canopy, just where your legs were. “Minho said you enjoy reading.”

“Yes.” You said carefully. How can you be surprised?

He hummed at your answer, warmness spreading inside his chest because you shared something in common — and of course he couldn’t forget about love for animals…

Glancing momentarily at the one book on the nightstand, he could see bookmark peaking out from it. “What book did you picked?”

Biting your lip, you also look at the book before placing your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. “Would it be bad if I said Dracula?”

Hyunjin laughs, genuine smile on his lips and you couldn’t help yourself but marveling over it. “Interesting, I wonder why the sudden interest in vampires.” There was still the same smile on his face, though now teasing you.

You were so taken back by his reaction that your own lips started to tug at the corners. “Hey, don’t laugh.” You tsked, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s more interesting to why you even have this book in your library.”

“Certainly.” He nodded, still amused.

A sudden big gush of cold air flew from the still open balcony inside the room. It made goosebumps appear on your skin and just as quickly as your reaction to the sudden cold appeared on your body, the man before you took action upon seeing it. “Are you cold? I will close it.” Hyunjin didn’t even give you time to answer, walking to the windows to close it.

Your hungry eyes stared at his back and even from here you could see the muscles underneath the tight shirt. If only he knew that the shiver weren’t only from the cold. The vampire turn around slowly after closing the balcony, looking right at your laying figure. There was so much to say but nether of you knew where to start.

But you however had enough of this killing silence, feeling the way your heart skipped a beat after glancing at him. “I’m sorry but I was just going to bed and —“

“I understand.” He didn’t even look angry nor sad with your words, not like at the dinner. “I will talk to you some other time…”

You nodded again, still being slightly tongue tied. Again watching him walk away from you made you feel empty. Why were there so many mixed feelings? You really don’t know what you want from him…maybe the truth.

Just as walked pass your bed you stopped him with your hand raised. “Wait!” He immediately turned around, almost like waiting for you to say that. “Can I ask you something?” The man in question kept quiet, giving you room to speak.

You also went quiet, basking in the silence. The only noises being the wind banging on the closed windows and you could even hear the frequent dripping of water coming from the bathroom. To your surprise he still kept quiet and unknowingly to you also enjoying this moment. Maybe it was just because he could look at your figure so freely as you were to occupied with your thoughts. You always have to be the one to destroy every pleasant moments like these…

“That night if those men didn’t appear what would you truly do…I know that you already answered but—“

“I am failing to understand…”

Oh, but he did. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You were watching me before, syzing me up…” God, what are you doing, you two were doing so good and now you are messing it all up…

Your mouth was open still, both of you waiting for the million dollar question. But you couldn’t immediately form it, the glare he was giving you made you scared to even think about it. He was giving you a warning look but you still said it anyway.

“Were you going to drink my blood?”

A sneer falls over his features and you wondered how this same face could even form a smile minutes ago. “Why are you asking such question?” He tried to warn you to not go further but the damage was already done. Why can’t you leave things in the past? Was it because you were human that you couldn’t let go so easily?

You watch how his knuckles turned white around the column and you were afraid that he might crush it into pieces. What if that was your throat instead? “I just want to know…did you really have no intention of drinking from me?” You can’t be in the wrong for asking this…

“I can’t answer that.” Whispered Hyunjin, head hanging low and praying that you would just let this go for his and your own sake.

“Yes, you can.” You declared slowly, duvet falling over your body as you sit up to get closer to him. Was he shaking?

“No…”

Your scoff rings inside the room next, head shaking at his stubbornness. You both know the answer already but you needed to hear it to be sure. Maybe it could finally make you hate him…He on the other hand had a really hard time to contain himself. You don’t even know that you were playing with fire right now. Someone so afraid yet blindly teasing the snake with a bare foot at the same time.

“Just tell me damn it! Would you had killed me if they didn’t showed up?”

“No! I was just—“

“Just what?” The question comes out sharper than you intended.

Finally Hyunjin look at you. Long hair covered his eyes, shielding the vibrant color dancing in them. The silence now didn’t sound the same as before. It was exactly the silence before a storm. You suddenly realized what you had done but it was too late now. You completely turned him around. The way he looked right now, perfectly mirrored the way he had looked at you the very first night you met. “You’re—your blood.” He pulled his hand away from the column and even in the darkness you could see the dents in it from his fingers. “I’ve never smelled someone so delicious as you before.” Closing his eyes, a sigh dangerously close to a growl left him. “And you were just in the perfect position — all alone and oh so mesmerized.” Opening his eyes again, he listened to your loudly beating heart. “If they didn’t come…if you wouldn’t scream for help.” He stopped himself from going further, you both know that this confession was all you needed. “I didn’t kill you after that because I have never felt so bad about my victim before…and also seeing you in such pain — I couldn’t possibly continue it.”

Your face crunched up, his raw words bringing out the mentioned pain to the surface but you decided to stay strong for a little longer. “So you would’ve just killed your soulmate or whatever you call this and you wouldn’t even know.”

Next, so quickly that you even had time to blink, he was on you. From the end of the bed, he suddenly appeared before you. His body covered yours and you couldn’t do anything but look into his wild eyes. He was so so close, you could feel his breath fanning over your lips as he spoke up. “Be quiet.” He growled, his red eyes glaring into yours and after a long time you felt like fainting from fear again. Was this how his victims felt? Your chest that raised with your every breath touched briefly his but you were too afraid to move away.

“You’re not listening, I said vampires can sense the bond easily. So I apologize that your fucking warm fresh—“ His tongue trailed over his bottom lip slightly, glancing at the noticeable vein on your neck. “— pulsing blood pumping inside you is in the way, hypnotizing me so much that I wouldn’t even mind sucking every last drop.” He tilts his head at you. “You wouldn’t even mind…would you, Y/N?” His teasing tone was gone just as soon as it appeared and because of his words you didn’t even feel the hand bruising the skin of your leg.

The tears in your eyes couldn’t be contained anymore. “Sorry for not letting go of the past so easily, sorry for not forgetting that I met my so called soulmate the night I was almost raped and then killed by — you…” Spitting out the word, a pathetic whimper comes out next from you and not because of your crying but by the immense pain in your leg. His left hand gripped your right thigh so hard, that you couldn’t even find the will to fix the skirt of your nightgown that was now bunched up at your waist.

Something in him broke at your tears. What do he do? ‘What have I done’, you thought. The irises around his pupils cleared, face falling into shock. You have never seen such a raw emotion from him before. His now blue eyes glance at his hand. He never meant to bring you pain by his touch but the way your skin spilled over his fingers from how much he gripped it, made him sick to his stomach. He withdrew his hand, like you’ve been the one to burn him and when you sob out in relief he thought he will die again just by that godawful noise.

Both of you could see the obvious handprint on your skin, making you grasp the skirt of your nightgown, letting it fall over your exposed legs. “Get out…” You whispered, his eyes as wide as yours. “Get out!” Screaming the words at him, made Hyunjin almost fall to his feet before you and he had no other choice but to follow your orders.

‘What have I done?’, you thought again, swallowing your sobs. Maybe you really don’t deserve to be loved…

──────────────────────

author’s note:

for my lovey right here: @hanonlymeuu

curious of you

pairing ot8 stray kids (seperate) x fem reader synopsis in which the dads successfully get seducedᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ⊹cw/ tw suggestive, borderline smut, alcohol, taboo situations, pet names, cheating, mentions of sexting, smut (hyunjin’s) food play with whipped cream, oral fixation, nipple play, mentions of fingering, talks about cunnilingus, lowkey smut (felix’s) foot job, kinda public sex, mentions of a vibrator, smut (jeongin’s) blow job, spit kink wc 10k +

library

mocha note it’s been two days and i’m already on a part three of these helwsjk, can you tell that I love seungmin LMFAO, also the edit i’m referring to for jeongin’s is linked here

୨୧ bang chan

Chan was confused

He couldn’t wrap his head the idea of Y/n genuinely, a young woman in her twenties being interested in him, a man with two kids and hair that was more than likely soon to be fully gray before the decade ended, and like he always did when his overthinking got the best of him, he pulled away, abrupt and hard

Y/n really couldn’t understand why he pulled away, she thought it was clear that she really did like him, pepper hair, two kids and all, but she understood, she wasn’t the older one in the situation, she would feel the same way if the roles were reversed so she did the only thing she could do, wait

Unlike the boys in my age group, I found myself getting to know Chan for a person, and not for what was in his pants, he believed in making genuine connections with a person before even crossing the line of sexual. I soft sigh bubbled past my lips at how intimate he was, he never did anything ultimately sexual in nature, but his firm hands gripping onto my arm to prevent me from falling, or the way he held my hand while simply staring into my eyes

Chan was a man of many love languages, one being physical touch, in our private studying times in his office, his hands was always somewhere on my body, it didn’t matter, they could be kneading my thigh, or intertwined with mine, while reading the textbook to me so that I would understand it better

