taetaevantecutie

[taetaevantecutie]

I'm in love 😍😍🥵😩

Summoned to Ruin - Pt. 1

Author's note: My obsession with Seonghwa has no bounds and this fanfic is an example of it. He is truly beautiful. I just had to write this. I do welcome feedback or any thoughts! Enjoy~ Bye-um~ Description: Loneliness has clung to you for as long as you can remember—no matter how many friends or lovers you’ve had, nothing ever lasted. Nothing ever filled the hollow ache inside. That is, until you stumble upon a strange little bookstore and take home a gift you never asked for: a summoning book. You speak the words on a whim, not expecting anything... but something hears you. He hears you. And once Seonghwa steps from the shadows, otherworldly and intoxicating, he makes one thing clear: you’re his now—and he intends to show you what it truly means to be wanted, worshipped, and ruined. Warnings: Smut (18+), supernatural elements, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, nipple play, clit play, vaginal sex (slow and deep), intense eye contact, hickeys/marking, possessiveness, soft dom Seonghwa, praise kink, obsession, emotional intimacy, sensual tension, edging into soul-binding territory (literally), summoning ritual, incubus themes, consent emphasized, smut with heavy emotional undertones, reader discretion advised—proceed only if you're ready to be claimed. Masterlist for my page: Lies Lost In Silence

I’ve been lonely most of my life. Not the kind of loneliness that comes from being alone—no, I had people. Friends. Family. But there was always a distance. A subtle, aching disconnect. They could never understand me... or the quiet darkness simmering beneath my skin.

Emotionally starved—that’s what I was. Starved for intimacy. For someone to see me. Yes, I’d had flings, meaningless one-night stands. Bodies tangled in sheets, hearts left untouched. They never stayed. Maybe they knew. That I wasn’t... normal. That something in me was off. Broken. I needed something—someone—to fill that gnawing void.

It was just another evening. I was walking home after work, the sky bleeding into dusk. My mind wandered, eyes not vacant, but watching. Observing the people who passed me by. All rushing—to families, lovers, warm homes. I had no one waiting. So I walked slowly, letting their lives pass me by. That’s when I saw it.

A small bookstore, tucked between two buildings. Strange—I’d never noticed it before. Maybe it was new. Curious and bored, I stepped in, thinking I’d grab a book to pass the time.

Inside, it felt… different. The air was heavy. Older. Dust clung to every surface like memory. The shelves were lined with books on the occult, shadowy arts, and forgotten magic. I huffed a laugh. Of course. This place wasn’t for me. I turned to leave—

A hand caught my wrist.

She stood there—an older woman, kind smile, eyes that seemed to look through me. “Leaving already?” she asked. “I didn’t find anything for me,” I replied, trying to tug my arm gently free.

But she just nodded and said, “Come.”

And I followed. I don’t know why. I should’ve left.

She disappeared into a back room, returning ten minutes later with a small paper bag. I tried to refuse it. Tried to pay for it. She wouldn’t let me. “You need this more than anyone else ever has,” she said.

At home, I unwrapped the item inside. A book. Thick, ancient-looking. Bound in deep crimson leather. Its title etched in symbols I instinctively understood: a summoning book.

What kind of joke was this?

Anger flared and I tossed it aside. I went to bed in silence.

But the next day... I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The book gnawed at the edges of my thoughts. That night, a coworker made a casual dig at my social life—cold, snide. And that was it. That decided it.

I went home and pulled out the book.

The ritual was simple. Latin, mostly—easy to pronounce, easier to feel. I lit the candles. Closed the curtains. Drenched the room in low shadows. I didn’t know what I was doing, not really. I just... needed to try.

As I spoke the final words, a cold gust whipped through the room. The candles flickered violently. And then—nothing.

Typical. Always nothing.

I let out a bitter laugh, blew out the candles, and crawled into bed. I didn’t even turn the lights on. Just lay there. Staring. Drifting into a numb kind of sleep.

That’s when I heard it.

Breathing.

Soft at first—then gone.

At first, I thought I’d imagined it. But over the next few days, it kept happening. A presence. Watching. Following. It became strongest at night, when I was most vulnerable. It felt... patient. Like it was waiting.

For me.

To call it again.

That night, I came home exhausted. Work had drained everything from me—mind, body, soul. I collapsed into bed. But sleep wouldn’t come. My body was restless. Aching.

Needing.

My fingers slipped beneath my waistband, searching for that release. I was already wet. And just like that—the sensation returned. The watching. But tonight... it was different.

Thicker.

I swore I heard it: breathing. Heavy. Slow. And it matched mine. My hand worked between my legs, and the pleasure surged—intense, ravenous.

Then... a voice. Not out loud. In my mind. A dark purr:

“That’s it. Don’t stop.”

It encouraged me. Pushed me. And I let go.

I came harder than I ever had—legs trembling, chest heaving. It was overwhelming. And in the haze of release, I knew.

I wasn’t alone.

I sat up slowly, still breathing hard, and stared into the shadows pooling in the corner of my room.

“I know you’re there,” I whispered. “Please... show yourself.”

The shadows shifted. Moved. Stepped forward.

And he emerged.

A soft gasp escaped my lips.

He was... breathtaking. Otherworldly. Not quite masculine, not quite feminine. His beauty was androgynous, ethereal—like moonlight carved into flesh. Pale skin, dark eyes that shimmered with heat and hunger.

“You finally called me,” he said, his voice rich and smooth like velvet.

I swallowed. “Your name?”

He walked—glided—toward the bed and knelt between my legs. His hands took mine gently. My fingers still slick from my climax. He brought them to his mouth and sucked.

My breath hitched.

The warmth of his tongue. The obscene, deliberate way he moaned around my fingers... it sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through me.

He pulled them free slowly and whispered, “Hwa. You can call me Hwa.”

He reached up, brushing hair from my face with a tenderness I hadn’t known in years. And then he said:

“You’re mine now.”

His fingers—those perfect, long fingers—glided down my arm, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. There was no urgency, no rush. Only the slow, deliberate reverence of someone about to worship what they'd been waiting their whole existence for.

“Lie back for me,” Hwa said, his voice a velvety command.

I sank into the bed, breath held, as he moved over me with unearthly grace. One arm propped beside my head, the other came to rest against my cheek. His thumb stroked the corner of my lips, his eyes dark and glittering with something raw.

“You’ve been starving for so long,” he murmured, gaze sweeping over me. “Let me feed you.”

He leaned down, and instead of kissing me on the lips, he started at my jaw. His breath fanned over my skin. Then—softly, slowly—his lips brushed against the spot just under my ear.

“You smell like aching,” he whispered, and then his mouth closed over my neck.

My breath hitched.

He sucked—hard, just enough to send a spark racing down my spine. His tongue flicked over the tender skin before he moved lower, kissing a trail to my collarbone.

Another kiss. Then a nip.

And another.

Each one deeper. Each one deliberate.

“Hwa—” I gasped, my hands tangling in his hair.

“I have to mark you,” he growled softly against my throat. “I need them to see you and know you’re mine.”

And he did.

He bit and sucked at every vulnerable inch of my neck—just above the pulse point, behind my ear, along the curve of my shoulder—leaving behind flushed, deep red proof. I could feel them blooming under his lips, one by one.

My skin was on fire. I moaned, thighs already clenching.

When he finally pulled back, he looked down at his work. My chest rising and falling fast beneath him, throat scattered with his claiming. A satisfied smirk curled on his lips.

“Perfect,” he murmured. “Now you’ll feel me even when I’m not touching you.”

His mouth trailed lower. Down my chest. His eyes flicked up to meet mine just before his lips wrapped around one nipple, hot and slow. He sucked gently, tongue circling, then tugging, until I arched under him.

His other hand moved to the neglected one—pinching, rolling, teasing—making my moans grow louder, more desperate. The rough pads of his fingers contrasted with the softness of his mouth, sending shockwaves through me.

“I could spend hours here,” he whispered against my skin. “Would you let me?”

“Yes,” I moaned. “Please, yes.”

His tongue dragged down my torso, making me shiver. He hooked his fingers under my underwear, eyes meeting mine again.

“May I?”

“Please,” I whispered.

He peeled them off slowly, revealing me fully. I should’ve felt shy, but under his gaze... I felt like a goddess.

Hwa settled between my thighs, his palms pushing them open gently. He didn’t go straight for what I wanted. No—he pressed warm kisses along the inside of one thigh, then the other. His tongue licked lazy lines along my skin, and I whimpered.

So close.

And then, finally—he dragged one long, slow lick up my slit.

I gasped, hips jerking. His hand pinned me down, gently but firmly.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he cooed. “Let me enjoy you.”

His tongue found my clit, circling with delicate pressure, while one hand slid up to roll my nipple again, already sore and sensitive from his earlier attention.

Every nerve lit up.

I moaned, breathless. “Hwa—”

His groan vibrated into me. “You sound like heaven,” he muttered, then added, “Come for me.”

Two fingers slid inside—slow, thick, curling upward just right. I cried out, thighs trembling, as he fingered me with practiced, relentless rhythm. His mouth never left my clit, tongue teasing, then flattening, then flicking in just the way I needed.

My orgasm tore through me.

It wasn’t sharp—it was deep. Spreading from my core outward, rolling in waves. Hwa kept his mouth on me, dragging it out until I was squirming, breath ragged, legs twitching around his head.

When he finally came up, lips slick with me, he didn’t speak right away. He hovered over me, one hand stroking my hair, the other resting gently on my waist. His face hovered over mine—and the look in his eyes was no longer playful.

It was possessive.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Marked. Touched. Mine.”

And then he kissed me again—tongue deep, claiming, feeding me the taste of myself.

“I’m not done with you,” he said, voice lower now. Rougher. “That was just the beginning.”

His lips were still on mine, tongue deep and unhurried, as if tasting me had only made him hungrier. His fingers slid up to cradle my face, holding me in place as he kissed me again—really kissed me—like he wanted to burn the memory into both our souls.

When he finally pulled away, breath mingling with mine, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That ache deep inside you?”

I nodded, eyes glassy, heart racing.

“I’m going to fill it.”

Hwa sat back on his knees and undressed, slow and purposeful. Every inch of skin he revealed looked carved from moonlight—smooth, lean, powerful. His cock stood hard and perfect between his legs, thick and flushed, the head glistening with need.

I couldn’t look away.

He leaned forward, nudging my thighs apart again with gentle hands, then settled between them like he belonged there. Like he owned that space.

And he did.

One hand reached down to guide himself to my entrance. He rubbed the head through my soaked folds, smearing my arousal across himself, coating it in the evidence of my need. He didn’t rush—not even close. He kept his eyes on mine, watching every twitch, every reaction.

“Breathe for me,” he said, voice low and calming. “Let me in.”

The stretch as he pushed into me was slow—agonizingly slow. Inch by inch, he filled me, giving me time to feel every ridge, every vein, every pulsing part of him.

I gasped, fingers gripping the sheets as my walls clenched around him.

“You take me so well,” he whispered. “So tight. So warm.”

When he bottomed out, hips flush against mine, we both froze—his chest rising and falling against mine, his breath shaky.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice almost reverent. “You feel like you were made for me.”

He didn’t move right away. He kissed me again—slower this time. His hand trailed up to cup my breast, thumb brushing my nipple in lazy circles as his cock pulsed deep inside me.

Then… he pulled back, slowly, until just the tip remained—and pushed back in, deep and deliberate. A slow grind of hips against mine. My body arched instinctively, pleasure blooming low in my belly.

He set a rhythm—deep, slow thrusts that hit just right. Not rough. Not fast. Just… perfect. Like he was trying to memorize the way I felt around him.

With every stroke, his hips met mine with purpose. His body never left mine—chest brushing my breasts, forearms braced on either side of my head, mouth grazing my jaw and throat.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, lips dragging along my skin. “Every inch. Every sound. Every fucking heartbeat.”

I moaned as he thrust deeper, grinding his hips at the end of each motion to press right against that sweet, aching spot inside me.

One of his hands slid between us, fingers finding my clit and circling in soft, slow motions that matched his thrusts.

“Hwa—” I whimpered, nails digging into his back.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Let go for me. Let me make you feel.”

He started kissing down my neck again, biting gently, leaving fresh hickeys along my shoulder and collarbone—marking me as his while he moved inside me like he was pouring himself into my soul.

I could feel it coming. That tight, coiling pressure building with every slow stroke, every kiss, every whispered praise.

“You’re doing so well,” he groaned, voice shaking with restraint. “Come on. Come with me.”

And when I did—when I fell apart with a broken cry, clenching around him—he finally let go.

Hwa's thrusts stuttered as he buried himself deep, hips pressing flush against mine as he groaned my name into the crook of my neck. I felt his release, hot and thick, spilling deep inside me.

He didn’t move right away. He stayed there, breathing heavily, our bodies tangled and sticky and shaking from the intensity.

When he finally pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression was soft—possessive, but also something tender.

He stayed buried inside me, his body flush against mine, the air thick with heat, sweat, and the echoes of our moans. My heart was racing, still trembling from the high he’d pulled me into.

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

His hand rested over my heart, feeling every thrum beneath my ribs. His other brushed back strands of hair from my face, eyes locked on mine—dark, endless, shining with something far deeper than lust.

His voice came soft. But the demand beneath it was unmistakable.

“Say it.”

I blinked, breath shaky. “What?”

He dipped his head, nose grazing mine. “You summoned me. You pulled me from the void. You called to me—needed me.”

His hips rolled slow and deep again, pulling a broken moan from my lips.

His voice dropped lower, raw.

“Now say it. Say you're mine.”

My chest rose sharply. He was still inside me, still so deep I could feel him even in my throat. And yet—it wasn’t enough. Not for him.

He needed the words. Needed me to give them freely.

“I—” I swallowed. “I don’t—”

He started moving again, slow and deep, every thrust dragging against that soft, vulnerable spot inside me. I gasped, back arching.

“Say it,” he growled, mouth at my throat now, kissing, nipping. “Say what I already know.”

His lips found a spot below my ear—bit down. I whimpered, body trembling under his slow torture.

“Say you’re mine,” he repeated, every syllable grinding into me with the rhythm of his hips. “Let me hear you claim it. Claim me.”

And gods—how could I not?

He had me split open in every way. Body, mind, soul. I was so full of him I didn’t know where I ended and he began.

I moaned as another thrust hit deep, clenching around him.

“I’m yours,” I breathed, the words escaping like a prayer. “I’m yours, Hwa.”

He groaned into my neck, body shuddering like the words snapped something inside him.

Again—harder now. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours!” I cried out, nails raking down his back. “I’m yours, I’m yours—”

“That’s right,” he snarled, his control unraveling. “You belong to me.”

He thrust deeper, harder—still slow but rougher now, his restraint slipping. His hand slid down and gripped my thigh, spreading me wider as he buried himself to the hilt.

“You called for me, sweetheart. You fed me. And now you’ll never—fucking—leave me.”

He kissed me again, feral and breathless. Then leaned in close, voice hoarse in my ear.

“You're mine, and I’m going to spend eternity proving it to you.”

And just like that—he pulled me into another orgasm. My walls clenched around him, milking every drop as he came again with a broken moan against my skin.

We collapsed into the sheets, tangled in sweat and breath and belonging.

He didn’t pull out. He stayed inside me, possessive even in his afterglow, arms wrapped tight around me like he feared I’d vanish.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, brushing sweat-damp hair from my forehead. “You summoned me… and now, you’ll never be alone again.”

And softly, just before I drifted into sleep, he whispered—

“Good girl.”

[taetaevantecutie]

I'm runied 🥵😩

Summoned to Ruin - Pt. 2

Author's note: As promised, here it is — the next descent into madness. And yes, it’s Matz. Of course it’s Matz. Who else could match Hwa’s hunger, his devotion, his darkness? This chapter wrote itself in fevered whispers and smoke. I don’t know peace anymore — just the image of two monsters ruining and worshiping you in equal measure. Should I write another part? Or a softer filler to soothe the ache? Let me know what you crave. I’m listening. I do welcome feedback or any thoughts! Enjoy~ Bye-um~ Description: When Joong, a dangerously charming demon from Hwa’s past, shows up at your door, you don't expect the shift it stirs in your carefully built rhythm. But what begins as curiosity quickly spirals into raw hunger, unspoken desires, and a night that changes everything. You’re not just Hwa’s anymore. Warnings: Smut (18+), supernatural elements, intense oral sex (f receiving), double vaginal penetration (DV), rough sex, possessiveness, cockwarming, cumplay, creampie, overstimulation, filthy talk, power dynamics, light restraint, jealousy-laced desire, voyeurism, exhibitionism (mirror), dominance/submission themes, Hwa being soft but controlling, Joong being unhinged and hungry, worship kink, slight power imbalance, supernatural influence, minor dubcon implications (due to demonic pull), soul-deep claiming, sacred-level ruining, reader discretion advised—proceed only if you're ready to be claimed. Link for other parts: Summoned to Ruin - Pt. 1 | Summoned to Ruin - Pt. 1.5 Masterlist for my page: Lies Lost In Silence Taglist (still a work in progress - do lemme know if yall wanna be tagged in future creations): @raicecakes-and-buldak

Over time, Hwa and I slipped into a rhythm that felt almost otherworldly. A routine stitched with intimacy and laughter, heat and hunger. Our lives became entangled—two shadows always finding one another, no matter the hour.

He filled my home with something I never thought I’d have: warmth. Comfort. Love. He became my reason to come home, to stay home. He matched my darkness and I matched his, two imperfect pieces that somehow fit with terrifying ease.

We talked endlessly. About everything and nothing. About the sun and the moon, about humanity and the void between. With Hwa, I never had to hide the broken parts of me. He never tried to fix them—he simply held them.

He called me his mate. Always with certainty, like it was etched into the universe itself. I, on the other hand, still fumbled with what to call him. Mate? Partner? Boyfriend? None of it felt big enough. But I knew one thing—he was mine. In every way. In this life and whatever came after.

Then, one day, there was a knock at the door.

When I opened it, a man stood there dressed in all black—tailored slacks, sleek shirt, and sunglasses despite the fading daylight. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I felt them. Felt them like they were peeling me apart with a glance.

“Yes?” I asked, hesitating.

His voice was low. Smooth. Sin wrapped in silk. “I’m here for Hwa.”

My stomach tightened. How does he know Hwa? How does he know he’s here?

As if sensing the tension spike in me, Hwa appeared at my side in an instant. His hands cradled my face, his eyes scanning mine. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

I didn’t answer. I simply pointed toward the doorway.

Hwa turned, and when he saw the man, he blinked in disbelief. “Joong?” His voice cracked into a disbelieving laugh. “What the hell, man? What are you doing here?”

The man grinned. It was lazy. Sharp. Dangerous. “Missed you,” he said simply, stepping closer. “Thought I’d drop by.”

Hwa turned back to me, hand still resting against my cheek. “He’s a close friend, love,” he said. “Would it be alright if he came in?”

I hesitated again—but nodded. The unease melted under Hwa’s touch. “Of course,” I said softly, stepping aside. “Come in. Make yourself at home.”

Joong entered smoothly, shrugging off his jacket. The two of them took seats on the couch while I fetched him a glass of water. When I returned, Joong removed his sunglasses—and I froze.

His eyes. The irises were gone, swallowed whole by black. Endless and gleaming.

Hwa caught my reaction. “Joong’s a demon,” he explained. “One of the oldest. He’s been in my life a long time.”

Joong offered me a surprisingly warm smile. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t bite unless asked.”

That made me laugh softly, easing some of the weight in my chest. I smiled back and returned to the kitchen, but I felt it. A gaze. Heavy. Lingered.

When I looked up, Joong was watching me.

His eyes roamed—slow and unapologetic. From my face to my hips, like he was memorizing every inch. But what startled me most was the realization that I liked it.

That sly, knowing grin he gave me as I caught his gaze? It ignited something low in my stomach.

He was handsome. Devilishly so. His black polo clung to him in all the right ways, and a tattoo peeked out from under one sleeve—bold lines against tan skin that I suddenly had the urge to trace with my tongue.

Later, I had plans to meet a friend, so I excused myself. By the time I returned, the air was warmer. Laughter echoed from the living room. Their bond was easy, nostalgic, like something older than time.

I greeted them and slipped away for a shower. By the time I returned to my bedroom, I tucked myself under the covers with a book, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

Then— A soft knock.

Hwa entered the room, sitting on the edge of the bed with a look in his eyes that made my skin warm instantly.

“I have a question for you,” he said. His voice was gentle but layered with something else—anticipation.

I closed my book and nodded. “What is it?”

He hesitated, then looked into my eyes. “How would you feel about being shared tonight?”

My breath caught. “Shared?” I repeated, the word curling on my tongue.

“Yes. Both Joong and me… with you.”

He stood and extended his hand, the choice unspoken but clear. No pressure. No expectation. Only invitation.

I looked at his hand.

Then I reached out… and placed mine in his.

We left the bedroom together, my heart racing as we walked into the living room— Where Joong was already waiting.

The moment I stepped into the hall, Joong’s eyes snapped to me. He was still lounging on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest—but the second he saw my hand in Hwa’s, something shifted in his gaze.

The grin that spread across his lips was slow. Dangerous. Predatory.

“You really are full of surprises,” he murmured, voice like smoke curling around my skin. “You summoned an incubus… and you’re brave enough to take the two of us?”

Hwa kissed the back of my neck. “She was made for us.”

Joong approached slowly, brushing a knuckle under my chin. “Do I get to taste you too, pretty girl?”

“You can taste whatever you want,” I whispered.

We moved to the couch. I was caged between them—Hwa grounding, Joong electric.

Joong kissed me first—filthy, hungry, all tongue and heat—while Hwa’s hands slid under my robe, peeling it away with reverent ease. His mouth found my neck, teeth grazing skin, while Joong rolled my nipple between his fingers, pulling a moan from deep in my chest.

When the robe slipped away, I was bare. Exposed. Theirs.

Joong pulled away to admire me. “She looks good like this, doesn’t she?”

“She always does,” Hwa said, kissing down my spine. “But wait until she breaks.”

Hwa’s breath was warm against my skin as he sat down and pulled me onto his lap, my back to his chest. His thighs caged mine as his hands slid slowly up the inside of them, fingers teasing until they reached the edge of my robe.

“Relax for me, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with lust. “Let him see how beautiful you are like this. Let him see what’s his now, too.”

He tugged the robe open and spread my legs wide, baring me completely. The air hit my soaked folds and I shivered—not from cold, but from the weight of their gaze.

Joong’s eyes darkened.

He dropped to his knees like a man in prayer, positioning himself between my thighs with reverence and hunger warring in his expression. His hands slid up the outsides of my legs, then curled under—palms warm, thumbs brushing the crease where thigh met hip.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he said, voice barely more than a growl. “And you’re going to love it.”

Then he leaned in.

The first lick was torturously slow—tongue dragging up my folds with deliberate pressure, like he was savoring every second. I jolted, hips twitching, but Hwa’s hands held me steady, fingers wrapped around my waist.

Joong licked again, this time circling my clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard.

A cry tore from my lips.

My head fell back onto Hwa’s shoulder, and he chuckled darkly. “That’s it, baby. Just feel. Let him worship you.”

Joong was relentless. His tongue flicked and swirled, alternating between soft teasing and fast, precise pressure. Each suck was perfectly timed, each lick designed to bring me to the edge again and again—but never quite over.

“She tastes even better than she smells,” Joong moaned into me, voice muffled by my cunt. “So fucking sweet.”

I whimpered, hips bucking again, and Hwa tightened his grip.

“Be still,” he whispered into my ear. “You’ll come when we let you.”

He bent his head and kissed the side of my neck—slow, open-mouthed kisses that turned into wet sucks, his teeth grazing before biting down gently. I gasped, thighs trembling, overwhelmed.

His hands moved up to my chest. He cupped my breasts, kneading softly at first, then rougher, until my nipples hardened against his palms. He pinched—just enough to sting—and I arched into his touch.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he growled into my skin. “Dripping all over Joong’s tongue. So needy. So fucking ready.”

“Please,” I moaned. “I—I’m so close—please—”

Joong growled into me. “Beg for it. I want to hear it.”

“Please let me come. Please—fuck—please, I need it, I need you—”

“You wanna come on his mouth?” Hwa asked, one hand sliding down to rub slow circles just above where Joong licked. “While I mark every inch of your skin?”

“Yes—yes, please—”

“Then do it, baby,” Hwa whispered, lips brushing my ear. “Let go. Let him taste how much you need us.”

Joong flattened his tongue against my clit and sucked hard—and I broke.

My orgasm ripped through me, fast and violent. My thighs clamped around his head, back arched, toes curling as a cry spilled from my lips. Hwa moaned behind me, hands gripping my waist as Joong licked me through it, slow and greedy, lapping up every wave as I trembled and fell apart in their hands.

When I finally collapsed against Hwa’s chest, limp and ruined, Joong pulled back—his mouth and chin slick with me, eyes wild.

“She’s addictive,” he rasped.

Hwa’s hand slid from my waist down to Joong’s jaw, tilting his face upward. “Jealous?” Joong smirked.

Hwa didn’t speak.

He just pulled Joong up by the collar and kissed him.

It was brutal. Filthy. Tongues clashing, lips bruising, teeth scraping. I moaned at the sight, hand slipping between my legs again without even thinking, fingers circling my clit slowly as they devoured each other.

It was raw, unfiltered hunger. Like tasting each other meant tasting me. Like they were claiming each other in front of me, with me still slick on their mouths.

Joong’s hands gripped Hwa’s shirt, pulling him closer, and Hwa deepened the kiss with a growl. Their mouths moved like this wasn’t the first time—like they knew each other’s pace, rhythm, fire.

My fingers worked faster. I couldn’t look away.

Joong broke the kiss first, lips red and wet. He turned slightly to look at me, grinning as he caught me touching myself.

“Look at her,” he said, voice wrecked. “Fucking herself to us.”

Hwa groaned, eyes locked on mine. “Can you blame her?”

He slid his hand to my throat, not squeezing—just resting there, claiming. “You like watching us, baby?” he whispered.

I nodded, breathless.

“You want to see what we do,” he murmured, “when we both want something? How we share… how we take?”

I didn’t speak.

I didn’t need to.

He saw my answer in the way I trembled.

He grinned.

“Then get ready, baby. Because tonight, we take.”

Joong stood and extended a hand. “Come here, sweetheart.”

I stood on shaking legs, and he pulled me gently toward him…

Joong guided me to the mirror beside the couch, the cool floor pressing against my feet as my heart raced. My reflection stared back—flushed, lips swollen, skin marked with kisses and bites, glistening between the legs. I looked ruined. Ravished. Wanted.

Joong stood behind me, one hand possessive on my stomach. “I want you to watch yourself while we fuck you,” he murmured against my ear, his voice pure sin. “Want you to see what we turn you into.”

Hwa stepped in front of me and cupped my face, his kiss deep and grounding as Joong knelt behind. He spread my legs and lifted one to his shoulder, exposing me completely.

Then his tongue was on me again.

Long, slow, devastating strokes that made my knees buckle. He licked with precision—flicking my clit, then sucking hard, his tongue fucking into me just to hear me whimper. My moans were swallowed in Hwa’s mouth, my hands gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me standing.

“Good girl,” Hwa whispered, breaking the kiss. “Take him.”

Joong didn’t stop until my thighs trembled. Until my hips jerked with every flick of his tongue. Until I was on the edge again.

Then his voice was dark and rough. “On the couch. Now.”

They moved me onto all fours like I was weightless—like I belonged to them. Joong knelt behind me, thick cock nudging at my entrance before he slammed in, hard and deep. My gasp turned into a moan, but I didn’t even have time to catch my breath—Hwa was already in front of me, unzipping his pants, his cock flushed and ready.

“Can you suck me while he fucks you?” he asked, voice low and wrecked.

I opened my mouth without hesitation and took him in, moaning around him as Joong pounded into me, hips slapping against my ass. I was filled completely—stretched around Joong’s cock, my mouth full of Hwa. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

Just feel.

“Fuck,” Joong groaned behind me, gripping my hips tighter. “She’s fucking perfect.”

Hwa thrust slowly into my mouth, his hand cupping my cheek, thumb wiping away a tear that had escaped from the intensity. “So good for us,” he whispered. “Such a good girl.”

I moaned around him in response.

Joong leaned over me, panting into my ear. “Come on my cock, pretty girl. Let Hwa see what I do to you.”

“Let me see you fall apart for us,” Hwa added, voice shaking with restraint.

And I did.