Not to mention the phone calls we used to have before he did a complete 180, no good morning texts, no texts making fun of my assignments, and no contact in real life either, when I came in early for my Friday lecture, he simply ignored me and threw himself into making assignments for the next month instead

I rolled my eyes at the thoughts of him flooding my mind even though I promised myself that I would give him space, if he was confused about how he wanted to handle things with me, I wasn’t going to interfere, the phone works two ways and when he was ready to act like the man he was, I would be there to console him

“Fuck this”

I immediately walked into my closet, deciding to head to a bar since I had no classes tomorrow, and a bit of soju never hurt when I found myself overthinking. My once clean roomed turned into a jungle of clothes and shoes strewn wildly against any crevice possible, I had an outfit in mind, and I couldn’t find the perfect bra to pair it with

Fifteen minutes of searching, I later found it in my dirty clothes hamper, making me scream at how unlucky my life was at the moment, but the good thing about me was that I always had a back up, and my back up came in the form of a strapless black tube dress and a pair of chanel heels my mother gotten me for my twenty first birthday a couple years back

I stepped out into the living room of the apartment I shared with my younger brother, my purse and flats in hands “I’m going out Jakey, don’t stay up too late for me” My younger brother scoffed and asked why would he wait up for me, he didn’t care that much, I giggled and raised my middle finger in retaliation and before he could say anything else, I was already out of the front door and walking to my car nearly parked in our drive way

“Have fun tonight Y/n, don’t let him ruin this for you” I didn’t know why I was reminding myself, deep down I knew that he ruined any man who wasn’t him for me, I knew that I would quickly find the bar boring, heading home before I could even explore my options, he was that important to me

Thoughts of Chan began to dwindle as I finally arrived at the bar, heels clicking against the asphalt while my body swayed, cat walking into the ever lively bar, the moment I stepped in, I knew I caught the attention of some people, but they weren’t interesting, they weren’t him

Loud music reverberated against my ears, while the red and blue lights flashed violently in tandem, I made my way towards the bartender who recognized me and immediately got started on making me a whiskey sour, it wasn’t like I enjoyed whiskey, but it wasn’t a soju type of night, and I wanted to feel tipsy

“Here you go madam, should I put that on your tab?” I shook my head, and pulled out the three hundred won the glass costed and thanked him, taking a seat on one of the chairs facing him. It hasn’t even been a minute, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a guy, who looked to be about my age, approaching me

I let my eyes drift forward, trying to ignore the soon to be awkward encounter, but he took that as me being shy, and asked to buy me another drink “No thanks, I still have this one” I smiled sweetly thinking that it would be enough to get him to back off, but instead he shocked me by taking my glass and finishing it for me

“What drink, how about you let me buy you another one baby” My eyes deadpanned and I rolled my eyes “How old even are you” The male puffed up his chest and immediately replied with ‘21’ which made me ick faster than him snatching my drink did “And you cutie? How old are you”

“She’s too old for you”

Chan needed to de-stress, taking on grading multiple assignments so he wasn’t stuck daydreaming about a girl he was supposed to mentor taxed on his body a lot harder than it should’ve, so he found himself calling his ex wife asking if she could retrieve their sons just for the night and he would pick them up in the morning, being the nosy woman she was, she inquired about his reasons, to which he laughed and told her that he would see her in a few

After dropping off his sons at their mothers and having his ex wife interrogate him in person, he silently drove his car to his destination. Chan felt stuck, he couldn’t turn on his radio because every song reminded him of the woman he was currently avoiding, her beauty was was unmatched, he often found himself getting lost in her features more than not, her voice was a symphony, a symphony that warmed his heart and melted his walls

But that didn’t stop him from being scared, he’s been married once, and engaged three times, he’s sworn off on relationships, and now a college student has him rethinking his decisions. “I'm fucking screwed” images of Y/n smiling into his chest raided his mind and he arrived at the bar faster than he expected, having blanked most of the drive out because his mind was busy

Chan didn’t know what he was expecting when he had walked in, but he sure didn’t expect to see you, getting flirted with by a boy who he was sure was only trying to get into your pants, and before he knew it, he was on his way to make his presence known

My heart thumped wildly at the familiarity of the voice beside me and noticed Chan, of all people staring down the poor boy who walked off, claiming that I was too ugly for him anyway “Well hello to you too Chris” The older man didn’t say anything, but his eyes told me everything I needed to know, my hand left my lap and began to travel onto his thigh while maintaining eye contact “I missed you… a lot”

I didn’t mean to immediately be clingy, but with the way his eyes dilated, I knew it was well received “Y/n, let’s go” I arched my brow but allowed him to lead me out of the bar, all the way to his car. Chan opened the passenger door for me and as if he could read my mind, he told me he would drive me back later to retrieve my car when it was less busy, and we were less likely to be recognized

Only then did I remember that this wasn’t a random dude I met and fell for, this was my Chemistry teacher and a lot of things rode on us not being together, being in a relationship, he could lose his job, and I could lose the degree that I spent the last four years grinding for, but as his hand traveled dangerously from my thigh inwards, the repercussions started to seem worth it

Anything was worth it if it was for Christoper Bang’s heart, and as we messily made out in his car, parked in his driveway, I began thinking about what it would be like to stake my claim on him “I’m so fucking sorry Y/n, thank you for coming back to me, I just needed time to figure things out…” He trailed off but his eyes never left mine, and I smiled, cradling his face in my hands “My poor baby, I’ll always wait for you” He cursed under his breath and hastily opened his car door, just to appear next to the passenger side, opening my door and leading me inside his house

“I don’t deserve you” He was mumbling now, but the moment the door closed, he pinned me up against it, nipping against my skin, leaving a trail of heat in his movements “Baby, we deserve each other, we just met in an interesting predicament” He pulled away to chuckle against the skin of my neck before starting his ministrations again “We’re about to get in an even bigger one baby” Before I could question him, he took hold on my body and threw me over his shoulders as if I weighed nothing, proving that his muscles weren’t just for show

“And ‘m gonna show you how much I appreciate you”

୨୧ minho

I found myself stuck between a rock and a hard place, the rock being my morals, and a hard place being my little’s father. Minho obviously didn’t make it easier on me, despite never reaching the step of penetration, we indulged in many activities that should’ve made me feel guilty, but instead it made me feel ensnared by the trap of Lee Minho’s body

Of course he was fit, he worked out every morning at five o’clock, and he ate meals fit for kings, it also didn’t help that he aged like fine wine, one drunken night and a couple of sloppy kisses later and he was pulling out a photo album, complete with baby photos of his two daughters and himself, and he definitely had multiple glow ups despite never needing them

Young dad Minho had nothing on the Minho right now and I could only hope to age like him if I ever was ever given the chance to have children and a husband and Minho knew he looked good, having said so an eye- rolling amount of times. Lately I found myself sleeping in one of the Lee’s households guest rooms even after the kitchen was repaired, Minho said it was because he had a feeling it wasn’t fixed up to standard, but I knew that it was because he liked having me around

Tonight was no different, Minhee was bar hopping with a couple friends who I deemed responsible enough to hang out with, so I didn’t feel the need to go, and while she was out, doing young adult activities, her 10 year old sister Minju had decided to sleep over her moms since as apart of the divorce proceedings, Minho had her every weekday, and his ex wife, her mother had her for every other weekend, this weekend being one of them

So it was just Minho and I in the house together and the thought of that sent a chill up my spine, I checked my phone and saw that it was only 8 pm so Minho was either taking his shower since he took walks every day after dinner and since he ate while out at work, he had to wait until he got home to do so or taking his nap. I told him multiple times that he was getting old, having needed atleast one nap just to function through out the day

I hummed softly as my hands moved in a rhythm that was comfortable to Soonie since he was laying in my bed, purring softly as my fingers rubbed against his ears “Do you think that your daddy is asleep or in the shower” Of course the room went silent after I asked a literal cat about his opinion, but that didn’t stop me from taking his silence as an answer

“Me too Soonie, me too” The tabby cat immediately began stretching and then moved away, having gotten tired of the petting and wanted to be left alone “You’re just like your father Soonie” If the cat could understand me, he didn’t make it known, because like always he sat unbothered and simply ignored me

“Well since i’m hungry, ‘m gonna go fix me some food” I smacked my head against my forehead and groaned, it seemed that the longer I stayed at Minho’s house, the more I began talking to myself “I am literally going insane” I shrugged and then remembered that I was still in my clothes from earlier and should change into my pajamas

A devious grin etched onto my face as I raided the drawers of the guest rooms dresser for the pajama set I packed on a whim, it was sheer and a beautiful pastel mint, it was a tank top that appeared more like a bra than an actual tank top, but the shorts took the cake, literally, they were ruffled and cupped my ass nicely, letting the underside of my rear peak through just enough to invoke indecent thoughts from the father of two

I stepped out of my room, clad in the pajamas and a pair of rubber gripped fluffy socks since his house was majority hardwood and I refused to slip and fall in front of Minho, instead of helping, he would more than likely stand there and call me an idiot, making me feel even more embarrassed

My sock covered feet muffled the steps I took from my room, all the way into his kitchen, It was only 8:17 and I haven’t eaten all day, so fixing the leftover gamjaguk, that Minho had made for dinner yesterday seemed like the best option “Where the fuck did they put the ladle” I searched every drawer and noticed that the ladle I was looking for seemed to disappear from the kitchen, I frowned and dipped down to check one of the small cabinets closer to the floor

thwack

A loud squeal erupted from me causing me to jump due to the pain arising from the left side of my behind, a loud snicker from the culprit made me roll my eyes, and as I turned around, I was met by the grinning face of Minho “What the hell was that for” he chuckled and shrugged without moving his eyes away from me “Why not it was right there” I rolled my eyes and massaged the area where his palm connected and whined

“But it hurt” Minho cooed and placed his hand on the exact area where it hurt “I can make it feel better for you b-” He was cut off by the front door opening and immediately backed away, while I began searching for the ladle once again, not even thirty seconds later, Minhee walked into the kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator, grabbing a water bottle, then giving her father a kiss on the cheek, having greeted her dad, she made her way to me and engulfed me in a large hug, and while I usually enjoyed her bear hugs, I felt nothing but deep guilt, even moreso since I was staring into the intense eyes of Minho, her father, right behind her back figuratively and literally.