My orgasm ripped through me, a wild, choking cry muffled around Hwa’s cock. My entire body shuddered as Joong thrust harder, deeper, fucking me through it until he groaned and spilled inside me, hot and thick.

Hwa pulled out of my mouth and stroked himself quickly, then came across my chest and lips with a ragged moan of my name.

I collapsed between them, panting and absolutely ruined.

Joong leaned in and brushed my hair back with a smirk. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured. “No wonder Hwa’s obsessed.”

And Hwa? He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, cradling me against his chest.

“You were mine first,” he whispered against my hair. “But now you’re ours.”

I thought we were done.

But Joong was already seated again, cock hard and glistening with the mix of me and him. He watched me with hunger still sharp in his eyes, legs spread wide in invitation.

Hwa wasn’t far behind. His lips brushed my shoulder, breath warm as he whispered, “You still have more to give, don’t you?”

I could barely nod, body spent but still aching. Still needy. My limbs were trembling, but my core throbbed, clenching on nothing.

“Please,” I breathed. “I want more.”

Joong grinned and held his hand out. “Come ride me, sweetheart.”

Hwa guided me toward him, helping me straddle Joong’s lap. Joong’s hands found my waist, grounding me. His cock pressed at my entrance again, and when I lowered myself, he slid in effortlessly. My walls fluttered, stretched and soaked, but greedy for more.

“You feel that?” he whispered, voice thick with desire. “Already stuffed full of me again… and you still want more?”

“Yes,” I gasped.

Hwa was behind me now, stroking himself slowly, eyes locked on where Joong disappeared inside me.

“I want to feel her too,” he murmured. “At the same time.”

The thought made me moan—filthy and desperate.

“You want us both, baby?” he asked, kissing along my spine. “Both of our cocks in your pretty little pussy?”

“Yes—yes, please—fuck, I want it so bad.”

Joong groaned, thrusting up into me once. “You hear that? She wants to be stretched, ruined. You gonna give it to her, Hwa?”

“Oh, I’m gonna give it to her,” he growled.

Joong leaned back slightly and pulled one of my cheeks to the side, giving Hwa a perfect view.

“Breathe, baby,” Hwa whispered. “Just relax for me.”

I felt him press against me—his cock thick, hot, already leaking. He rubbed himself along where Joong was buried deep, then slowly pushed forward, just the tip.

The stretch was unbelievable.

“Fuuuuck,” I cried, head falling back on Joong’s shoulder. “I—fuck—it’s so much—”

“Shh,” Hwa soothed, kissing my neck. “Just a little more, you can take it, baby.”

He pushed deeper.

I could feel everything—Joong already bottomed out inside me, and now Hwa’s cock sliding in, the tight squeeze making my walls ache and flutter.

They both groaned when Hwa finally sank all the way in.

“Holy fuck,” Joong gasped, hands trembling against my waist. “She’s squeezing us both—so fucking tight.”

“Feel so full,” I whimpered, voice shaking. “So fucking full—can’t move—”

“Yeah?” Hwa growled. “Does it feel good?”

“So good,” I sobbed. ���So good for you—for both of you—”

“Use your words, sweetheart,” Joong coaxed, thrusting his hips just slightly. “Tell us how much you need it.”

“Need you. Need this. Both of you. Please—fuck me.”

That was all they needed.

They started moving—slow at first, shallow rolls of their hips, but even that made my vision blur. Each thrust pushed me between them, their cocks dragging against each other inside me, stretching me wider than ever before.

They found a rhythm. Joong would thrust up as Hwa pulled back, then switch. I was suspended between them, completely stuffed, completely theirs.

Every inch of my pussy was filled. Every nerve ending alight.

“Fucking hell, look at her,” Joong moaned. “She’s shaking—fucking clenching down like she never wants to let go.”

“She was made for this,” Hwa growled. “Made for us. You love it, don’t you, baby? Love being used like this?”

“Yes,” I cried. “Love it—please don’t stop—I’m so close—”

“You’re gonna come like this?” Joong panted. “While we both fuck you in the same tight hole?”

“Please—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” Hwa whispered against my neck. “Just a little more. You can take it, baby.”

They thrust harder, rougher now. Joong’s head dropped to my shoulder, sweat slicking his chest. Hwa had one hand between my legs, rubbing my clit fast and tight.

The pressure was unbearable.

And then I shattered.

My scream echoed through the room as my orgasm crashed over me—violent and blinding. My walls clenched around them, pulsing hard, and both men groaned loud as they followed.

Joong came first, cock twitching as he spilled deep inside me, hips jerking.

Hwa thrust three more times before he cursed and buried himself fully, flooding me until I could feel it leaking out around both their cocks.

They stayed like that for a moment—breathless, pressed to my body, caging me in.

I was shaking.

Destroyed.

Overflowing.

Joong kissed the side of my face gently. “You fucking angel. No one else could take that like you.”

Hwa pulled out slowly, watching the cum drip down my thighs. “Ours,” he whispered again, pressing a kiss to my temple. “All fucking ours.”

They carried me back to the bed, laying me between them like something sacred.

They just held me—bodies still tangled, hearts still racing, lips brushing over every inch of my skin like they couldn’t stop touching me.

And me?

I was ruined.

Utterly theirs.

Forever.

[taetaevantecutie]

I say nothing😍🥲

𝘚𝘒𝘐𝘕 𝘛𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛 | 𝘗𝘚𝘏

𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 𝘖𝘕𝘌 | 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘸𝘢 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

✂︎ 𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: You hated blind dates. Desperate times called for desperate measures—your parents insisted you give this one a shot. Then, to your surprise, he was perfect. Charming, attentive, and almost too good to be true, the chemistry crackled like static between you. Jokes flowed, and your walls melted away. Just like that, he asked, “Meet my parents at our villa this weekend?” Was it excitement or dread? This fairytale was moving fast, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 9.3𝘬

𝘗𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 | 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 | 𝘚&𝘔 | 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 | 𝘌𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 | 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦

✂︎ 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪��𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

✂︎ 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

[𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 2] | [𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛]

The sharp knock at your door didn’t give you a chance to answer before it burst open.

“Get up. You’re meeting him tonight.”

your mother’s voice cut through the haze of sleep like a blade, her words brisk, different–already dressed in perfume and pearls and whatever else made up her illusion of control.

You groaned into your pillow. “Meeting who?”

She sighed, like she couldn't believe she had to remind you. “The man your father and I arranged. Park Seonghwa. Wealthy. Charming. Excellent family. Don't make that face, you agreed last week.”

You cracked one eye open, “I said I'd consider it.”

“You said ‘fine’ and that's a yes in my language.” She strode into your room like it belonged to her–which, technically, it did. The scent of her signature gardenia filled the air, suffocating. “He’s expecting you at seven. Wear something feminine. No black. You always wear black. It’s depressing.”

You flopped onto your back and stared at the ceiling, already regretting every life choice that led you here. “Isn’t that what blind dates are for? Depressing people dressing up to disappoint each other?”

“You’re pushing thirty,” she snapped. “This is not the time to be picky.”

There it was–the ultimatum wrapped in silk gloves. Your mother never shouted, never threatened. She didn't need to. Her disappointment was an institution. Her silence was a weapon. And when that didn’t work, she’d pull the ultimate card: your future.

You closed your eyes again. “Can’t wait to be emotionally manipulated into marriage.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” you muttered. “Just thrilled.”

She turned to leave but paused in the doorway, giving you one last sweeping glance. “Be presentable, and try not sound cynical. You have the tendency to ruin first impressions.”

The door clicked shut behind her.

You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the morning light casting sharp angles across your room. It was too early for wine, too late for hope, and apparently the perfect day to sell your soul over salad and small talk.

“Yippie,” you groaned.

You dragged yourself out of bed, limbs heavy, heart heavier.

You stood in front of your open closet like a woman being asked to choose her own noose.

Silks, satins, neutrals. Your mother had trained you well. Nothing too loud, nothing that screamed for attention–just whispered, I'm tasteful , I'm available, I bleed pedigree.

You reached for a slip dress in dark burgundy, paused and then snatched your hand back. ‘No black’, she said. You’d never figured out if she meant it symbolically or literally.

After twenty minutes of internal war, you settled on a muted sage green wrap dress. It clung enough to suggest curves, but not enough to be accused of trying. You pulled your hair into a soft updo, letting a few strands fall around your jaw–effortless but strategic, like everything else in your life.

Makeup: minimal, flesh coloured gloss that tinted with pink glitter.

In the bathroom mirror, your reflection stared back, calm but skeptical.

This wasn’t your first parental set-up. There had been others–men who were overly polite, well educated, and wildly uninteresting. One called you “opinionated” like it was a threat. Another had asked if you’d be comfortable leaving your career “after children.”

You’d mastered the art of soft rejection over salmon tartare.

Still, something about tonight itched beneath your skin. The way your mother said his name–Park seonghwa–like it carried weight. Like it belonged to someone who didn’t take no for an answer.

You hated how curious that made you.

By the time 6:30 rolled around, you were dressed, masked, and quietly resigned. The scent of your perfume clung to your collarbones, floral and sharp, the kind that lingered long after you left a room. And of course, the final cherry on top, your mom’s diamond bvlgari earrings.

You slipped on your heels, checked your phone.

1 New text–mom

Don't embarrass us. Be polite. Smile. He’s not like others.

You rolled your eyes.

Sure. Because that’s not ominous at all.

At exactly 6:45, a sleek black car pulled up to your building. No uber logo. Tinted windows. You stepped inside, half-expecting to be offered champagne or chloroform.

The driver didn’t speak, didn’t look at you. Just nodded once and started toward the restaurant.

You watched the city blur past your window, light bleeding into glass, everything too quiet inside the car. A fairytale carriage wrapped in shadow. You weren’t afraid.

Not really. Just…aware.

There was something about the night that felt pre-written.Like you’d already said yes to something you didn’t understand.

The car pulled up to a place that didn’t need a sign. Glass and stone. Subtle lighting. A doorman in an earpiece who opened your door like he knew your name.

inside, everything gleamed. Tables dressed in white linen, gold-rimmed crystal, the kind of ambient music you didn’t notice until it stopped. Wealth whispered in this place–it didn’t scream.

The hostess greeted you with a tight smile. “Right this way. He’s already waiting.”

Of course he was.

She led you to a private table in the back corner, near a glass wall overlooking the city. One man sat alone, wine glass untouched, posture relaxed–like he owned the view. Like he’d been carved into the room.

Park Seonghwa stood when he saw you. And for a moment, your breath caught.

Tall. Immaculate. A black suit, no tie, collar open just enough to hint at collarbones. His features were sharp, symmetrical–the kind of beauty that made you want to look twice just to confirm you weren’t imagining things.

He smiled. Not too wide. Not too eager.

Measured.

“It's good to finally meet you y/n,” he said, voice smooth as silk over stone. “You look–”

A beat. A ficker of approval in his gaze. “Even better than your mother described.”

You offered your hand. He took it gently–but there was nothing weak in his grip. His palm was warm, controlled.

“And you must be Park Seonghwa,” you said, tone neutral. “My blind date with the ominously perfect reputation.”

He chuckled. “Is that what they told you?”

Before you could reach for your chair, he stepped forward smoothly and pulled it for you. The gesture was precise, elegant–like he’d done it a thousand times–but the way he held the chair until you were fully seated felt deliberate. Intentional.

You murmured a soft thanks, smoothing your dress with a calm you didn’t feel as he moved to sit opposite you.

“Only every day this week,” you added, lips curling into a faint smile.

The waiter appeared like smoke, pouring wine without asking. You noticed that the bottle was already open. Chilled just right.

You took a sip. Dry. Aged. Expensive.

“Do you make a habit of arriving early?” you asked.

“I Like to observe.”

Something in the way he said it made you still for half a second. He didn't elaborate.

Dinner unfolded like a well-rehearsed play.

Seonghwa asked questions—not the shallow kind, but ones that cut straight to your edges and tested their sharpness.

“What’s something you’d never told your parents?” he asked, eyes fixed on yours over the rim of his wineglass.

You blinked. “Is that your idea of a first-date ice breaker?”

He smiled, "I find the surface boring.”

You hesitated, then deflected. “Probably that I like chardonnay. But I drink it around them because they think it’s classy.”

“I suppose,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “But most people aren’t aware they’re doing it.”

A beat passed.

Then: “do you like what you do? Or are you good at it?”

That one made you pause, “architecture? I'm good at it.”

“But?”

“But that doesn’t mean I sleep well.”

He didn’t laugh this time. Just nodded, slowly. As if filling your answer away under something important. When he leaned in, it was never too close–just enough to make you feel like you were sharing something dangerous. He smelled faintly of sandalwood and smoked amber, a scent that curled around your senses like a promise you didn’t understand yet.

He kept going.

“What would you change about your life if no one was watching?”

“What’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever thought and never said?”

“Have you ever loved someone you couldn’t trust?”

Each question was velvet gloved and razor-edged. You threw some back, trying to test him the same way.

“What about you? Ever been in love?”

“Yes,” he answered easily.

“What happened?”

“She loved who I showed her,” he said, swirling his wine. ”Not who I am.”

You arched a brow. “And who are you?”

He smiled, “still figuring that out. You're helping.”

The chemistry was real. But so was the tension.

His eyes didn’t just look at you—they read you. Like he could see the fear buried beneath your humor. The control you mistook for confidence. The calculation behind every smile you gave him.

You told yourself you were being paranoid.

And yet.

You leaned back in your seat, swirling your wine like it could distract you from the way his words lingered long after they were spoken.

“Do you always ask such invasive questions on a first date?” you said lightly.

He gave a soft chuckle, not at all ashamed. “Only when I'm interested.”

“And you’re…interested?”

Seonghwa rested his chin on one hand, eyes never leaving yours. “You’re composed, intelligent. You deflect like a professional. But you’re not hiding because you’re afraid. You’re hiding because you’re testing me.”

That startled something in you–not fear, exactly. More like a jolt of recognition. As if he were naming things you hadn’t admitted to yourself.

You gave a slow smile. “Or maybe I'm just not easily impressed.”

His expression didn’t shift. "Then I'm enjoying the challenge.”

You reached for your water, trying to ground yourself. The air between you had grown thicker–weighted with things unspoken, things implied.

“so ,” you said, voice steady. “If I'm being studied, can I ask a question or two of my own?”

He nodded “of course.”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “What’s the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?”

There was no hesitation, whatsoever. Like he’d been waiting for a question of this sort.

“I loved someone who didn't know what I was capable of.”

Your breath caught. You weren’t sure if it was the words themselves or the way he said them–quiet, calm, almost poetic. As if it was a memory, not a warning.

“And what are you capable of, Seonghwa?”

He smiled then, slow and deliberate, "exactly what's needed.”

A pause. Just long enough for you to realise he was watching your reaction as much as he was enjoying the game.

You looked away first. He seemed satisfied.

Then, with the same smoothness that he carried every moment so far, he shifted gears.

“I’d like you to meet my parents,” he said casually, as though it were the natural next step after dessert. “This weekend. We'll drive up to our villa.”

Your head snapped back toward him. “That’s…direct.”

“I prefer not to waste time.”

You searched his face for a hint of irony, a smirk, something to suggest this was a joke.

He gave you nothing.

“I don't even know you,” you said slowly, eyes digging into him with an amused smirk.

“Then get to know me,” he replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Let them get to know you, too.”

“You meet one woman and already want to bring her home to Mom and Dad?”

“I’ve met more than one woman,” he corrected. “Only one has me curious.”

You were quiet for a moment, fighting the urge to full on blush at his implications.

“And if I say no?” You asked, teasingly sipping at your wine.

He didn’t blink. “Then I'd respect that.” Another beat, “but I'd still think about you.”

The silence settled thick between you, like the air before a thunderclap. Somewhere outside the window, the city lights flickered against the night like tiny signals–warning, or invitation.

You didn’t say yes. But you didn't say no either. And when he reached out–two fingers brushing yours across the table–you didn’t pull away. They were warm and soft, just like his palms.

Seonghwa’s fingers didn’t linger long. Just the lightest brush–two fingertips grazing the back of your hand. Enough to pull your focus to the space between you. Enough to feel the warmth even after it was gone.

You withdrew your hand gently, more out of instinct than discomfort. “You’re very sure of yourself,” you said.

“I'm sure of what I want.”

“And what is that exactly?” His gaze softened, but it didn't lose its sharpness.

“Someone I don't have to pretend with.”

You raised a brow. “So you pretend with everyone else?”

“I pretend with people who expect perfection,” he said, tone even. “Who want surface-level safety. Predictable affection. You're different.”

You gave a dry laugh. “How would you know?”

“Because you’re not trying to impress me. You’re trying to figure out what I’m not telling you.”

That disarmed you. Mostly because it was true.

You didn’t like being read so easily. Especially not by a man who wore his mystery like a custom suit.

Still, there was something about him—dangerously composed, disarmingly honest. You couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or if sincerity was just another performance.

Maybe that was what intrigued you.

Or maybe it was the fact that, even now, part of you didn’t care.

The check was handled without discussion—already paid, apparently. You weren’t surprised.

As you both stood, Seonghwa stepped behind you again, pulling your chair back with quiet grace. His fingers brushed the back of your shoulder as he helped you up, and for the briefest second, you thought you felt him exhale.

Not sighing. Not tired.

Just…watching.

You adjusted your dress, cleared your throat. “So what happens now?”

He offered you his arm, as he lightly bit his lip.

“I walk you to the car. And if you’ll let me, I’ll see you again.”

You smiled. Only slightly so.

The valet pulled up in a near silence. Not your original driver. A different car–smoother, sleeker. You hesitated, but he opened the door for you, hand extended in silent invitation.

You climbed in. Before the door shut, he leaned in–close enough for his breath to warm your cheek.

“I’ll pick you up Friday morning," he said. “Nine o clock.”

You tilted your head, amused at how he’d already made the decision that you’d go. “No driver?”

“I prefer to handle important things myself.” He didn't smile this smile. He didn’t need to.

Then, almost as an afterthought–though nothing he did felt accidental–he leaned in.

“...and bring something red.”

The door clicked shut behind you. The car eased into motion like a whisper, and he was gone.

The rest of the city blurred past your window in gold and glass. But your mind stayed fixed on him—on that quiet certainty in his voice, the weight behind his gaze. The way he said red like it meant something only he understood.

Your phone buzzed.

1 New Message–Unknown number

“Thank you for tonight. You were…radiant.” “Friday. 9AM” “I’ll be waiting.”

You didn’t reply. Not because you didn’t want to.

But because something in your bones whispered: he already knows what you’ll say.

꧁─𐮛─꧂ ꧁─𐮛─꧂ ⚤ ꧁─𐮛─꧂ ꧁─𐮛─꧂

The smell of fresh coffee hit you before you even opened your bedroom door. Your mother was already in the kitchen, moving with her usual precision–robed cinched at her waist, hair pinned just so. She didn’t look like someone who’d been waiting by the phone all night for an update, but you knew better.

She glanced up the second she heard your footsteps. “Well?”

You moved to the counter, grabbed a mug, and stalled. “Well what?”

Her lips pursed, the tiniest glimmer of impatience breaking through the façade. “Seonghwa. Don’t act like I didn’t see the way your father was practically glowing when the driver called to say he’d picked you up from Velare.”

You took a long sip of coffee. Bitter. Unsettling. Fitting.

“He was… something.”

“Something?” she repeated, amused. “That’s a very noncommittal answer.”

You shrugged. “Charming. Smart. Intense.”

“Oh?” Her brow lifted. “Intense how?”

You leaned against the counter. “He invited me to meet his parents this weekend.”

That got her full attention. “Already?” Her expression turned curious, amused. “Well, someone’s not wasting time.”

You hesitated. “He said to pack light… and—”

You met her gaze carefully.

“—to bring something red.”

There was a pause.

Then, to your surprise, your mother laughed. A low, knowing sound. Like you’d just told her a juicy secret.

“My, my,” she murmured, setting her cup down. “So he has a little spice in him after all.”

You frowned. “That’s what you took from that?”

She gave you a conspiratorial smile, eyes glinting. “Darling, any man worth his salt knows how to play with intrigue. It’s been so long since I’ve heard a line like that. Refreshing.”

You stared at her, uncertain if she was being serious or just enjoying the moment too much.

She waved a hand. “Don’t overthink it. Red is sexy. Red is bold. He probably wants to see if you can command a room in it.”

Or bleed in it, your mind supplied.

You didn’t say that out loud.

You stood in front of your closet again, the same way you had just days ago–except now, the silence felt different. Sharper.

Your fingers brushed over soft neutrals, your usual go-to pieces. Then slowly, you reached into the back.

Velvet. Silk. lace.

And there it was. The red one.

You didn’t even remember buying it. A draped slip dress–low in the back, high on suggestion. It looked like something made for candlelight and consequences. You laid it in your suitcase carefully, as if it might shatter.

Your phone buzzed.

1 New Message–Park Seonghwa

“Outside.”

You checked the time again, 8:45. Not 9:00.

Not fashionably early. Not conveniently on time. Deliberately–precisely–early.

Your stomach turned, “shit.”

You darted back into your room, heart racing as you zipped up your overnight bag with one hand and tried to shove your phone charger and makeup pouch inside with the other. Your toothbrush was still by the sink. You hadn't even thrown on shoes.

He hadn’t said he’d come in.

But somehow, you knew he might.

You sprinted to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, quickly patting down the faint edges of your under-eye concealer. You barely recognized your own reflection—flushed cheeks, chest tight, a strange pressure at the base of your spine that hadn’t been there before.

Too fast. Too soon. Too much.

Your hands trembled slightly as you jammed your toiletries into the front zipper of your suitcase and dragged it toward the door.

And then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You froze.

Three slow, calm raps.

You turned toward the sound like prey toward a predator—instinctively, silently.

Another knock.

Your heart galloped. You glanced around your room as if expecting something to tell you what to do. Did he really come to the door? You hadn’t even told him your unit number. The front gate didn’t buzz.

Of course he didn’t need to.

Of course Seonghwa knew.

You smoothed your blouse with damp hands and moved to the door, bag half-zipped, shoes forgotten. You hesitated with your fingers on the handle. Inhaled once, deeply.

Then you opened it.

There he was. Still in that same immaculate coat—black, cashmere, tailored to the angles of his frame. His hair was wind-swept just enough to look natural. He held out the coffee tray, one brow lifted.

“Morning,” he said. “I figured you might be a little behind.”

There was no judgment in his voice. Only certainty.

You blinked. “I thought—nine?”

He smiled. “I wanted to give us a head start.”

You couldn’t tell if us meant you and him, or him and the schedule he had in his head.

Still, you took the coffee from him and stepped back.

“I just need… two minutes.”

He didn’t enter. He didn’t offer to help. But he didn’t leave the threshold either.

“Of course,” he said. “Take your time.”

You moved quickly—grabbed your heels, zipped your bag completely, slipped your coat on. Every motion felt watched, even though he wasn’t looking directly at you anymore.

Still, you could feel his presence like a shadow pressing against the edge of your space.

Exactly 120 seconds later, you emerged, suitcase in hand, breath tight in your chest.

He took it from you wordlessly.

Opened the car door.

Waited.

And just before you climbed in, he leaned in close, so close his breath brushed the shell of your ear.

“I like the shade of red you picked,” he murmured.

You hadn’t told him what you’d packed.

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality. The interior of the car smelled expensive—leather, faint bergamot, something else underneath that lingered like the memory of smoke. The seats cradled your body as you settled in, warm and too comfortable.

Seonghwa slid in beside you and closed his own door. He didn’t start the car immediately. Instead, he took a sip from his coffee cup, then glanced at you over the rim.

“Everything alright?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… rushing.”

He turned the engine on. The car hummed to life—silent, smooth. You barely felt it pull away from the curb.

“I didn’t mean to throw off your routine,” he said after a beat, gaze still forward. “I assumed you’d appreciate a head start. I hate lateness. It chips away at… things.”

You didn’t ask what things. You just looked out the window.

City blurred into suburban hills. You passed rows of manicured hedges and stone walls that got taller the farther you drove.

A few minutes passed in silence before he spoke again.

“So,” he said lightly, “tell me something you didn’t say last night.”

You turned to him slowly. “About what?”

“Anything. Something unedited. Unpolished. No parent-approved answers this time.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around the coffee cup.

He glanced at you, his smile soft but expectant.

You looked ahead. “I don’t like mornings.”

His chuckle was low, appreciative. “Neither do I. But they reveal people.”

You arched a brow. “Reveal them how?”

“Most people aren’t pretending at 8 a.m.,” he replied. “That’s when the masks slip. That’s when the decisions we make aren’t curated—they’re instinctual.”

You looked at him for a long second. “Is that why you showed up early?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just kept driving, eyes on the road, lips curving into a knowing smile.

“I like to see what’s real.”

You turned back to the window, heart kicking harder in your chest.

The road narrowed. Trees thickened. The city had disappeared behind you, swallowed by green and gold and mist.

He reached over and adjusted the heat slightly, the soft brush of his fingers near your knee drawing your attention.

“So,” he said again, his voice deceptively casual, “what did you pack?”

You hesitated. “Clothes. Basics. The red dress.”

He smiled wider. “Good girl.”

The words were said without malice—low and warm, like praise.

But they wrapped around your ribs too tightly. You didn’t reply. You couldn’t help but to hide the way you bit your lip, damn.

The car rolled smoothly along the winding road, trees passing like a metronome, each one a beat in the slow build of tension.

You sipped your coffee to keep your hands busy, your gaze flitting to Seonghwa. He was relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on his thigh. But there was something… still about him. A kind of quiet that felt curated, like a painting hung just slightly off-center to make you stare longer.

“Do you always like control this much?” you asked suddenly, surprising even yourself.

He didn’t flinch. In fact, he looked amused.

“Would it scare you if I said yes?”

You held his gaze. “I guess it depends what you’re trying to control.”

A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face. Then he smiled—slow and clean.

“Everything,” he said. “But not for the reason you think.”

He glanced out the window, then back to the road.

“I grew up in chaos,” he continued. “You’d never guess that now, would you?”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t need you to.

“There were times when I didn’t know if the lights would come on. If I’d find my mother where I left her. If someone I trusted would still be there the next day.” He paused. “It teaches you to anticipate everything. To keep one hand on the pulse of the room, and the other on the door.”

You studied him, unsure whether he was telling you this to connect—or to test.

“I’m not afraid of mess,” he added after a moment. “I just don’t let it live in my house.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but the car began to slow.

And that’s when you saw it.

The trees parted like theater curtains, revealing a long gravel drive framed by low lanterns and lush, unbroken greenery. At the end of it stood the villa—tall, white stone, lined with glass and vines. Elegant. Immaculate.

Dead quiet.

No staff in sight. No cars. No voices.

Just the rhythmic crunch of the tires as Seonghwa pulled into the drive.

“Wow,” you whispered. It slipped out without permission.

He smiled faintly. “It’s peaceful.”

It was more than that. It was pristine. The kind of untouched that made you nervous to breathe too loudly.

He parked, stepped out, and came around to open your door before you could even reach for the handle.

You stepped out slowly, the chill of the morning sinking through your clothes. The breeze carried faint traces of lavender and lemon—but there was something metallic underneath it.

You couldn’t place it.

“Come on,” Seonghwa said, gently placing his hand on the small of your back. “They’re waiting.”

You blinked. “Your parents?”

He smiled. “In a way.”

That didn’t make sense.

But before you could ask, the massive front doors swung open.

A woman stood in the doorway, perfectly composed in a dark emerald dress. Her features were delicate, her gaze sharp.

She didn’t smile.

Seonghwa gave her a polite nod.

“This is Eunji,” he said. “She runs the house.”

Not our housekeeper. Not assistant. Just… runs it.

“Welcome,” Eunji said to you, voice smooth as velvet. “We’ve been expecting you.”

The phrasing made your pulse spike.

We.

The doors closed behind you with a low thud. The sound echoed too far for a place that was supposed to be warm and lived in.

Eunji stepped forward, hands folded in front of her.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.”

Your room.

Not guest room. Not Seonghwa’s room.

Your heels clicked softly against the marble floors as you followed her through the main hall. Everything was polished to perfection—gleaming stone, neutral tones, antique lighting fixtures that flickered slightly as you passed.

Too perfect.

There were no fingerprints on any surface. No shoes near the door. No idle coffee cups. The house looked prepared, not inhabited.

“This wing is private,” Eunji said. “You’ll find everything you need in the suite. Fresh towels, a wardrobe, toiletries.”