She pulled away and immediately went to the fridge, and there was the ladle, literally sitting on a shelf in the fridge for no fucking reason “you have to be kidding me” Minhee and her father both looked at me, silently questioning me, to which I briefly the fiasco where I was searching for the ladle so I could enjoy leftovers only to come up empty handed “Oh my bad, I left it in there because I didn’t want to misplace it” I stared at Minhee and placed my thumb across my neck, slowly drawing it across in a threatening manner making the girl raise her hand in mock surrender and running to her room

I cursed mentally at how awkward the atmosphere had become, less than a couple of minutes ago, it was hot and heavy, I was literally about to get intimate with my friend’s father. Our eyes met and shared a secret that only we could understand, whatever we were doing it was wrong, his long slender legs slowly moved until they our thighs were plush together, his hands that rested themselves on my waist, more than likely knew my body better than my ex

“This is wrong” Minho nodded, his eyes never leaving mine “It is” I moved my hands to place the palms of them on his chest “We should stop” His hands began to travel south towards my ass and he nodded again “We should” For a few seconds we held eye contact that only got hotter the longer we stared, my hairs curled themselves in his hair and leaned in “This isn’t right Minho” he then leaned in, his breath tickling my ear “But it feels right”

And I was putty in his hands, gamjaguk forgotten as I undressed her father in the middle of the kitchen, while she was less than a few feet in her room, literally able to walk in at any moment “Be a good girl and keep it down” He kissed my jaw and sucked lightly drawing a harsh breath from me and then pulled away chuckling “Then again it’s me, not many people can keep quiet with me around”

I rolled my eyes and traced my finger against his god chiseled jaw “Well that’s big shoes to fill Mr. Lee, are you all talk or are you actually going to be able to back up your statements” The male smiled, tongue coming out to lick his lips while his hands worked on pulling the straps of my tank top down- drawing a sharp breath having felt the warmness of my collarbones with the tip of his fingers

“Keep being a good girl and you’ll be able to find out”

୨୧ changbin

It wasn’t hard to predict what was going on through Changbin's head, he always seemed present, but never present in the moment. Over the span of two whirlwind months, we've always been together, only separating when we have to work, or he has to go to the gym and it was to the point that Eunha had some of her things at my house since she was frequently over

Today Changbin decided to take Eunha and I out to the movies so that she could see inside out two, after the movie, he would have to drop Eunha off at her mothers house because his ex wide requested to have their daughter for a week, with a heavy heart he agreed and understood that whatever happened between the two of them had nothing to do with Eunha, and she deserved both parents in her life

While he agreed, that didn't mean that I couldn't pick upon how he really felt, so while Eunha was napping before we left out for the movies, I began massaging his shoulders "It’ll be okay Binnie, Eunha is still here, let’s just make sure you two have the best time before her send off” Even though my hands worked deftly to knead his shoulder “She only takes Eunha whenever it benefits her, I don’t know what she’s planning but I don’t want my daughter hurt” I nodded and trailed my hands up towards his hair, massaging the roots

“And since she has a wonderful father like you she, I know you won’t have to worry about that, besides she has no filter, so she’s definitely going to tell you every small detail that happens” I stopped and dipped my torso down, looking at him upside down and giggled “Let’s enjoy Eunha while she’s still here, she hasn’t left yet hon” I kissed his forehead and held his face in place since he had a tendency to look away

“Plus Eunha said she didn’t like her mom all that much, so you’ll probably have your princess back before the week ends” I placed a feathered kiss onto his nose and stood upright again, after a few more minutes of talking and coaxing him to relax, he was finally smiling again

“You’re so good to me Y/n what would I do without you” I shrugged and chuckled “Suffer, but it’s okay, I think we’re a good pair” I pat his shoulders and sat down on the couch beside him, laying on his shoulder enjoying the atmosphere between us

Ever since Eunha started asking me to come over a lot more, I always somehow found myself wrapped in her fathers embrace, and much to much dismay it never went farther, probably because Changbin didn’t really know how to go about flirting, and he didn’t want to make it weird, but I would let him put me in a headlock if he wanted

“You’re so cute like this Binnie” I placed my hand on his thigh and trekked it closer and closer until his breath hitched “You’re not slick Y/n” I lifted my head from his shoulder and put on the most innocent face that I could muster “But i’m not doing anything, absolutely nothing Binnie” My fingers trailed higher and were now playing with the strings to the waistband of his sweats, I toyed with them debating if I should untie them but before I could even decide what to do, he immediately straightened and pushed my hands away

“Hey wha-” His eyes were telling me to look behind me and only then did I remember that Eunha was still here and she called our names, signaling to us that she was awake and was in need of our attention, a knowing look painted his face and he stood up, awkwardly fixing his pants and opening his arms, waiting for his princess to jump into his arms

Eunha ran, but before she could reach he father’s open arms, she jumped onto the couch and straight into my lap, causing a grunted noise to wind through my chest “Hey baby, how was your nap” Changbin sulked about being denied by his own daughter, but she could care less “It was good, can we go to the movie now” I held her for a moment and asked her father should I began getting her ready and he shrugged, saying that he was going to get dressed and I should head over to mine so that I could as well

It was finally time for the movie, and we walked in, hands linked and Eunha on my hip, making people stare in admiration and or envy, my heart swelled at the idea of people thinking that I was a mother, or better yet, Changbin’s wife and I found that I liked the sound of that better than being his neighbor who hung out with his daughter occasionally

I wanted to be in their daily lives, and I wanted to be an important role in their lives like they would be mine. It was finally time to say goodbye to Eunha for a week and being honest, it hurt me too, my schedule began filling up with the beautiful girl. Tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn’t help but sniffle, the little girl even cried in my arms while her mother angrily watched on

“Are you okay Binnie?” It was silent on the way home to the apartments but I knew that he was focused on not being upset due to not being able to physically see his daughter for an entire week “I’m fine i’ll just miss my baby girl” His hand slipped down onto my thigh as the car slowed because the light turning red “Yeah?” He turned his head and held eye contact “Yeah” His hand inched dangerously closer, hesitating to go completely “M’kay” I took his hand and trailed it up myself

“My poor baby’s so needy that she’s tryna fuck herself against my fingers, while i’m driving? tch” I smiled and giggled, not hiding the fact that he was correct “Well get me home fast enough and I wouldn’t be this needy honey” He chuckled, driving one handedly since his less dominant hand was occupied, I wasn’t one for assuming things, but with the way he stepped on the gas, attempting to stay on the legal limit made me think that he was actually excited about fucking me, but it wasn’t me if I didn’t tease him through it

My fingers busied themselves with unzipping his pants palming him, and at every red light, I applied a bit of pressure “You’re hard baby, but i’m the needy one apparently” He ignored me, but with the way his jaw began tensing, I knew that I was in for it, not that I would want it any other way

୨୧ hyunjin

It was tense in the Hwang household, Somi was never home, making Hyunjin disappointed in his children’s mother, but that wasn’t the sole reason for the change in the house. Ever since his drunken confession that lead to the start of our cyber affair, he’s been trying hard not to step out of his marriage in front of his kids, outside we were nanny, and a tired father who had a mutual understanding of the lovely three kids

That still didn’t stop Hyunjin from initiating acts that showed me that whatever we talked about over text, was serious, I know I should’ve felt guilt having sent a video of me pleasuring myself to a married man with two kids and a baby that wasn’t even one yet, and I would’ve, had he not sent back a video of his release, moaning my name with it as his milky white orgasm coated his stomach and thighs

Careful touches that held their own conversations was now the norm between me and Hyunjin, touches as simple as our fingers accidentally touching after Hyori wanted to be passed between us sent signals through the both of us, it was wrong, but it was everything I wanted. We also started doing things for each other that would only make sense to us, I would walk around the house in his favorite colors, and he would do the same for me, even though my favorite was his least favorite, I also had a bath ready for him the moment he came home, no words had to be exchanged, we were on the same wavelength, even if that wavelength was a marriage ruining affair

“Something smells delicious” I looked up and gave the sweetest fake smile I could muster, Somi was finally home, and it was because Hyunjin’s mother requested her two grandsons for the weekend, Hyori would have went too had she not have started a new phase in which she began only wanting to be near me or her father when he came home from his job as a celebrity interior designer and a model

“Well I’m baking a cake, the boys asked for some and since I didn’t have time to while they were here so, i’m surprising them with one when they get back” I was making a chocolate cake, but the Hwang boys were vocal in their disdain for regular frosting, so I was in the middle of hand whipping chocolate whipped icing for the boys enjoyment

Somi’s face scrunched as she scoffed “Could you not have brought a cake? Why take on more work than you have to?” I shrugged, of course she wouldn’t get what it was like to see someone who you loved get excited over something you did for them, and since my love language was acts of service, I didn’t mind doing it, in fact I preferred it, but again, she wouldn’t understand anything that wasn’t her husbands pay check

“The boys don’t like store brought cake, and besides homemade is healthier” Somi began speaking about how she knew what was her sons liked since she was the one to give birth to them, so I bit my tongue, I was not about to start and argument with the woman who was married to the man I was a mistress to, that would make me a stereotypical mistress

“Well i’ll let you finish your unnecessary cake, I think you forgot that little boys eat anything and everything and they would most definitely not care if a cake was homemade, or if it was store brought, cake is cake” I rolled my eyes and physically bit my tongue, it didn’t matter if she was they boy’s biological mother or not, she put no effort into learning her children

“Well, i’m out, I just had to tell Hyunjin that I wouldn’t be back until next week, i’m going to Japan with one of my fellow mommy friends” I smiled and wished her farewell and being honest I wouldn’t care if she didn’t come back until next lifetime “Have fun and be safe, safe travels” She thanked me and the house fell silent for a little bit until the tell tale sign of Hyori crying rang throughout the house

Usually I would’ve rushed to her, but it was nearing her bed time and Hyunjin requested that whenever he was home that he’d be the one to put her to sleep, and who was I to deny a man who actually enjoyed spending his time with his daughter

The cake was almost finished, but I felt that it needed a touch of regular whipped cream, so I trekked over to the large stainless steel fridge, everytime I seen it, I was reminded at how rich Hyunjin was, he had enough money to spend on a refrigerator with a built in tablet that connected to his and my phone. I giggled and shook my head as a reminder that I needed to grab whipped cream not to fawn over a refrigerator

I grabbed my spatula, grabbing one last scoop of the chocolate cream “Whatcha’ making” I forgot that I was in fact not alone in the house and having not heard him walk into the kitchen, I squealed and dropped a little bit of the chocolate icing on my chest, thankfully not on my white tank top

Hyunjin’s eyes turned to slits as he stepped closer to me, eliminating any of the space that was previously between us “I was making a chocolate cake for the boys, but you scared me” I pretended to be upset and immediately broke my demeanor, giggling while trying not to stare directly into his eyes, but he had another idea entirely

His middle and index finger moved from their place hanging idle by hips and scooped up the fallen cream from my chest, my eyes widened while his locked onto my face, sticking the two fingers and sucking on them, moaning while his tongue swirled around the digits, my panties were damp at this point, his eyes never leaving my body

“Your cream is delicious baby, have you tried it?” My eyes widened at the innuendo, and I shook my head while my bottom lip slipped between my teeth, keeping me from spewing some desperate nonsense “Try it” His fingers swiped into the bowl directly at this point, his other hand cupped my jaw, gently prying it open so he could stick his long slender fingers between my lips

I opened my mouth for him and eagerly sucked on the digits, moaning at the way he pressed them against my tongue, I popped off for a brief moment onto to take the chocolate cream covered digits, my eyes never left his, not even when I finished with an audible pop “It really is good” Hyunjin chuckled and licked his lips, his eyes telling me that he wasn’t done

“You still have some on your chest baby” Hyunjin was quick, immediately dipping down and letting his mouth suckle at the area, whines of pleasure couldn’t help but ooze out of my body while his tongue lapped at the area like a starved man, his hands holding a death grip onto my hips, most definitely leaving bruises to match the hickies forming on my chest

“Let’s not let this go to waste no?” Before I could even question him, he picked my body up with ease placing it back down onto the counter, with efficiency, he took my tank top off, leaving me in nothing but my panties and shorts against his kitchen’s island countertop

He groaned while smearing the chocolate cream all the way from my collarbone down to the waistband of my sleep shorts. In seconds I was turned into a moaning mess when he latched his mouth onto my left breast, teasing the nipple with his teeth, while his other hand busied itself groping my right breast

“Stop teasing Hwang” instead of verbally replying he bit down on my nipple, causing me squeal out in shock and a teensy bit of pain “Oh baby don’t tell me what to do, that’s my job for you princess, got it?” With haste, I immediately shook my head in confirmation making the man stand up and chuckle making me tilt my head in confusion

He kept his eyes on mine while removing his wedding ring, which sent even more waves of pleasure to my cunt that was already sopping, begging for any kind of friction

“Oh baby, i’m not going to stick my fingers in you with another woman’s ring on”

୨୧ jisung

Jisung and I gotten really close over the span of a couple weeks, most of our conversations being over facetime since we were both too busy to meet up, him with producing, making music, and being a father, and me doing the same things except switch the parenting part with dancing

I was currently on facetime with the male because not only was I struggling on my concept for the next comeback I would have, but my fans loved the sexual nature of Sticky, making my company force me into writing a song of the same nature

"I don't know Jisung, I don't like how the chorus sounds and it's about to make me tweak out" A deep but very chuckle sounded from my speakers while Jisung tried his best to convince me not to do anything that would get me caught up in a scandal

“I’m not good at writing sex songs, I literally haven’t had sex in lord knows how long” I didn’t realize that I was just blabbing now, but Jisung went silent and then began making fun of me for my lack of sex to which I cursed him out

“Not all of us can be the J.One, we all can’t be sexy like you Jisung” I rolled my eyes making sure that my phone was propped up where it could see my notepad and crumbled papers of failure surrounding my work space “You’re right, not all of us can be me, but if you play your cards right, you can get a piece of me” He winked and I scoffed folding my arms over my chest

“Oh please, I didn’t forget about you texting me about how proud you are about being a munch Jisung” The male shrugged and then told me he wasn’t denying the truth “If you’re such a munch then why are most of your songs about receiving and not giving baby boy, plus when I sent you my location the other day, you didn’t eat me out, we literally made out and that was it” The males face turned red and he screamed about me being wrong

“Okay so first things first I literally had a plan on how I was gonna fuck you Y/n how was I supposed to know that my baby mama was gonna call me, besides just because I like giving head doesn’t mean that I give head to every girl I fuck, not everyone has been worthy of my talent” I scoffed and shook my head at the male who was now in his kitchen, cooking stir fried rice with his shirt off, showing off the planes of well sculpted abs “Oh so i’m worthy of your talent”

The other side of the phone went silent but I could hear the sizzling of spam in his pan “Of course, just wait till we’re less busy babe, i’ll make you feel so good that you can’t help but have enough material to write sex songs” I didn’t respond and I also wouldn’t admit to him that talking about him giving me head was actually motivating me, just not in the way I needed it right now

“And how would you eat me out Mr. J munch One” He chuckled and added an egg into the pan, immediately popping the yolk and spreading it around with his chop sticks “Well for starters, i’m kissing you, your thighs, your stomach, and your hips, i’ll bite down every now and then making sure that your skin is blossoming with my marks”

My eyes widened but he didn’t even look up from the stove and continued “Then, i’m finger fucking fucking you until I find your g spot, then i’ll make sure anytime that I finger you, i’d abuse that spot until you cum all over my fingers” He looked up at the camera and then back at his food “Then after you cum like the good girl that I know you are, i’m gonna put my fingers in you again, this time adding my tongue, i’ll make sure to lick up every drop of your essence baby”

“After sucking your cunt clean, i’m tongue fucking the shit out of you until you squirt all over my face, and I won’t stop until I have you squirting baby, If i’m not covered in you by time we’re done, then I failed” He wasn’t done speaking but I couldn’t just stay quiet, especially now that he was turning me on “Yeah? and how would you have me after that”

Jisung smirked, knowing that his words were getting to me “I’d make you sit on my face next, if my girl is squirting, it better be while i’m underneath her” My eyes widened and he smirked “My face is your chair babe, put all your weight on my face I can handle it, if i’m able to breath you’re not doing it right”

“What if i’m too heavy for you Jisung then what” The male stared at me as if I offended him and I almost felt like apologizing “I work out for a reason, i’m literally made to pleasure you baby, not to mention the fact I could bust your pretty little pussy open on my cock”