You stopped to admire the space. It was much to your liking, a little too much though. 

Eunji turned back, that same unreadable expression fixed on her face. “Mr. Park requested it be rearranged to your specifications”

Your mouth was dry. “How did he—”

“Mr. Park is… attentive.”

Before you could respond, she pushed open a door to a guest suite. Bigger than your entire apartment. Cream and grey, accented in dark wood. The scent of rosewater clung faintly to the air.

The bed was the staple. Satin sheets, similar to the ones in your room. Delicate but commanding.

It looked like temptation woven into fabric and a succulent mattress. 

“We dine at seven,” Eunji said, already backing out. “You’ll be called when it’s time.”

And with that, she left. No footsteps. No closing door.

Just silence.

You wandered the halls afterward, pretending to admire the architecture while your mind scrambled for grounding.

You found Seonghwa seated in what looked like a study—dim lighting, bookshelves, and a large window overlooking the garden. He didn’t look surprised to see you.

“Getting acquainted with the house?” he asked without looking up from the book in his hands.

You lingered in the doorway. “Trying to figure out if it’s a house or a museum.”

That drew a soft laugh. “It’s both, in a way.”

You stepped inside slowly. “Eunji said something about my room being rearranged to my specifications. Which is… ”

He set the book down carefully and looked at you.

“weird?,” he said. “I told you that I like to observe. So I had the room prepped from my observations.”

“That’s thoughtful,” you said. “And a little unsettling.”

“Why unsettling?”

“You somehow replicated my bedroom, in a way.”

“I observe.”

There was no apology in his tone. Just that same infuriating calm.

“You don’t think it’s invasive?” you asked.

He stood and moved toward you—not fast, but deliberate. Stopping a foot away.

“I think most people spend their lives begging to be seen,” he murmured. “And when someone actually sees them, they get scared.”

You swallowed. The room felt warmer now.

He tilted his head. “Are you scared?”

You didn’t answer.

His hand reached up—not touching—just hovering near your jaw. Like he was daring you to lean in. To close the distance.

You didn’t move. But your heart did. Loudly.

Then he stepped back.

“Seven o’clock,” he said, voice returning to velvet. “I’ll have something ready for you to wear.”

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, holding the hanger in both hands. It was black. Simple, elegant. However the cut was barely your style.

It had been left on your bed while you were in the shower, with a single note looping in cursive:

Wear this today. I’d like to see you in black.

–Hwa.

You weren’t sure why the request made your chest tighten. It wasn’t the dress itself. It was beautiful, a little too perfect though. A little too…picked. Like a costume for a part you weren’t sure you agreed to play. 

The room was beautiful—of course it was. Tastefully lavish. But something about it felt… prepped. Like a stage set waiting for the first scene. Not a wrinkle on the comforter. Not a single personal item in sight. Even the orchids on the dresser looked like they’d been chilled before being placed.

You walked toward the tall windows, parting the sheer curtains.

The view stretched out into what felt like nowhere. Acres of manicured garden, symmetrical hedges, and beyond that, a wall of trees that looked too dense to explore. No roads. No city skyline. Just… removed.

You picked up your phone.

No signal. You furrowed your brows.

You checked the Wi-Fi. Connected, but everything felt monitored—too fast, too filtered. You could Google the weather, but couldn’t open your texts. Couldn’t send anything out.

A quiet panic stirred in your chest.

You paced. Opened the wardrobe. All high-end designer clothes… not all yours.

Two of the dresses still had the tags on, and neither were familiar. One of the blouses bore the faint scent of perfume you didn’t wear.

You pulled open a drawer. Silk lingerie—red, black, delicate.

They’d prepared for you.

Expected you.

You sat at the vanity. Your reflection stared back, quiet and still. For a second, you didn’t recognize her. Your eyes looked bigger in this lighting, almost too bright. The fear behind them didn’t belong to someone who’d gone on a simple date.

Your mother’s voice rang faintly in your mind—“Mysterious is sexy. Don’t overthink it.”

You looked at the dress again.

It lay there like a dare.

And she said no black, what are the odds.

Still, you slipped into it. 

The fabric whispered across your skin, cool and unfamiliar. It clung to your curves like it knew them already. When you tried to reach the zipper in the back, your fingers fumbled once. Twice. 

Then, you heard him behind you. You didn’t even hear him enter your room which was…weird.

“Let me.” he said.

You stiffened. Seonghwa’s hand touched your shoulder slightly, gently. The other found the zipper, slow and smooth, dragging it up your spine like a whisper. You felt the what of his breath at your neck. His cologne brushing past your nostrils like a secret, intoxicating…

“You look breathtaking in black,” he murmured, the zipper locking into place with a soft click. 

You met his gaze in the mirror expression still but thankful his hands still on your shoulders.

He was smiling–but his eyes told another story. Not hunger. No pride.

possession.

You turned to face him, arms crossed. “What’s the occasion?”

He stepped closer, touching a loose curl behind your ear. “No occasion. I just like the way it contrasts against your skin.”

“That’s kind of intense,” you said softly, attempting to make it sound like a joke. His head tilted, smile never faltering.

“You have no idea.”

With that, a soft chuckle left your lips. It was all too odd really, you just couldn’t put a finger on it. But that smile, those gentle pearly whites, subtly hypnotized you.

Dinner was served in a smaller, more intimate room than the sprawling dining hall you’d seen during the villa tour. This one was quieter. Tucked away behind a velvet-draped arch, with floor-to-ceiling windows that opened into a darkened courtyard bathed in moonlight.

A single table. Two chairs. A candlelit centerpiece that flickered like your heartbeat.

Seonghwa pulled your chair out for you again, his fingertips brushing the curve of your shoulder before retreating.

“Red wine tonight?” he asked. You nodded, sitting carefully in the black dress that still felt more like wrapping than clothing. He poured for you. Not a drop spilled.

You watched the wine bloom into your glass like ink.

The food came–an aromatic truffle risotto, grilled white asparagus, some kind of pear salad that looked more like artwork than something edible. He watched you take your first bite. Watching the way your lips settled onto the fork, before lifting his own.

It took a few tender bites for him to start speaking. It's not that he was nervous or scared, it was a calculative tactic. You know, waiting for the perfect moment.

“I’m glad you’re still here," he said simply, eyes now fixed on yours. “Many would’ve run by now.”

“Should I have?” you asked, half-smiling. Curious as to what he might be hiding from you.

“You tell me.” There was the tension again–slippery, warm, and slow-burning. Like he enjoyed seeing how far he could push before you flinched. You picked up some wine, to buy time.

He leaned forward, voice low. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

Your fingers tightened around the glass stem before you could stop them. You didn’t answer right away. Instead you smiled–small and sharp. “Should I be?”

He chuckled low and velvety. “No. Never. But I think you’re curious. I think you’re trying to figure out if I'm real.”

You exhaled through your nose, setting the wine down.

“Maybe I am.” His smile didn’t break. But his gaze dropped slightly—as if savoring the fact that you hadn’t denied it.

The risotto had long gone cold on your plate, but you barely noticed. Your glass was half empty. Or half full. You weren’t sure anymore.

Seonghwa was watching you with that quiet, unreadable expression again–chin resting on his hand, his elbow propped on the table like he had nowhere else in the world to be. His presence filled the room. Warm. Intoxicating. He hadn’t touched his phone once. Hadn’t looked away from you unless it was to refill your glass or cut your food.

“So…” you started.

He blinked, “mm?”

“You said I'd be meeting your parents this weekend,” you said carefully, keeping your tone light. “Will they be joining us anytime soon?”

There was a pause. A fractional pause. Not long enough to be obvious. But just long enough for your nerves to thread themselves together. Then came the smile. Yes, that smile.

"They're out of town,” he said smoothly, as if that explained everything. “Business in Vienna. Last minute. I didn't cancel just because of that.”

“Oh.” you nodded slowly, swallowing back the knot forming in your throat. “Right. That makes sense.”

“They’ll be back tomorrow afternoon,” he added, lifting his glass. “You’ll meet them at brunch.”

“Okay,” you said, even though it wasn’t okay.

Because something didn’t add up.This entire trip—his invitation, your mother’s delight, the way he’d worded it—“Meet my parents at our villa this weekend.” Not “sometime.” Not “if they’re around.”

You shifted in your seat, feigning interest in your wine again.

Outside, the trees swayed gently under the moonlight. The air smelled like jasmine and something faintly metallic. Maybe iron.

Inside, your heart thudded against your ribs with each tick of the quiet wall clock.

“Do you trust me?” Seonghwa asked suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

He leaned forward, lacing his fingers on the table between you.

“I can tell you’re holding something in. Your eyes give it away.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your throat felt dry.

“I want you to be honest with me,” he said, voice lower now. More intimate. “Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s complicated. I’m not going to judge you.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

But you didn’t tell him what you were thinking.

You didn’t say: Your phone hasn’t buzzed once this entire time.

You didn’t say: None of the staff make eye contact with me.

You didn’t say: You knew my size. You chose my clothes. You knew I’d say yes.

Instead, you forced a smile.

“Well,” you said, trying to sound amused, “I did pack something red just in case.”

His eyes gleamed. Just for a second.

Then he stood, walked around the table, and offered his hand.

“Why don’t you show me,” he said, “after dessert?”

You held his gaze, lips parted in a soft, thoughtful breath. The suggestion hung between you like thick perfume–delicate, almost playful, yet unmistakably bold. It wasn’t a demand, not exactly. But it wasn’t a question either.

You glanced down at your wine glass, then up again, letting your lashes dip just enough to soften the edge of your smirk.

“Hmm,” you hummed, swirling the stem gently between your fingers. “I think I’ll let your imagination do the heavy lifting… for now.”

A flicker passed over his face—so fast you might have missed it.

Something sharp. Something hungry.

But then it was gone, replaced with his usual cool charm. He chuckled under his breath, and leaned in closer, voice low and molten. “Bratty.”

Your pulse jumped.

Heat bloomed just beneath your skin. But you stayed still–calm, composed, sipping your wine like you hadn’t just thrown a match into a pool of gasoline.

“I’m pacing myself,” you said smoothly. “You did say this weekend was long, didn’t you?”

Seonghwa tilted his head, appraising you like a riddle he hadn’t quite solved. His fingers tapped once on the table. Deliberate. Measured. Then he stood, slow and graceful, rounding the table again—not to press, not to push.

Just to linger close enough for your skin to recognize his presence like heat from a candle.

“You know,” he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek, “I like that you make me wait.”

Then he turned, glancing over his shoulder as he walked toward the hall.

“Come on,” he added lightly. “I’ll show you the gallery.”

You rose from your seat slowly, your gaze fixed on his back.

Because despite the teasing, despite the smirks—you knew something had shifted.

That one word—bratty—wasn’t just flirtation.

It was a thread. A test. And you’d just tugged on it.

You followed him down a quieter hall, this one narrower–less grand than the others. The walls were washed in a soft eggshell white, the lighting warmer, more intimate. It felt different here. More… personal.

At the end of the corridor, Seonghwa pushed open a door you hadn't noticed before. The hinges let out a soft creak. The muscles on his back tensed through his shirt as he opened the heavy door.

Inside was a long, private gallery. Quiet, almost reverent. Paintings lined the walls–neatly framed, evenly spaced. It wasn't flashy or curated for guests. This was something else. A sanctuary. A secret.

You stepped in slowly, your breath catching without warning.

They were beautiful.

Monochrome landscapes in graphite tones—stormy skies, blurred fields, skeletal trees in motion. Each canvas was haunting in its stillness, filled with ache and longing.

But every single one had the same strange detail:

A single, deliberate stripe of yellow—sometimes thick like a road, other times narrow like thread—cut through the canvas. Always vertical. Always off-center.

“What…” You trailed off, unable to stop staring. “You painted these?”

Seonghwa nodded, quiet pride glinting in his eyes. “In my free time. Therapy, I suppose.”

“They’re incredible.” You meant it.

He watched you, but didn’t speak. You moved closer to one of the pieces, fingers twitching not to touch. “The yellow…is it meant to be a path?”

He smiled softly. “Interpret it however you like.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly. The color wasn’t a warm yellow. It was too sharp—like caution tape or the edge of a blade. It didn’t lead through the painting. It cut into it.

Still, something about the pattern tickled the back of your mind, like a song you couldn’t place. You reached for your phone—maybe to snap a picture, maybe to look up if his style reminded you of another artist. But—

No signal.

You frowned. Same as earlier. Still no service. The thought prickled at you, but you forced yourself to keep calm “do you sell them?”

Seonghwa stepped closer, his voice low near your ear. “Only to people who understand them.”

You turned slightly, startled at the nearness. But he didn’t push further—just let the silence sit between you like mist.

Your gaze wandered to the next canvas, and then the next. And then—

You paused.

There was a break in the gallery wall. Not obvious at first. Subtle, even clever. But the line that ran through the drywall behind one painting didn’t match the rest of the seamless gallery. It was vertical, about the width of a doorframe.

A seam.

A hidden door?

You stepped toward it unconsciously, blinking.

The painting above it—like all the others—featured that yellow stripe.

But this one?

It aligned perfectly with the line in the wall beneath it.

A coincidence?

You looked over your shoulder. “Seonghwa?”

He was watching you with unreadable eyes.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Instead, you smiled. “Your technique is… meticulous.”

He stepped forward, gently guiding you away from the painting, his hand warm on your back.

“Come,” he said instead, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Why don't we watch a movie? Something simple to end the night.”

You blinked, the image of the yellow-streaked canvas still fresh in your mind. The hidden seam behind it pulsed at the edges of your memory like a bruise you kept pressing. But Seonghwa’s voice was gentle, coaxing. Soft enough to make you follow.

You nodded. “Sure. A movie sounds good.”

By the time you returned from changing, the air in the room had shifted. The formal dining atmosphere was gone, replaced by dim lamplight and the soft hum of an old projector spinning to life in the corner. You curled into the plush side of a velvet couch in your comfiest black pajama shorts and a worn t-shirt. Seonghwa, oddly enough, hadn’t changed—still in that sleek black suit, not a wrinkle in sight.

He handed you a mug of hot chocolate. You blinked at the steam curling out, rich and velvety.

“This smells unreal,” you murmured, wrapping your hands around it.

“It’s my own recipe,” he said, smiling. “Dark chocolate. Chili. A dash of clove. It’s meant to… warm you from the inside out.”

You took a sip and blinked. He wasn’t lying. The flavor unfolded across your tongue, unexpected and addictive. Complex. Like him.

The movie flickered on—something foreign and slow-paced. Beautiful cinematography. A soundtrack that lulled rather than filled. It played more like a dream than a film.

But Seonghwa didn’t seem too interested in watching. His attention lingered sideways, eyes on you between sips of wine and your hot chocolate. He didn’t press too close. He didn’t need to.

“So…” he said, low and unhurried, “what makes a night unforgettable for you?”

You glanced at him. “Hmm?”

He smiled softly. “The little things that leave a mark. A sound. A scent. A... sensation.”

You shifted under the blanket. “That depends.”

“On?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Who I’m with.”

He hummed. “And if you’re with someone who listens closely... who pays attention... would that change what you’re willing to reveal?”

You stared into your mug for a moment, then looked back at him.

“Are we talking about favorite colors, or… something more intimate?”

He laughed under his breath, low and indulgent. “I suppose that depends too. Maybe I’m curious about both.”

Your pulse tapped behind your ribs.

“Alright,” you said slowly. “Favorite color first.”

“red,” he answered without hesitation. “And yours?”

You licked your bottom lip, letting your eyes drift back to the screen. “Grey. Lately.”

“Like fog?” he asked. “Or something heavier?”

You met his gaze again. “Like a sky that doesn’t know whether to break or hold itself together.”

His smile faltered—just slightly. “That’s beautiful.”

The air thickened between you.

He leaned back, letting the quiet stretch, letting you choose what to do with it. But even in his stillness, there was presence. A hum beneath the surface.

You took another sip, trying to focus on the movie—but your thoughts wandered.

Back to the gallery.

Back to the yellow slash through every painting.

And back to that one painting in particular—where the yellow aligned perfectly with a seam in the wall.

A door, maybe. You hadn’t imagined it. You were sure of it now. You swallowed hard and looked at Seonghwa again. He caught your stare, and this time he didn’t smile.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked gently.

You hesitated. And lied.

“Just the movie.”

You weren't sure when the movie ended.

The film blurred into a quiet hum, shadows dancing lazily across the walls. Your hot chocolate mug sat empty on the side table, the warmth from it now lingering only in your chest. Somewhere between the third stretch of silence and seonghwa adjusting the throw blanket over your bare legs, your eyes felt heavier.

You didn’t fall asleep, but the space between seconds began to bend.

“I should..” you started, voice low and slurred with exhaustion. “Probably go back to my room.” He didn't answer right away.

Instead, his finger brushed your ankle–just the barest contact, warm and deliberate. A feather-light trace up to the back of your knee, where the blanket slipped. Your breath caught.

“I could show you the way back,” he murmured. “or …you could stay here. Sleep beside me.”

He’d never done this. Ask for a woman to stay beside him, let all alone sleep. He was far more secluded to even think that. But why now park seonghwa? Why with you?

The way he said it–gentle, suggestive with no pressure at all–was worse than if he’d demanded it. It made you want to lean in. It made your skin tingle with anticipation.

You didn't move. He turned slightly toward you.

this felt…different. Less like a polite offer. More like a choice. A test. You looked up at him. His dark eyes like pools–but his expression soft. inviting . and somehow…patient.

Still, your mind kept circling back to the gallery. To that seam behind the painting.

You swallowed and gave a soft, coy smile. “Not tonight.”

A beat passed.

He leaned in just slightly—just close enough for his voice to skim the shell of your ear.

“alright,” he whispered with a faint exhale, not angry—almost amused. Almost proud.

The word sent heat crawling up your neck. Your thighs instinctively pressed together under the blanket.

You pulled away from his proximity with a weak laugh. “You’re still in your suit.” He glanced down, straightened his lapel. “Do you want me out of it?” You gave him a playful glare, even as your heart raced.

He stood then, slowly, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your room.”

The hallway felt quieter than earlier—darker too, despite the golden sconces that lit the way. You walked side by side, your bare feet padded silently on the polished floors, and his dress shoes clicked a half-step behind you, always steady.

When he opened your bedroom door, he didn’t enter.

He leaned against the frame, head tilted.

“Goodnight,” he said, low and velvety.

You stepped inside and turned, catching the outline of him still in the doorway. The urge to say something else clawed at your throat—ask something, press for more—but instead, you said:

“Thank you for tonight.”

His smile this time was softer. Almost… disappointed. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

The door closed.

And only then did you let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

You turned toward the lavish bed, the silk sheets, the marble fireplace flickering low—and yet your mind remained in that gallery.

That stripe of yellow.

That line in the wall.

That door.

You didn’t want to believe you were being watched.

But as you stood there in the silence of your room, you couldn’t help but glance toward the far corner… where no mirror hung, but something still felt like it reflected you.

Your sleep started off quiet, yet subtle interrupted. You awoke to a sound you couldn’t place. Not loud. Not obvious. Just…there.

A soft scrape. Like furniture shifting across marble. A hush of weight against weight.

The fire in the hearth had dimmed, but the embers still cast a dull, pulsing glow across the room. You blinked slowly, registering the shadows on the ceiling, the heavy weight of satin sheets, and the odd hollowness in your chest.

3:21 a.m.

You sat up. Waited. Nothing.

And then–again. Just barely. Like something being dragged…somewhere close. Your mouth was dry. You kicked the sheets off and slid your legs over the side of the bed. The floor, cool and grounding.

The door closed, and the hallway beyond it, silent. But that wasn't where the sound had come from. Your eyes shifted toward the far wall.

The gallery.

The paintings.

The door-shaped seam behind the one with the sharp yellow gash. You pulled one of seonghwa’s button downs off the back of the velvet chair and slipped it on over your camisole. As you crept through the hall and down the sweeping staircase, your bare feet whispered against the cold floor.

The mansion didn’t feel asleep. It felt like it was waiting.

You passed the entryway, then the darkened dining room. The soft glow of security lights caught edges of polished furniture and glass frames. No alarms. No staff.

Just you and your heartbeat.

The gallery doors weren't locked. You pushed open one gently, its heaviness threatening to louden and eventually crept inside through the small crevice.

Still. Silent. Cold. until–

There it was again. A faint rustle. You scanned the room, gaze sweeping the series of grey landscapes. Familiar now. Their melancholy palette interrupted only by that single, jarring yellow stroke in each canvas.

Your fingers hovered in the air as you moved toward the far wall. The one painting that had drawn you back. You stepped closer.

And there it was: the seam. A thin, imperfect line splitting the wall behind the frame, just slightly to the right.

You started at it, breath shallow. It wasn’t your imagination. This wasn't just an irregularity in the paneling. The paint was different around it–like something has been sealed.

You lifted your hand–

And then a voice, quiet and deliberate, behind you:

“You’re not supposed to be here.” you froze.

Seonghwa.

Standing a few feet behind you, still dressed in his dark suit, unbuttoned now. His hair slightly tousled and eyes unreadable.

“I heard something,” you said, turning to face him. “I couldn't sleep.”

Seonghwa stepped closer, unbothered, as if you’d merely commented on the weather. His voice was calm–light, even.

“Old houses,” he said with a soft smile. “The air conditioning pipes shift at night. Pressure builds up, especially when the temperature drops. It echoes through the walls.”

You hesitated. Something in you didn’t quite buy it–but he looked so sure. So at ease. His eyes scanned your face gently. “You’re curious. That’s natural,” he added, this time like consolation, not a confession.

Before you could ask more, his hand brushed a piece of lint from your sleeve. The gesture was oddly intimate. Disarming.

“Come back to bed,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

You watched him, letting the silence stretch, “the pipes,” you repeated, nodding slowly. “Right.”

Seonghwa smiled, just a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Of course. I had them replaced last winter, but this house likes to make itself known.”

You forced a light laugh, folding your arms. “Well, it certainly has personality.”

He stepped closer, his bare hand grazing your wrist as if by accident. “Don’t let it scare you.”

“I’m not scared,” you lied.

His eyes dropped to where your arms were crossed—like he was reading you in real time. Every blink, every breath, every thread of doubt in your voice.

“I believe you,” he said, but the words were honeyed and amused, like he didn’t believe you at all.

His gaze lingered just a second too long. Then he turned, hand resting briefly on the gallery door. “Come on. You shouldn’t be cold and barefoot at this hour.”

You nodded and followed, silently allowing him to guide you out.

Back in your room, he paused at the threshold once again, eyes sweeping over you like a question he hadn’t asked aloud.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, voice softer now.

“Sleep well,” you offered.

He nodded once and closed the door behind him without another word.

You stood there, heart hammering.

The pipes.

He hadn’t even asked which sound you meant. Or which painting you’d stood in front of. Or how you’d gotten in without setting off an alarm.

As if he already knew.

You sat on the edge of the bed, gaze drawn back to the corner of your room. The ceiling vent was silent. Not a single groan from the so-called shifting pipes.

Still, you didn’t go back to the gallery. Not tonight.

You lay back in bed and stared up at the ceiling, the image of that yellow stripe haunting your thoughts like a warning.

Not scared, you’d said.

But if that had been true… Why did it suddenly feel like every part of this villa had eyes?

@etherealcherrie @cromerstudios @velvetdolor

[taetaevantecutie]

If ateez discovers this app🥲, we're so cooked

Warning!Nsfw audio

Seonghwa can’t keep his tongue in his mouth so he use it on you instead ≽^• ˕ • ྀི≼

[taetaevantecutie]

Sanity thrown out of the window after this 😍😅

★ ATEEZ REACTION: When you hugging them while they prepare breakfast

★ PAIRINGS: Ateez x fem!reader | ★ GENRE: Romance, Domestic, Suggestive, Smutty Tension, Fluff, Slight Humor | ★ WORDS COUNT: 1,850 words

★ NOTE: This is a fan-made, non-profit work created out of appreciation for the original content. All rights remain with the rightful owners. I'm just sharing my version for fun—hope you enjoy!

★ HONGJOONG / 홍중

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, cheek resting against his bare back — still warm from bed, muscles shifting under your skin.

“Morning,” you whisper.

He chuckles under his breath, still stirring something in the pan.

“Thought you were sleeping.”

“Was,” you murmur, nuzzling lower. “Then I smelled you.”

He smirks. “The food or me?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you press a kiss to his spine.

He stops stirring. Just for a second. You feel the tension shift, slow and deliberate.

“If you keep kissing me like that,” he says, voice dipping, “we’re gonna be eating cold eggs.”

You slide your hand down his abs, let your fingers rest just at the waistband of his joggers.

“So let them go cold.”

He turns slowly, grabs your waist with one hand, the spatula discarded.

“Breakfast can wait,” he says, eyes dark. “But I won’t.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ SEONGHWA / 성화

He’s cutting strawberries in a perfect line, shirt tucked up on one side, the morning light turning him golden. You slide your arms around him and sigh.

“You’re too pretty to be up this early.”

He gives a quiet laugh and sets the knife down carefully.

“You always say that when you’re trying to start something.”

You kiss between his shoulder blades. Once. Then again.

“You’re warm,” you whisper.

He leans back into you, hand trailing over yours. Then he turns, pulling you by the hips into him.

“You really want me to forget breakfast?” he murmurs, nose brushing yours. “Because if I kiss you now, I won’t stop.”

You don’t reply — just tilt your chin up.

His lips find yours, slow and deliberate. His hands are firm on your waist. One slides lower, under the hem of your shirt.

“Bedroom. Now. Or the counter,” he mutters against your mouth. “Pick fast.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ YUNHO / 윤호

You sneak up behind him while he flips pancakes, arms slipping around his waist as you hug him tight.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”

You nod against his back. “You smell good. And I’m cold.”

He grins, flipping one more pancake and turning off the stove without a word. Then, he turns in your arms and lifts you onto the counter like it’s nothing.

“Let me warm you up.”

You giggle, but he leans in, kissing you slow — hands braced on either side of your thighs.

The kiss deepens. His thumb brushes under your shirt. His hips press between your knees.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice rough.

“Not for pancakes.”

He groans softly and drops his head to your neck.

“You can’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

“Oh, I do.”

And you both forget the breakfast part entirely.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ YEOSANG / 여상

He’s quiet in the kitchen, focused on chopping, sleeves rolled, hair still damp. You wrap your arms around his middle and he flinches slightly.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He exhales through his nose, places the knife down gently, then rests his hand over yours.

“You know how dangerous that is?”

“You?” you tease. “Terrifying.”

He turns slightly in your hold, your lips brushing his shoulder. You’re still in his t-shirt — and nothing else.

“You’re not wearing anything under that, are you.”

It’s not a question.

“What if I’m not?”

He looks over his shoulder, mouth twitching. Then slowly turns, presses you into the fridge behind you, both hands braced on either side of your head.

“Say it again,” he whispers.

“I’m not wearing anything under—”

He kisses you hard, hips flush against yours, voice low and dangerous.

“Breakfast can wait.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ SAN / 산

He’s dancing a little in front of the stove, loose sweats hanging low, arms flexing as he stirs something in a pan. You walk up and hug him from behind, chest against his back.

“Whoa—good morning to you too,” he says, laughing.

Your fingers slide under his hoodie, brushing against his stomach. He stills immediately.

“Baby…” he warns, voice suddenly lower. “That’s not fair.”

You kiss the back of his neck. “You smell like cinnamon.”

“That’s the oatmeal. Or maybe it’s just me.”

He turns around, slow, like he’s trying to keep control. When he sees you in nothing but his t-shirt, his gaze darkens instantly.

“You doing this on purpose?”

You just look up at him, innocent. He bites his bottom lip, hands finding your hips.

“God, you’re dangerous.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“Let me turn the stove off.”

“Why?”

“So I can focus on you.”

And he does — clicks it off, then walks you backward until you’re against the counter, kissing you like you’re breakfast.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ MINGI / 민기

You sneak up behind him mid-beatbox, his hips swaying in front of the stove as he flips bacon. He jumps slightly when your arms wrap around him.

“Jesus—baby,” he says, startled, then laughs. “You tryna kill me?”

You press against his back, swaying with him. “You’re cute when you cook.”

“I’m cute always.”

“You’re cocky always.”

He grins, flipping the bacon, then pulls your hands tighter around his waist.

“Is this your way of saying you want something else for breakfast?”

You kiss between his shoulder blades. His breath hitches.

“You better stop,” he mutters. “Because if you keep touching me like that, I’m gonna burn this entire pan.”