I gasped and immediately asked him how would he have me given the opportunity and he chuckled saying that he’d fuck me in missionary, not because he was boring since he was quite the opposite, but he wanted to leave hickies on my breast and see how good his cock made me feel

“I’d fuck you so good that I could literally fuck a baby in you” I rolled my eyes and jokingly told him that I doubt that anyone could make me want a baby by them and he shrugged “You see i’m a dad already, that’s literally the one thing I can prove” I shrugged and laughed “No, all that tells me is that you have a weak pull out game”

The male rolled his eyes and grabbed his phone, and put it down after a few seconds, and after a couple more, I realized he texted me his address and he remained nonchalant while shrugging “Seeing that you’re struggling with material and i’m struggling with a boner, you should come over”

“You wish” He smiled and said that he in fact did, and I rolled my eyes, grabbing my keys and locking down the studio, “Keep your word Han Jisung”

“Oh baby i’d do more than keep my words”

୨୧ felix

| 9:28 pm from Felix (flora)

Hey are you on your way? Bitna is asking if you forgot, don’t worry if you’re busy we can reschedule! I don’t want to impose on your time

I smiled at the notification from Felix, but immediately dropped it once I realize the text was a way for his wife to nag him about my presence. About two weeks ago, Felix informed me of his wife wanting to meet the woman who her daughter has been around lately because it was and I quote “A mothers duty to know the people she’s friends with” and had it not been for Felix’s eyes silently begging me to accept the dinner offer, I would’ve declined

I hated Bitna. I never met the woman but if she could leave her child in the rain because she was mad at her husband, multiple times, then it said a lot about her and I wouldn’t ever associate with someone of her caliber, but since she was married to the sweetest man on earth and the mother to the sweetest child i’ve ever met, I would mind putting up with her. She told Felix th

I knew this was a way for her to insert herself into a place where she had no business in, because based off how Flora described her and how apologetic Felix was after being her lapdog, I knew she was nothing less than a narcissistic bitch- not that I would ever voice that, yes I wanted her husband, but I wasn’t going to spew hateful things to him about the mother to his daughter, I wasn’t evil

I didn’t reply to the message since I was already at the door of the restaurant, asking the server to direct me towards a table reserved under “Felix Lee” With a few steps, we were already there, and I thanked the man who looked closer to my man than not for leading me to them

“You’re late” Before Felix could even greet me, his wife spoke and I already could tell that she wasn’t fond of me, if her scowl and crossed arms were anything to go by of course. Felix’s face turned red and he began to apologize causing me to shake my head, never letting my eyes wander from his witch of a wife “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize, I wasn’t offended Felix” I sat down in the chair directly across from Felix since Bitna placed her feet in the chair in front of her

The joke was on her I wanted to sit in front of Felix any fucking way

“Well, how’s working at a cafe, how does that even pay the bills if you don’t mind me asking” I stared at the woman, fighting the urge to roll my eyes, picking up the menu instead “Well I wouldn’t know, I own the cafe I don’t work there” Without looking up from the menu I could tell that her face was even more scrunched up, showing her true personality right off the bat

“Oh well, luckily for me, I married a man who started his own makeup line from the ground up, if you’re ever lucky enough to get a man, get a man who can support you as a stay at home mom” Felix’s face was awkward and Bitna’s eyes were staring at him weirdly making me scoff

“Well not all of us want to be stay at home mothers, I have a business degree for a reason, I enjoy the cafe” Bitna rolled her eyes and waved her hand in physical dismissal of me “You’re saying that because you don’t have a kid yet, but when you do you’ll want to listen to my advice”

Sensing that the tension was only going to build until Bitna tipped me over the edge, Felix stepped in by clearing his throat and smiling at me with warm eyes “Thank you for coming out tonight Y/n, Flora’s a bit upset that we’re having this meeting without her to be honest” I chuckled and shook my head before answering

“We’ll be prepared to grovel-” “Which is stupid, when she does that shit, I tell her i’ll take her out of ballet and then she chills out, the fuck are you groveling to a little five year old girl for” My eyebrows furrowed and Felix awkwardly cleared his throat “Let’s just order, I know the owner, the food is to die for”

Bitna started to say something but she was cut off as a waitress came out our table, requesting to know what we wanted, and because she couldn’t live with not being the first for once in her life, Bitna gave her order

Having enough of Bitna’s attitude, I began slipping my foot out of confinement inside of my heel, I mentally thanked the lucky stars for being at a restaurant where the table covers covered the table, no one would be able to see nor know what I was doing, except for Felix. My foot began gently caressing his leg, causing him to look up at me with wide eyes in shock, but a quiet sign of encouragement as well

“Well i’ll have the chicken parmesan and your finest wine please” I finished ordering, ignoring Bitna’s tiny comment on my plate, causing another devious idea to cross my mind, I stopped my ministrations and trailed my foot until it was directly on his bulge, he pinched one of my toes as a warning, but I ignored that and pretended to be interested in the wall decor

“And for you sir?” The moment Felix began speaking, I applied pressure onto his cock, feeling it harden the moment he took a deep breath, accidentally raising his voice an octave higher “I’m sorry, i’ll have what she’s having” I smiled and began to let my other foot loose, I wasn’t satisfied with how easy he deflected me

“Good choice Felix” He chuckled, eyes still warning about what I was doing, to which I ignored again, this time pushing both feet down “You keep calling him us by our first names… do you not care to call us by the respectful terms? I do believe we are older than you” My eyes left his and I immediately began my fondling again, not paying attention to how he was squirming

“Well there’s not a big age gap between us and neither one of you are my bosses nor grandparents, so let me ask you this, do you call your friend’s wives by their surnames?” She went quiet and I happily accepted my silent victory “Hold on babe, i’m gonna ask the waiter about the hold up on our food” Had I not been rubbing her husband under the table I would’ve reminded her that it has only been five minutes and the moment she got up Felix scowled

“What if she saw us then what Y/n” I remained cool, knowing that he was trying to make me slow down on my little game but I shrugged “You could always pull your pants down and let me rub the actual thing for you babe” Felix’s eyes widened and he looked around, then finally down to where the tablecloth did in fact cover his groin “Fine” In a split second, he adjusted his dress pants and boxers, allowing for his cock to spring free

To everyone else, he simply adjusted himself but we both knew the truth. “Good boy” Felix rolled his eyes and punched my toe again “Oh no, i’m letting you do this so I can have a reason to fuck the shit out of you darling, don’t take my placidness for weakness” He moved my feet to where he wanted me and I looked at Bitna, who was on her way back, having realized what we already found out

I ignored her whining and immediately began using my feet to jerk him off, keeping a rhythm where I sped up occasionally only slowing down when his thighs began shaking “What’s wrong honey you don’t look so well” I immediately looked at the duo and asked were they okay to which Felix nodded “I’m just hungry”

A couple moments later, our waitress came back and gave us our plates, but I couldn’t focus on my food knowing that the man in front of me was about to cum, I felt droplets fall onto my feet and had I not looked at him, I would’ve thought he came, rather than it being his precum. The moment he began eating, I sped up, helping his chase his orgasm until he moaned, shoking both Bitna and me

“The food is just too good I can’t” Cum was covering my toes and my foot, but I couldn’t care less, Felix stared at me, motioning for me to check my phone to which I did with a poorly hidden smirk

| 10:45 pm from Felix (flora)

Just wait Y/n. I’m gonna breed your pussy until you’re begging for me to stop, and then when I feel like you learned enough of a lesson, you’re gonna walk around with my cum inside you until I fuck more into you

୨୧ seungmin

It was the summer so to no one’s surprise, many of the neighbors were throwing barbecues, this time it was a neighborhood cookout where we would all meet up at the Choi’s house, I sat in my room in front of my vanity debating on dressing up because Seungmin texted me earlier today to ask if he should bring food or deserts

I sighed at the dilemma I selfishly placed myself into, I was engaged for fucksake, but I was getting ready to look good for another man entirely, said man being a (not happily) married father of two kids both under the age of five. I rolled my eyes, pushing the thoughts of morals to the back of my mind, besides if wasn’t like Seungmin was completely innocent either

The other day, he knocked on my door at five in the morning, and having been woken up by my fiancé who made me check it, I forgot I was clad in a bra set with matching panties that were barely covered by the matching robe, only then did I remember what I was wearing when Seungmin failed to meet my eyes, holding eye contact with my breast that were spilling out of their confinements due to the fact I breast fed

“How may I help you Seungmin” I smiled sweetly making sure that anyone who might’ve driven by weren’t flashed by the sight of me in my robe talking to another’s woman husband so early in the morning “Oh I um- fuck, I was making breakfast for Minseok before I left for work and I realized I had no eggs, and I came to see if you had any to spare?”