You run a hand down his chest and under his shirt. He groans, low and thick.

“Okay. Stove off. Hands on me.”

He turns, lifts you onto the counter like nothing, and stands between your legs, lips brushing your neck.

“You knew exactly what you were doing when you hugged me like that.”

And you do.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ WOOYOUNG / 우영

He’s humming to himself, boxers low on his hips, coffee brewing. You wrap your arms around him from behind and press a kiss to the curve of his spine.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “That’s how you wanna start the day?”

You nod, wordless, just breathing him in. He sets his mug down and smirks.

“Didn’t even give me a chance to drink my coffee first.”

Your hands slide under his shirt. He groans softly, then spins around, pinning you between his body and the counter.

“You think I’m letting you go after that?” he whispers.

His hand cups your jaw, mouth brushing yours but not kissing. Yet.

“Say please.”

You meet his eyes, pulse jumping.

“Please.”

That’s all he needs. He kisses you deep, with tongue and teeth and no space left between you. The coffee machine beeps, but neither of you notice.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ JONGHO / 종호

He’s shirtless, muscles working as he cracks eggs into a bowl. You hug him from behind, cheek resting against his shoulder blade.

“Smells good,” you whisper.

“The eggs?”

“You.”

He flushes a little, but doesn’t stop whisking.

“You’re distracting.”

You press a kiss to his back. “You’re strong. It’s hard not to touch you.”

He exhales, sets the bowl down, and turns slowly. His eyes are dark now — heavy, focused.

“If I kiss you right now, it’s not stopping there.”

You nod.

He steps into you, hands cupping your face like you’re fragile, but his kiss is anything but gentle. His hips press against yours, voice low in your ear.

“Back to bed. Now. Before I lose all patience.”

And you both forget the kitchen ever existed.

[taetaevantecutie]

😍🥰😅🥲

kinktober: dacryphilia

words: 300

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana

“did you just cum without permission?” rafe asks, looking up at you from his spot in between your legs.

“i’m-” you shake your head, knowing you’re unable to deny it as rafe tasted you on his tongue when you let go. “i’m so sorry.” 

“baby.” rafe tsks, looking up at you with disapproval. 

“i’m so sorry rafe.” you let out a sob, tears falling down your face, unable to hold them back from slipping down your cheeks.

rafe looks up at you in awe, cock absolutely pulsing at seeing you crying. rafe stands up suddenly, bending forward and laying his body over yours, pressing his lips to your cheeks. 

“god, you crying shouldn’t be so hot.” rafe mumbles, but you don’t hear most of his words as his cock presses against your entrance, making a few more tears shed as you shake in pleasure.

“i’m sorry rafe, i’m sorry.” you sniff. “i shouldn’t have cum without your permission.” “hey, hey.” rafe says, pushing your hair out of your face as he glides his cock up and down over your pussy, spreading your juices over his length. “it’s okay honey.” rafe feels guilty, not wanting you to be upset and crying but at the same time being immensely turned on.

“i’m gonna fuck you now, do you want that, hm?” he asks, and you nod quickly, large eyes looking up at him as he pushes inside of you.

“feels so good, rafey.” you whine loudly, chest heaving up and down as you are unable to hold back your loud cries, pleasure overwhelming you.

“i know it does, baby.” rafe bends down, kissing along your cheek and jaw. rafe sucks your skin in between his teeth, leaving a purple bruise in his wake as he continues giving you hickeys. “go ahead and cry harder for me, hm.”

“rafe, i-” you try to speak, but his cock presses deeper inside of you, his thumb coming to rub at your clit. you cry out as rafe requested, tears flowing steadily now.

“shouldn’t be so hot.” rafe whispers again, moving faster.

[taetaevantecutie]

Ilysm channie🥰🥰🤍🤍

[taetaevantecutie]

Pretty😍😍

© NARIbbok | do not edit and/or crop logo

[taetaevantecutie]

lol-💀🥲🤣

“i asked chatgpt-” ohhh ok so nothing you are about to say matters at all

[taetaevantecutie]

THIS SONG-❤️‍🔥🔥

[taetaevantecutie]

I cry every time I hear this 🥺

[taetaevantecutie]

Thought spirals

when you think of your future

when you think of the people you let down in the past

when you think of your past traumas

when you think of your failures

when you think of the people you lost in the past year

no one cares

no likes you

no will be your friend

They hated you since day one

I hate myself🥺

if there any thought spirals you have, please feel to comment them down below😊

[taetaevantecutie]

this is so cute I guess🤣😩

hypnos

hypnos, the personification of sleep in greek myth. according to legend, he was promised the hand in marriage of hera's daughter, pasithea, in exchange for a favor...

pairing: vernon chwe x f reader

summary: most nights your husband sleeps peacefully beside you, but lately his dreams have made him restless.

warnings: swearing, arranged marriage, mommy issues, angst, alcohol, family planning discussions (no actual pregnancy!), smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: slight somno (wet dreams), handjob, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, sub!vernon ok kind of switch!vernon, mentions of pegging

word count: 4k

for @fuckvernon (happy birthday rat)

You have long sworn that the worst day of your life was the day you got married. Tears rolling down your otherwise impassive face as you stared at your equally expressionless fiance from across the altar. A stranger, practically, save for a few cordial business-like meetings between the two of your families. 

You don’t remember what it felt like to kiss him that day, only the taste of salt from your own tears shared between you. 

Now, your husband sleeps soundly beside you in the bed that you share. It was one of the stipulations of your marriage contract, one that he had insisted on. You didn’t question it at the time but you’ve always wondered why he was so adamant about it. You did have a lot of staff working around the house during the day but they always went home before either of you turned in for the night. It wasn’t like you had to keep up appearances then. 

You’ve gotten used to it, at least. Sharing a bed with a stranger wasn’t as difficult now that he wasn’t a stranger anymore. A year had passed since the day you were wed— though it felt like thirty— and while you weren’t lovers, you were partners. Somewhat. 

You understood each other, connected by the inseverable thread of your fates. Trapped together by your circumstances. It was simultaneously comforting and undeniably lonely. 

The worst was when you would come back from events where you had to play up your relationship. Spending the evening arm in arm or holding hands, pretending to be devoted spouses to each other, only to drop the act as soon as you were back in the car. 

You weren’t sure if Vernon felt the same way. He was so hard to read. The only time you were sure you knew exactly what he was feeling was on your wedding day, when he pulled you aside beforehand and whispered, “I’m sorry,” in your ear. 

You knew he hadn’t wanted this either. It wasn’t fair to hold any of it against him, and yet a small part of you did. 

You’ve clung to that resentment like a life preserver, afraid to let go and drown in feelings that threaten to overtake you. Resentment you can control. It protects you from what you can’t, like the growing fondness for your husband you’ve been trying to push down for a while now. 

You tried your best to be indifferent to him, neither antagonistic nor overly amicable but the nagging thoughts in the back of your mind have been getting harder to ignore. 

Tonight was the most challenging night yet. A charity dinner for one of your mother’s philanthropic endeavors, one she insisted ‘required your attendance’ despite your protests. You showed up as promised, only to be yanked into a dozen different conversations with your parents' friends. 

Vernon was a good sport, as always. He was a natural at these things. His effortless charm had all of the ladies in your mother’s church group hanging on to his every word, all of their husbands laughing at his corny jokes. You tried your best to participate to take some of the pressure off of him and get your parents off your back but you mostly stuck to nursing your flute of champagne while he did the talking. You didn’t even like champagne. 

The food was decent, at least, though you hardly got to enjoy any of it before your mother was pulling you into yet another discussion with a group of women from the board. 

You chatted with them cordially, talking in circles about nothing until one of the board members dropped the reason they had actually dragged you over there. 

“So, when are these two going to make you a grandmother?” she asked your mother, even though the question was obviously directed at you.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment but Vernon squeezed your hand in reassurance. You prepared yourself to give the typical we’re not in a rush answer you always gave but your husband beat you to the punch. 

“We’ve actually started trying,” he said casually, slipping the hand that wasn’t holding yours into the pocket of his slacks.

Your mother’s eyes lit up and her friends gasped in delight. Interesting reactions considering your husband had all but just told everyone he was hitting it raw every single night.

You had to act like this wasn’t also news to you and smile and nod very calmly even though you suddenly felt very sweaty all over. 

“That’s wonderful!” another one of the women exclaimed. “You must be so excited,” she said to your mother. 

“This is news to me, too,” she laughed. You were surprised that she was admitting to the lack of knowledge but maybe it was because Vernon would also know she was lying. “But yes, this is very exciting.” 

She then reached forward and plucked your half-finished flute of champagne from your hands, chiding you that “you should know better”. 

“Mom, I’m not pregnant now,” you groaned. 

“You never know!”

But you did know. There was absolutely no way you were pregnant unless you were some kind of scientific mirable or the second coming of Mary herself.

Children had never been part of the marriage contract, thankfully. Both sets of your parents knew what the contract was- a business deal and nothing more. They were gracious enough not to burden you further with the requirement of an “heir”. You and Vernon both knew it was an unspoken expectation but neither of you were intent on fulfilling it, at least that’s what you thought. 

The rest of the evening was spent talking about babies. One of the board members even recommended you to her OBGYN and made you write down her number. Vernon engaged animatedly with all of it, perfectly sliding into his new role of dad-to-be while you could hardly muster up the strength to fake a smile. 

He was quiet on the ride home, driving silently down the highway with both hands on the wheel, not so much as looking at you. He didn’t offer any explanation for the curve ball he’d pitched right at the back of your head other than, “it’ll get them off our backs”. 

You had so many more questions you wanted to ask. Had he changed his mind about the kids thing? Did he want to take your relationship... there? You had only kissed him a handful of times, always in the presence of other people in order to sell your marriage. Behind closed doors, your romance was nonexistent. You shared a bed because that was outlined in the contract you signed but that was it. 

Whether or not you wanted more from him was irrelevant. 

Vernon was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow but you were still up, thinking over every interaction from the night. You usually didn’t let yourself read into things because you were trying to keep yourself from falling down delusional rabbit holes but after tonight you couldn’t stop yourself from overanalyzing all of the things you always did your best to overlook. 

You tried to distract yourself with a book you were reading but you couldn’t get a paragraph in before the words began to blur together on the page as your thoughts consumed you again. 

You gave up half an hour ago and are now just staring at the ceiling, tracing the shadows created by the shade of the lamp on your bedside table with your gaze. 

You heave a sigh and roll over to turn it off, only to be stopped by the sound of your husband stirring beside you. You freeze, afraid your movement disturbed him, but when you glance over your shoulder you find that he’s still asleep. 

You wait a few more seconds before reaching for the light again, just to make sure he’s well and truly out, but this time he mumbles something out loud, causing you to turn over the other way to see if he’s trying to get your attention. 

His eyes are closed but his breathing is ragged and uneven. He must be dreaming, you realize. This happens sometimes, when he’s especially tired or stressed out. He’ll talk in his sleep or toss and turn like he can’t get comfortable even though he’s totally unconscious. He always seems so distressed by them that you’ve assumed the dreams are nightmares. 

You get torn over whether or not to wake him when they happen. The few times you have intervened he seemed grateful that you had but sometimes the dreams seem to stop on their own. His breathing will go back to normal, the crinkle between his brows will smooth out, and you’ll both sleep through the rest of the night peacefully. 

You’re equally indecisive now. He shouldn’t have to suffer like that just because you’re too scared to wake him up, though, so you resolve to just bite the bullet and nudge him awake. 

You suck in a breath and reach for your husband across the mattress, stopping short when he whimpers your name. 

You’re frozen again but for an entirely different reason now. His sleeptalking wasn’t usually anything comprehensible, let alone your name. You stay like that for a few seconds, waiting to see if he’d say it again or if you had maybe misheard him. 

To your surprise, he does say it again, this time followed by, “fuck”. Figures you’d be in his nightmares too. 

“Vernon,” you hiss, jostling his shoulder. 

“Hm?”

“Vernon, wake up.”

Your husband groans and blinks slowly, squinting in an attempt to make out your features. 

“What is it?”

“You were having a bad dream,” you explain. 

“Oh, th-thanks.” 

“Are you okay? It seemed pretty intense.”

“I’m okay,” he assures you, swallowing harshly. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t. I haven’t been able to fall asleep.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Do you want some water or something?” you ask, taking in his appearance. Now that he’s alert and awake you can see just how disheveled he looks. He’s still panting hard and his cheeks are flushed and his bangs are sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat. He looks like you do at the end of a pilates class, not like a man who had just woken up. 

“No, I’m alright, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Silence lapses between you, then your curiosity gets the better of you. 

“What was it about?”

“What? What was what about?”

You stare at him. “Your nightmare.”

“It wasn’t a-anything important,” he stutters.

“That’s not what it sounded like.”

Vernon blinks. “What do you mean? What did I say?”

“You, um, called my name. A couple of times.”

He takes a moment to process what you’ve said and then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I know it isn’t your fault.” He looks pained. “I just wanted to know why you were having a nightmare about me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Vernon.”

“I wasn’t!” he insists. 

“Lying to my mother’s friends might be second nature to you by now but you know that won’t work on me.” 

“I’m not lying. It wasn’t a nightmare.”

“You expect me to believe that? You’re still all sweaty.”

“You just have to trust me,” he pleads. 

“Why won’t you tell me what I was doing in your dream? I promise I won’t be upset.” Well, now you’re the one lying but he’s being so cagey about it that you feel like you have to get to the bottom of whatever it is that he’s hiding. 

“You’ll look at me differently,” he groans.

“No, I won’t.”

“You will.”

“You’re really not going to tell me?” He doesn’t answer. “Fine.”

“Hold on, what are you doing? Where are you going?” he asks, watching as you sit up and grab your pillow from behind you.

“I’m going to sleep in the guest room,” you mutter.

You’d be breaking that stupid fucking clause in your contract if you did but you didn’t care. You’d pay whatever the fine was, you just couldn’t stand to be in the same bed as him for another moment.

“Wait, don’t get up-” Vernon tries but it’s too late. 

You had gotten up anyway and pulled the covers back in the process, revealing the real reason your husband wouldn’t tell you what he was dreaming about. 

“Oh,” is what you say. It’s all you can say. 

He tries to cover himself with his hands but you’ve already seen. 

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles. 

“So it was that kind of dream...” you muse, mostly to yourself. 

He nods miserably. “Yeah... it was.”