Since I was the one who did the grocery shopping, I mentally had a checklist of everything I had in my refrigerator and since I would be going shopping later on today, I decided to let him have the five eggs I had left “Of course, let me go get those for you i’ll be back in a moment” I took longer than needed to walk to my kitchen, making sure to sway my hips since Seungmin seemed like an ass man, and if my hypothesis was correct, I was gonna make sure he enjoyed every last bit of it

"Well, aren't you lucky, here you go" My breast jiggled when I handed the man who looked more like a cherub than himself the over half empty carton "Thank you so much Y/n, you really are an angel" I shook my head chuckling "Maybe you'll get to see my bad girl side one day, goodnight Seungmin" I waved the man goodbye, and immediately yawned, too tired to even reflect on my actions

Which brought me to me to current situation, we were all gathered at the Choi’s enjoying the weather, but Seungmin came with his kids without his wife, making the neighbors gossip, believing that he and his wife we’re separating since they haven’t been seen together since they moved into the neighborhood, if only they knew that his wife was a grumpy hag who liked to slam the door in the faces of people trying to warn her about her four year old son wandering off

“Have you seen the new neighbor? He’s so sexy” The comment came from Hana, one of the older moms in the neighborhood, but not quite Seungmin’s age, I rolled my eyes and told the woman to behave because not only was Seungmin married, she was literally ten feet away from her husband, how hypocritical of me

“I don’t look at other men, I have a child to focus on miss ma’am” my comment held no malice behind it, but it was clear that I wasn’t going to join in on the thirsting behind Seungmin, that’s something I did in the middle of the night with my magic wand plus on the highest setting “Oh boo you’re no fun, you’re still so young and set on settling down, when I was your age, I was having threesomes”

Hana shrugged and took a sip from her red solo cup making me roll my eyes “I’m gonna see if Mrs. Choi needs help in the kitchen” I stood up, leaving the mother of four alone to her cup of ‘juice’. I walked inside the kitchen, closing the sliding door behind me, slightly thankful that hers had blinds that blocked the hot sun from coming in

“Oh hey Y/n you’re here” Instead of Mrs. Choi, I was met by a wide eyed Seungmin who slightly smiled, probably finally seeing the one familiar person besides Mrs. Choi at this event. I waved and gave a greeting back and it went back silent “You’re babyless today” I smiled and shrugged “I am, but so are you” He also shrugged saying that he had to see if the neighbors would even like him before exposing his child to them which was honestly fair

Me on the other hand, forced Heeseung to spend time with his daughter, because it felt like the only thing he did for her was make her. It was silent, I was silently scrolling on my phone while Seungmin was sitting on the other side of me, eating some of the food I made which caused flutters inside my heart at the mundane gesture

“Y/n”

I looked up from my phone and saw how we was staring at me, indescribable emotions swirling in his eyes “It’s too many people here, follow me” Even though I was confused, I followed him as we left the Choi’s house through the side door rather than the back where the sounds of laughter and sizzling grills began fading into the background as Seungmin and I slipped away from the bustling cookout.

I was severely confused as our steps began speeding up as my hearts began wildly pounding with a mix of excitement and guilt. I arched my eyebrow as he led to me a secluded spot he found behind a large oak tree in the woods behind our houses

Seungmin leaned against the rough bark, running a hand through his hair as he caught his breath. I stood close, but gave him rough distance where he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed, even though the proximity sent a thrill down my spine. I glanced around one last time before meeting Seungmin’s eyes, my resolve finally wavering

“This is crazy” I failed to meet his eyes finally realizing the moment he pulled me away from the cookout “I know” Seungmin replied, his gaze intense. “But I can’t stop thinking about you and I know it’s the same for you”

My heart ached at his words, the forbidden nature of our taboo attraction making it all the more irresistible. Without another word, I closed the distance between us, my lips capturing his in a heated kiss. The world seemed to blur as out lips moved in perfect sync, every touch and caress igniting a fire that neither of us could nor would control.

Seungmin’s hands found their way to my waist, pulling me closer as our kiss deepened. The urgency in his movements spoke of the inappropriate moments we cherished, the secret desires we wouldn’t ever voice. My fingers tangled in Seungmin’s hair, my mind racing a mile and minute with a whirlwind of emotions.

“I need to be inside you now Y/n, if you say no, i’ll stop right now” His pupils were blown, but I kept my lips sealed, figuratively and literally sealing the deal “Fuck me Seungmin”

୨୧ jeongin

It’s been too long since Jungwoo had seen me and he only grew more and more upset about it as the days passed. It wasn't that I didn't want to see the toddler again, but it wasn't that simple, my schedule as a professional volleyball never seemed to match up with his fathers profession as an international designer brand ambassador model. Literally, the one time I was available, Jeongin and Jungwoo flew out to Italy for some fancy photoshoot

Today Jeongin and I were determined, the facetimes were getting harder and harder to manage because of time differences and whenever it was nap time for the boy, it always seemed to be the only time that I had available. Luckily for me, it seemed that luck was on my side because when Jeongin and Jungwoo went to France, my coach told me that I had a game around the time his shoot was, meaning that I would finally get to see the foxlike boys

I told Jeongin’s manager the news, wanting to surprise the male since I haven’t seen him in four months, and everytime he called me, he whined about Jungwoo throwing a tantrum because his new favorite person wasn’t there for him. The moment my flight landed, I ignored my teammates recommended activity of a group exploration trip to the catacombs which was an automatic no, why waste my time with dead skeletons when I could hang out with a cute baby and his sexy ass father

His hotel staff having known of my arrival, gave me a keycard to his room and the moment I made it inside, I could tell that he barely had time to unpack, his and Jungwoo’s suitcases being tossed in font the bed, not even unzipped. I chuckled, imagining the dad and his son coming into the room only to be immediately taken to another photoshoot location

“Poor babies” I immediately looked around the hotel scanning the area for a hiding spot, settling in on the kitchen since I knew Jungwoo liked to have his snacks the moment he came in through the door or he would scream until he tired himself out, I got comfortable sitting on the countertop, knowing that I wasn’t visible to those who came in unless they walked into the kitchen

Thankfully I wasn’t waiting long before I heard the tell tale sign of a keycard being scanned, and my smile grew wider at the idea of finally being able to see my two favorite boys. Only to be greeted by Jeongin with no Jungwoo

“Oh my god?? Y/n?” I pouted, disappointed that one of the reasons I came to the hotel, but got up to hug the man nonetheless “Where the hell is Jungwoo” Jeongin chuckled and wrapped his muscled arms around my waist cooing at me “His mom lives in France, so I let him kick it with her one day” I awed in realization, he was in fact correct, I remember seeing it on celebrity news that the model moved to France to escape the “hardships” hardships being her toddler

“Well I guess I can forgive you” I rolled my eyes making him smile “What the hell are you doing here anyways” We pulled away and I shrugged “I have a game coming up, we’re playing against France” Jeongin nodded and told me he was going to take a shower since he felt hot having been out in the sun for a swimwear collection photoshoot “Well hurry up before I get bored Yang”

The male told me he would be out soon and I went into the bedroom, making myself comfortable on the bed scrolling through my social media to interact with fans, I giggled seeing an edit of me and and my teams setter practicing, the comments were filled with admiration for me and Aisha

“I can hear you giggling what’s so funny” Jeongin came out the shower, sweatpants hanging dangerously on his hips since he decided to forego the shirt, my comeback got caught in my throat, turning it into the sahara, while my panties were turning into the pacific, I realized that I was staring and locked in, showing him the edit making him arch his eyebrow

“That is the most tame edit I’ve seen of you” Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrow and question him as to what he meant, only for him to go onto tiktok and type in “Y/n edit” and tap the first one that appeared, it was an edit to candy by doja cat, it was clips from my most recent match against Spain, and since I was in the middle of the game, I wasn’t able to grab my sweat towel, so I lifted up my jersey, revealing my abs, the next clip was a video of me licking my lips in a live I did awhile back and then the edit closed with me footage of me cat walking into the met gala

“That was still pretty tame Jeongin, your edits are so much worse” He asked for proof and I immediately went to my camera roll forgetting that he was looking at my phone, the audio rolled in and his eyes began to widen and how the video started with saying “slut me out” of all things, it then switched onto clips of his abs, showing his armpit muscle, and his work outs, the edit stopped and his grin grew

“You want me so bad” I rolled my eyes and tossed my phone onto the bed “Fuck you mean by that?” Jeongin chuckled and brought up the fact I had that edit saved in my camera roll for awhile, I mentally began cursing apple for saving date and timestamps on the camera roll items “I want you too, baby, I can slut you out right now and make you my personal cock whore” He took hold of my wrists, eyes locked onto mine

“Get on your knees” I listened and followed through with what he said without a second thought, the way he looked down at me made me feel hornier than it would’ve with anyone else. I was living my dream come true, my teenage fantasy was finally happening with the man who invoked my wet dreams

“Don’t be shy” He bent down halfway, an iron grip on my jaw “open” my tongue lolled out against my chin and my eyes focused in on how he smiled, gripping my chin tighter “you’re always such a good listener, make me cum and i’ll fuck your cunt like I know you want me to” Jeongin smiled cockily once he finished speaking, he shocked me by spitting his warm saliva on my exposed tongue, a moan escaped as he refused to remove his grip, undoing his drawstring with one hand, sweats falling to the ground with a soft thump

“Spit” His cock sprang free from its entrapment inside of his boxers and I couldn’t help but gawk at the sheer size of him, he was big, whatever he lacked in girth, he made up for in length and it intimidated me “Dumb lil’ baby already doing stupid I said spit” I immediately followed his directions, spitting on his penis, smearing the mixture of my spit, his spit, and his precum all over his cock

“I’m about to ruin every other cock for youbaby, open your mouth for me real wide”

series: love me two times

businessman minho! x former one night stand reader (and soon to be spouse)

chapter 1: whiskey, regret, and other engagement traditions

read introduction here

word count: 3100 words

WARNINGS: strong language, sexual content (maybe eventual smut if i have the strength to), emotional manipulation, toxic family dynamics, power imbalances, alcohol use, eventual gun violence, blood and injury, blackmail, surveillance, themes of control, secrecy, betrayal, emotional repression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, psychological tension under the guise of romance, dubious business dealings, mentions of public scandal and reputation damage, manipulation via arranged marriage, and consistent, unapologetically bad decision making from most, if not all, characters involved. british humour. in case you all pussy out from that.

A/N: oh my god she's here. chapter 1 is here. i have no clue as to how this is going to end but i put my whole soul, heart, brain and dick into this fic. (which is a lot, mind you) thank you for the support on a whimsical little intro i wrote at my grandparents' house while my dog slept on my feet. thank you thank you thank you. chapter 2 coming next weekend. hopefully. also omg sho's first non lower caps fic

playlist. (coming soon)

─── Lee Minho had always been a man who thrived in chaos. Corporate wars, high-stakes meetings, and PR disasters were his playground. But even he couldn’t have predicted the one nightmare he’d spent years running from would land right back in front of him, wrapped in a perfectly tailored suit, flashing a smile that had ruined him once before.

He could handle anything…

Except the one person who had, through one night alone, known exactly how to bring him to his knees.

Lee Minho liked to think of himself as a man who could handle anything.

Corporate warfare? Child’s play. High stakes negotiations? His playground. He could charm billionaires over black coffee and through a simple peak of his collarbone, crush competitors with a smile, and walk out of a scandal cleaner than he went in, usually with a headline the press couldn’t stop foaming over.

Adaptability was his superpower. Precision, his trademark. Control? Non fucking negotiable.

At least, it had been, until you happened.

Again.

He stared at you, his supposed fiancé(e), the ghost of one of his most notable past mistakes, and thought—briefly, desperately—that maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he had worked himself into a stress-induced psychotic episode, and in reality, he was rocking back and forth in his office chair while his assistant frantically called for medical assistance. Would he be embarrassed that this would be the second time this would be happening? Maybe. Would he atleast be overjoyed by the fact that you weren't standing before him, far more gorgeous than all those years ago? Absolutely.

But no. This was real. You were real. This was happening.

You were still standing there, looking just as horrified as he felt, though, annoyingly, still unfairly attractive. Time had been disgustingly kind to you. And you had that same look in your eyes as before, the one that told him you were about seven seconds away from causing him severe emotional distress. And possibly a boner. Although he wasn't drunk enough for that. Not yet, atleast.

His brain short circuited as he watched you approach the table. You, of all people. He had been expecting a stiff, glass-of-champagne, charity-gala kind of person. Not you—the human embodiment of bad decisions and incredible, incredible sex.

Minho could laugh. His parents had unknowingly betrothed him to his favourite one-night stand. Brilliant.

“You have got to be fucking with me,” you finally said, sliding into the chair across from him.

“I wish I was,” Minho muttered, picking up his glass of whiskey and downing half of it in one go.

“So,” you said, resting your elbows on the table. “Long time no see.”

Minho blinked at you. Long time no see? You were acting like you’d bumped into him at Tesco, not like you were about to be married to the man you once absolutely ruined in a hotel room after a night of reckless decisions and expensive cocktails.

You, who had once dragged him into a bathroom stall at some questionably pricey nightclub and ruined him for every person he fucked after. Which he unashamedly agreed, were a lot. And the worst part was perhaps, that he remembered everything. He remembered the way you had looked at him that night, like you knew exactly what you were doing, like you had been born to make him suffer in the best possible way. He remembered your voice, the way you had laughed at him when he’d tried to act cool and ended up tripping over his own shoes, too fancy for him at the time. And he remembered the morning after, waking up alone, the only trace of you being a note scrawled on hotel stationery that simply read:

cheers for that. 10/10. no notes.

Minho had never been so simultaneously offended and impressed in his life.

And now? Now he was supposed to marry you? Spend forever with you...or atleast attempt to?

He took another large sip of whiskey.

“So,” you said, eyes sparkling with amusement. “How’s life been treating you? Still a bit of a man whore, or have you finally learned to keep it in your tailored trousers?”

Minho inhaled sharply through his nose. “I am a legitimate businessman.”

“Ah, so still a man whore,” you mused, nodding sagely.

Minho chose to ignore you.

"This… is a mistake," he muttered, running a hand through his usually well tamed hair. "This has to be a mistake."

"Oh, absolutely. Because otherwise we'll have to tell our parents we can’t get married because we’ve already seen each other naked," you say, leaning back in your chair with an unimpressed look. The very same that had drawn Minho to you that night. Because who did you think you were? Ignoring his wit and charm as he sat in the club's sofa, basking in attention and alcohol? The arrogant lad had decided that night, to prove himself to you. And prove, he did. A decision he didn't otherwise regret...until now.

Minho groaned and tried to reach over to his glass of whiskey, only to realise you were already drinking from it. "I swear to God, this is karma. This is divine punishment for my past sins."

"Well, considering your past sins include half of Central London, yeah, probably," you said with a shrug, swirling the now empty crystal glass.

He glared at you, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. You, in contrast, beamed at him with the kind of saccharine sweetness that suggested you were enjoying every second of his suffering. Minho noted internally, that you'd make a terrible actor, given that while the smile made it seem as though he was the only one seconds away from throwing up, your bouncing knee gave you away.

Minho, for his part, looked as though his soul had momentarily left his body. He blinked slowly, like someone trying to wake from a very specific, very inconvenient nightmare.

"Right," he said eventually, clapping his hands together in a sharp, business-like motion, as though trying to galvanise himself into action. "Let’s get this over with. How are we going to get out of this engagement?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, as if the matter were no more serious than choosing what to have for lunch. "Run away to Spain? Fake your death? Oh! You could seduce my grandmother so she convinces my father to call it off?"

"I am not seducing your grandmother."

"Coward."

Before Minho could offer a retort—no doubt a scathing one—a waiter, appeared at your table. He was the very picture of refined hospitality: all polite smiles, pressed shirt cuffs, and the faint waft of expensive cologne that trailed behind him like a signature.

"Good evening. May I start you off with a drink?"

"Whiskey. Double. Actually, just bring the bottle," Minho said, without so much as a blink, eyes still on you.

"Make that two," you added, not missing a beat, but still being polite and stable enough to break eye contact with Minho and smile at the waiter.

The attendant gave a courteous nod and retreated, leaving behind a faint trail of bergamot and judgement.

Minho exhaled slowly and dropped his head into his hands for a moment before glancing up at you, utterly defeated.

"This is going to be a disaster," he muttered, as if saying it aloud might somehow lessen the blow.

Minho barely had a moment to wallow in the tragic comedy of his predicament — engaged, against all logic, to a person who had just suggested seducing their own grandmother — before reality doubled down.

It came in the form of a booming, far-too-cheerful voice that could only belong to one man.

“Ah, Minho, you’ve met your fiancé(e)! Wonderful!”

The words rang through the restaurant and Minho flinched so hard he nearly knocked over the cutlery. He didn’t dare turn around. There was no need. He knew that voice. That was the voice of a man who thought forced betrothal was not only acceptable, but downright romantic.

His father.

Minho visibly recoiled, gripping the edge of the table as if bracing for impact. He had to physically resist the very natural urge to bang his forehead repeatedly against the pristine linen tablecloth.

And then, his parents descended upon the table in full force — exuding money, control issues, and the smug satisfaction of people who had just solved a problem by creating three more.

His mother was dressed in a sleek, couture suit that probably required its own bank account, looking every inch the woman who judged people based on the mineral content of their bottled water. His father wore the expression of someone who’d just sealed a lucrative merger and genuinely believed his son should be grateful for it.

And then there was your dad.

Looking every bit like the kind of man who once tried to bribe a headmaster with a case of vintage wine and a framed photo of himself shaking hands with a minor royal. So what if you weren't the best at studies during school? Was it really your fault that your Physics teacher was a bigger bitch than daddy dearest here?

Minho had never met him before, but he looked exactly as one might expect the father of someone like you to look—sharp suit, sharper glare, and the quiet intensity of a man who considered emotional vulnerability a personal failure. He radiated a kind of heavy, generational disappointment, like someone who’d been sighing over your life choices since the moment you learned how to form opinions of your own.

“Hello, sweetheart,” your dad said, planting a quick kiss on your forehead, affectionate in the way a CEO might congratulate a junior employee for not burning the office down. Then he turned to Minho, assessing the man who was supposed to be his future son-in-law with a look that would've made 16 year old Minho audibly whimper.

Your husband-to-be, drawing out every ounce of his professionalism, business acumen, and carefully cultivated adult composure, managed to respond with:

“Hi.”

Brilliant. Smooth. Absolutely nailed it. James Bond could never.

Your dad, unsurprisingly, looked as though he’d just been personally insulted.

Minho’s own parents, however, were beaming across the table, undoubtedly proud of their matchmaking skills.

“This is perfect,” his mother gushed, settling into her seat like she’d orchestrated the entire evening herself (she had). “I knew you two would suit each other.”

Minho let out a laugh that could only be described as emotionally strangled. Suit each other? Yes, absolutely. Because nothing screamed long term compatibility like a one-night stand from his blackout phase that he'd spent the past few years actively repressing, only to now be legally tethered to it in holy matrimony.

“So,” your dad said, leaning back in his chair with all the gravitas of a man about to sign a trade deal. “Shall we discuss the terms of this marriage?”

Terms. Terms. Marriage. Minho wasn’t sure which part of that sentence he found more horrifying — the casual contract language or the undeniable implication that none of this was a joke.

Minho looked at you, searching your face for some kind of solidarity. Instead, he found you sipping your whiskey like it was just another Wednesday, eyes half-lidded, posture relaxed—like this whole thing wasn’t giving you heart palpitations.

But oh, it was.

You weren’t calm. You were resigned. You’d played this game before. You knew exactly how your father operated: charm first, control second, and condescension somewhere in between. This wasn’t a dinner—it was a business meeting. And you were already sick of it.

“Well,” his father said briskly, “the wedding will take place in three months.”

Minho choked violently on his drink. “Three months?!”

“Yes,” his mother replied smoothly, not even blinking. “Any longer and people will start gossiping.”

Gossiping. Of course. Because obviously, public perception was the real villain here.

“Three months is plenty of time,” your dad added, nodding with the calm authority of a man who hadn’t even asked how you felt about any of this.

Minho's brown eyed flickered to you again, looking for help. A hotline number. A hint of rebellion. Something. Anything.

You just smiled at him.

It wasn’t kind.

“Now then,” your dad continued, “what about a prenup?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Minho’s father nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll have our legal teams draft it immediately.”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” Minho cut in, finally finding the will to form sentences again. “But- do I get a say in this?”

His mother tilted her head in that familiar, patronising way that suggested she thought his input was adorable but entirely unnecessary.

“Minho, darling,” she said, her tone one of pure condescension, “this is for your own good.”

Your dad chimed in, nodding. “If either of you had a reliable romantic track record, we wouldn’t be here. But let’s be honest-” he waved a hand vaguely in your direction “-you don’t, and-” he turned to Minho, gaze sharp and deeply insulting,“-you certainly don’t.”

You smiled tightly, jaw clenched just enough that it hurt.

Minho felt his soul attempt to vacate his body. Right there. In the middle of this overpriced, mood-lit, jazz-playing nightmare of a restaurant. He was going to die. And the only thing good about a death here would be that Art Blakey was playing in the background.

“So it’s settled,” his mother said brightly, with finality in her voice, “Three months from now, we’ll have a wedding.”

Minho turned to you. You turned to him.

You raised your glass in a slow, sarcastic toast.

“To our bright and happy future,” you said, voice honeyed, but eyes suddenly cold.

And your father smiled like he’d just won. Because unbeknownst to the two of you, he had.

•━━━━━━━━━━━•

Minho had made a lot of terrible decisions in his life. A truly impressive number. Enough to warrant a multi-part documentary series, probably titled Lee Minho: A Lifetime of Questionable Choices—with dramatic re-enactments, ominous voiceovers, and a theme song that sounded like a slow motion car crash. His friends could probably star in it too.

But agreeing (not really) to marry you?

Oh, that was shooting straight to the top of the list. Hall of fame. Permanent exhibit in the Museum of Regret.

Because it had been barely twenty four hours since the disaster that was your engagement dinner, and already, he felt his life being ruined, one sarcastic comment at a time.

“So, how long have you two been engaged?” Felix asked innocently, if one could call anything Felix did innocent, while stirring sugar into his overpriced cold brew.

Minho looked up from his coffee, eyes already tired. He’d made the mistake of inviting you to brunch with his friends. In public. With witnesses. Clearly, he’d suffered a blow to the head.

“Oh, it’s been wonderful,” you gushed. You reached over to squeeze Minho’s hand like you actually meant it. Maybe you did. Minho didn't want to bother with the details if it meant another migraine. “We’ve been informally engaged for a whole, what, twelve hours now? It’s been magical. Truly life altering. I can’t wait to be legally bound to this man forever.”

Minho squeezed your hand back. Hard.

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “Overjoyed. Thrilled. Best day of my life.”

Felix, the little gremlin, grinned, his mind already turning your worrying marriage into a soap opera. “Well, it’s about time you settled down, hyung. You’ve been a menace to society for years.”

“First of all, that is highly inappropriate. I am a legitimate businessma-”

“Mate,” Chan, Minho’s business partner, cut in. “You once forgot a woman’s name mid-bloody-date.”

“And she had to remind you,” Hyunjin added, sipping his neon-green liquid. Whatever it was.

“And you still got her number,” Seungmin chimed in, looking vaguely offended on behalf of all women. You'd be sure to send his number to your recently heartbroken friend.

Minho groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why had he thought bringing you to brunch was a good idea? Why had he brought you into public? With his friends at that? He had practically announced a 'Bully-Lee-Minho' day himself.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said brightly. Too brightly. “He’s very devoted now. Wakes up every morning and just stares at me in awe, whispering about how lucky he is.”

Felix gasped, awestruck at the beauty of love at first sight. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” you said, smiling. “He even cries a little.”

Minho nearly inhaled his coffee. “I do not-”

“He does,” you said solemnly, giving his hand another squeeze. “It’s beautiful.”

Chan leaned back in his chair, way too entertained. “Well, I can’t wait for the wedding. Have you set a date?”

“Not yet,” Minho said quickly, cutting you off before you could say something like ‘we’re thinking next week, on a volcano.’ “We’re taking our time.”

“Oh, obviously,” you added, ever helpful. “We have to enjoy the honeymoon phase before I find out all his deep, dark secrets. Like his skincare routine, or lack thereof. Which I'll have to change either way. Or his browser history.”

Hyunjin gagged. “Please. Spare us.”

“No, no,” you mused, eyes alight with mischief. “I think he’s hiding something. Like a secret past. Maybe he was a failed K-pop trainee. Maybe he’s got a tattoo that says ‘Live, Laugh, Love.’ Or he owns a mug that says Boss Babe.”

"I actually gifted him that." Chan added, sipping his protein smoothie.

“Or if he has a pet rock named Gary, considering one of his girlfriends was Australian,” Hyunjin added and Chan nods proudly.

“Or an old TikTok account where he lipsyncs to early 2000s emo hits,” Seungmin said.

“I knew you gave eyeliner energy,” Felix muttered.

Minho buried his face in his hands. “Please. I am begging you all to stop.”

You just leaned in, resting your chin in your hand as you smiled sweetly. “Aww. He’s shy.”

Minho resisted the urge to walk directly into London traffic.

But even as the table erupted into laughter, and your brunch turned into an impromptu roast, something shifted. A cold thread of unease slid down Minho’s spine.

You were laughing, yes. Playing the part perfectly. But beneath the sparkle in your eyes was something else—something guarded. The way your smile didn’t quite reach all the way. The way your shoulders tensed every time someone mentioned the wedding, like the word itself had claws.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, not entirely. Maybe it was the text from your father that he had watched you ignore minutes ago. Maybe it was the transparent pants Hyunjin had worn years earlier making a reappearance in his head for some reason. Or maybe it was just his own overworked brain, spinning a conspiracy out of nerves and too much caffeine.

Whatever it was, Minho decided to shelve it for later. He had reports to review. Contracts to sign. A mountain of paperwork waiting for him and exactly zero emotional bandwidth to spare.

He’d figure it out. Eventually.

For now, he’d go home, finish his paperwork, and go to sleep.

Not knowing that what he’d wake up to would be far more fearsome than your father’s moustache.

Far, far worse.

Because somewhere, in a dimly lit security office, a grainy CCTV recording, dated four years ago, timestamped 2:14 a.m., was being uploaded by hands far too eager and far too vengeful.

A bed. A hotel logo in the corner. Two familiar silhouettes.

And the unmistakable beginning of the scandal that would burn everything to the ground.

...

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