“Are they always?”

“Are you really going to make me answer that?”

You drop your pillow back onto the bed and sit at its edge. Vernon peeks up at you, shying away when you lean closer. 

“Will you tell me what it was about now?”

He balks. “What? You still want to know?”

“Wouldn’t you?”  

“You’re going to think I’m a huge pervert,” he sighs. “If you don’t already.”

“Come on, you owe this to me.”

Even the tips of his ears are pink now. “It was... you know, it was about normal husband and wife stuff.”

“What is normal husband and wife stuff?”

Vernon whines. “You know what it is.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” 

“I don’t want to disrespect you like that.”

“Why would that disrespect me? I’m your wife aren’t I?”

He gulps. “You... really want to know?”

“I do.”

“You were... touching me.”

“Touching you how? Like this?” You lay your hand over his, the warmth of your palm making him shiver. 

“N-no.”

“Show me,” you murmur.

“Are you sure?”

“Only if you want to.”

He places his other hand over yours and guides it to his lap, pressing firm over the material of his pajama pants. You’re surprised to feel that the fabric is a little damp, already soaked through with precum. 

Vernon’s breath hitches as you stroke him experimentally over his pants. He’s bigger than you expected, thicker at least. You were always... curious about that. Thought about it one too many times late at night after your husband had gone to bed early. And you still tried to delude yourself about being indifferent towards him. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” he whispers. 

“Is this what you were dreaming about?” you ask. 

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean?”

“It started like this.”

“And then what happened?”

He whimpers in embarrassment again but you don’t let up, gripping him even harder. “We were kissing.”

“And?”

“And you started taking your clothes off.”

You let go of your husband’s cock and take hold of the hem of your sleep shirt, preparing to lift it over your head. 

“Wait, can I do it?”

“Is that how it went in your dream?”

“N-no...”

“Maybe next time, then.”

Vernon’s eyes grow even wider. “There’s going to be a next time?”

You almost scoff at him. As if you were ever going to let go of him now that you had him. 

He watches, mesmerized, as you take off your shirt and wiggle out of your shorts. You leave your underwear on, though, not wanting to expose yourself completely while he is still fully dressed. 

“Oh my god, you’re so fucking hot,” he whines. “It’s so unfair- don’t laugh!”

You purse your lips together to try and stifle said laughter. “Sorry, sorry. I just didn’t expect you to be like this.”

“Like what?”

So pathetic, is what immediately comes to mind.

“So cute,” is what you actually say to him. 

He pouts. “I’m not usually this... needy,” he insists. 

You have trouble believing that but you don’t argue. Only time will tell, you suppose.

“Can I touch you?” he asks before you can say anything in response. 

He’s been staring at your tits since you took your shirt off. You’re tempted to tease him a little more but you’re also just as desperate to feel him so you nod.

He scrambles to his knees and leans forward, nearly falling flat on his face in the process. You expect him to go right for your boobs but he touches your shoulders first. He’s gentle, running his thumbs across your collarbones and then up the column of your neck before finally tucking your hair behind your ear. 

Then he moves lower, tracing invisible lines down your chest to your nipples, gasping quietly when he finds that they’re hard under his palms. 

“Vernon?”

His head snaps up to look at you. “Hm?”

“Kiss me.”

You’ll never forget what it feels like to kiss him after tonight. He puts one hand on the back of your head and pulls you into him, kissing you with all of the desire and longing and painful anticipation he’s held on to for so many months. 

You catch his bottom lip between your teeth and tug, relishing in the gasp he lets out in return. You only draw back when he starts to mumble incoherently into your mouth, and it’s reluctant. You want to keep kissing him, but you also figure what he’s saying might be important. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he rasps. “So long.”

“I know,” you sigh. “All those dreams...”

“It’s not just the dreams.” You want to ask him to elaborate but he’s rambling again before you can. “Can I eat you out? Please, can I taste you, baby?”

He’s never called you that behind closed doors before. It takes you aback. “I-”

“Please? Let me make it up to you. Let me make it all up to you, I promise I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Okay,” you agree meekly. 

“Here, lay down. Yeah, lay down just like that.”

He’s frantic for it, hurrying to get between your legs as you spread them for him. He helps you get your panties off and starts to kiss his way up your thighs, the heat of his lips searing and fervent. He stops just before he reaches your pussy and lifts his gaze to meet your eyes. 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

 You nod. “I’m sure.”

Just like when he kissed you, he’s gentle at first as he laves his tongue over you. He takes his time, showing more restraint than you were expecting while he explores you.

“Taste so sweet,” he mumbles and the vibrations from his voice make you moan and thread your fingers through his hair so that you can push his face even further into you. He goes until he has to come up for air, and when he does, he’s literally dripping with you. “Spent so many nights thinking about the way you’d taste,” he gasps, “telling myself I’d never get to find out.”

“Is it as good as you hoped?” you ask. 

“You have to let me do this to you every night,” he says before burying his tongue in you again. 

It’s not an answer, not really, but you can tell he’s already a little pussydrunk and therefore a little stupid. He’s been grinding against the mattress the entire time he’s been giving you head, working himself up just as much as you. But you don’t want him to cum until he’s fucked you so you tug at his hair to get his attention. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just want you to fuck me.”

“For real?”

“Yes, for real. Is that not part of your dreams?”

“It-it is.”

“Come on, then.”

You watch him start to unbutton his pajama shirt, trying to commit every frame of him to memory so that you could replay the scene in your mind whenever you missed him. Once his shirt’s off, he reaches for the waistband of his pants but stops suddenly as something dawns on him. 

“I don’t have any condoms.”

“None?”

“Listen, it’s not like either of us have been getting laid.”

It’s true. Even though your marriage up until this point had only been on paper, you and Vernon had both agreed to include an infidelity clause in your contracts. You weren’t allowed to sleep with anyone but your husband which had made you think you’d either be celibate for the rest of your life or only add a notch to your bedpost when your families finally wore you both down about kids.

“You can just pull out,” you tell him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, my best friend says she and her husband do that all the time.”

“Well, now I can never look at Jeon Wonwoo the same ever again so thanks for that.”

“Vernon,” you whine, “are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Right, sorry.”

Your husband climbs on top of you, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he lines himself up. 

“You’re sure you’re okay with me pulling out? I can get condoms first thing in the morning and-”

“I’m sure,” you assure him. “I trust you.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and pushes inside of you. “Fuck, I lo-” 

He catches himself, eyes wide. You can’t even say anything because he starts fucking you before you can process what he almost said, purposefully distracting you. He’s using his dick against you which is frankly unfair. 

But you can’t be too mad about it either because it feels so fucking good. It’s also intense, though. His cock is a lot bigger than your fingers and it’s been a long time since anything but those had been inside of you so need a little longer to adjust to the stretch. 

“Slow, slower,” you plead.

He slows down immediately and lowers himself to kiss you. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it feels good, you’re just really goddamn thick and I need a minute.”

Vernon laughs, which does nothing to help your predicament. “Take all the time you need.”

When you finally do get used to the feeling, and you finally convince Vernon that you’ve recovered (you have to repeat yourself four times), it’s like you’ve broken a spell. Your husband turns into your lover in the blink of an eye. 

“God damn it, you’re perfect. How is everything about you so perfect,” he murmurs. “Perfect fucking wife... wasted so much time...” You want to tell him that you can make up for it now, that you have years- your whole lives to make up for it, but the words won’t come. “Shit I’m close, are you close?”

You nod, trying your best to verbalize a response. What you end up saying is nonsensical but Vernon seems to understand it because he keeps going, keeps hitting that spot that’s making you gush all over him until you’re tearing up and sobbing out his name as you cum around him. 

He holds on just long enough to fuck you through your orgasm before he pulls out and gives in to his own, cumming all over your tummy with little to no aim. The sight is so pretty you think you could cum again untouched just from watching him. 

He collapses beside you in a breathless heap. “I’m s-sorry I should’ve asked where you wanted it.”

“I don’t think I could’ve given you an answer anyway.”

“And I’m sorry that was so short, I usually last longer-”

“Stop apologizing! It was amazing.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll clean you up,” he promises, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Just give me a second.”

You lie there in silence together for a few moments as you wait to regain feeling in your fingers and toes. You have so much to talk about now, but all you can manage to ask is, “so, is that is how all your dreams go?”

Vernon snorts and shakes his head in disbelief. 

“I told you, I’m curious!”

“S-sometimes you’re the one fucking me,” he admits shakily. 

“Like, I’m the one on top?”

Vernon winces. “Not exactly...”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“We can make that happen.”

He lights up. “Really? That’s something you’d be into?”

“I’m into anything you’re into.”

“God, you really are perfect.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!! and happy (belated) birthday <3 i hope you loved this lil present

[taetaevantecutie]

Hoshi birthday post

hoshi-ah🥰🐯 kwon soonyoung💖💖

I love you, Horanghae🐯!!

go listen to Tiger🐯!, or scoups will shave your eyebrows🤣🤣

[taetaevantecutie]

Moon junhui birthday post

Jun-ah🥰😄 moon junhui 🥺 사랑해요

I love you so much

[taetaevantecutie]

I shaking, crying, screaming, eating bricks as we speak🥴😩

Ahhh I love your mingyu fics can you do a smut with jealous bf mingyu? (Also your writing is amazing)

boyfriend!mingyu x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, cursing, kissing, explicit smut, shower sex, marking, arguing, resolved angst, jealousy, praise, oral(f.), fingering (f.), squirting, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, toxic on the dl

_______________________________________________

You slam the door behind you abruptly and stomp through the bedroom.

"You're acting crazy Mingyu," You huff.

The door swings back open and he walks through. "You're not even listening to me."

You turn facing him with your arms crossed. There's not even a hint of amusement on your face. "You're not listening to me."

You plop down on the bed, butt sinking into the mattress. YOu lean over and start pulling at the strings of your shoes. You're already frustrated and frankly, you're struggling to get your heels off.

"Let me help," Mingyu offers with a sigh.

"No," You spit out quickly. "I can do it myself."

It's a lie.

Your nails are too long for you to properly grip and undo the fastener on the shoe. You couldn't even get them on yourself earlier in the night. Mingyu did it for you. But that was before he started acting like a jealous prick and pissed you off at the club. And the only person more stubborn than Mingyu is you.

He watches you struggle, but ultimately gives in and kneels down to help you anyway. You huff out in annoyance and his face tightens. Neither of you says anything, although the tension in the room seems to thicken.

He helps you out of your shoes, and the moment the second heel is off, you're back on your feet. You don't look at him or thank him, simply standing to your feet and turning your back to him.

His jaw tightens and he takes a deep breath. "Could've at least said thank you."

"I didn't need your help," You snap back quickly.

"What the fuck Y/n? Why are you acting so crazy?!"

"I'm not acting crazy, you are. You're the one treating me like I did something wrong! If some guy comes up to me and starts flirting, I can't do anything to stop him. It's not like I was entertaining it either. I made it clear I wasn't interested and that I had a boyfriend, you're acting like I fucked every guy that looked at me tonight!" You scoff.

"You don't get it."

"I understand it perfectly Gyu." You grit your teeth.

"I know you didn't entertain it but fuck–Y/n. Did you see how many guys were staring at you like a piece of meat? Practically drooling and snickering to their friends and the second they laid eyes on you. And then the amount of them that actually had the audacity to go up to you? It's disrespectful as fuck and you can't blame me for not wanting to stay any longer."

"You dragged me out like I was your property! Just because you were miserable the whole time we were there, doesn't mean I was too. You might not have wanted to see the flirting, but you're taking it out on me like I was actually doing something wrong. Don't have a hot girlfriend if you can't handle it."

You storm off before he can respond with a slam of the bathroom door. You turn on the shower, giving it time to warm up as you slip out of the admittedly very short and very tight dress hugging your body.

Once hot, you step into the shower and allow the water to cover your body. It helps to put you at ease and release the tension and anger weighing on your heart.

You tilt your head back, allowing the water to trickle down your skin. You're so relieved by the water you fail to hear the door opening. Mingyu slips into the bathroom quietly, stripping himself bare without your knowledge.

He steps into the shower, sudden presence startling you. Your heart drops and begins racing and you visually flinch. "Mingyu-"

"Shh" He hushes you calmly, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He holds you gently, pulling you in so your back meets his chest.

His chin rests on your shoulder and you can feel his soft breaths on your neck. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

He plants small kisses on your shoulder, mumbling more apologies in your ear. You try to hold your poker face, but your body relaxes on its own. You melt against his touch. "I was an asshole..." he admits. " 'M sorry."

He lifts his head and turns you around so you're facing him. He cups your chin, tilting your head up so your eyes meet. "I fucked up."

You nod lightly. "You did."

"Let me make it up to you?" He offers.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Gyu..."

"Please?" He practically begs. "I only acted like a dick because I love you. It's fucked up, I know... but shit. You have any idea how beautiful you are?"

He pulls your body flush against his. Your chests press against one another and he looks down at you. You can feel the length of his hard cock poking against your inner thigh. Neither of you acknowledge it.

"You're so fucking perfect..." He whispers.

He starts trailing kisses along your neck. His lips are soft against your skin, but he sucks harshly. He's sure to leave hickeys, allowing his territorial side to come through. You don't stop him though, can't say you mind all that much when it feels this good.

A moan slips past your lips and you can feel the way Mingyu smirks against your skin. He knows you've already folded and you've given him all the confirmation he needs to keep going.

His hand travels up your stomach, lightly cupping one of your tits. His head dips down between the valley of your breasts and he continues kissing you. "Didn't want anyone else staring at these perfect tits..."

He continues trailing kisses along your skin, opening his mouth wider once he reaches your nipple. He sucks on the bud, causing you to arch your back and press your thighs together. "Everything about you is so beautiful baby," he mumbles.

His head moves, traveling to your other breast and giving it the same attention before continuing to kiss down your stomach. He reaches your navel before kneeling down on the shower floor.

The view has you nearly salivating. He's below you on his knees, hair dripping wet from the shower with his eyes fixated on you. They're clouded with love and lust and you can sense how eager he is to love on you.

"Can I?" He asks softly.

You breathe out shakily, giving him a small nod. He's quick to spread your legs and push his head in between. He starts off slowly, kissing between your thighs and licking a long stripe through your folds.

"Fuckkkkk," You breathe out.

"Didn't want anyone thinking about this pussy either.... 's all mine."

You lean your head back against the wet wall of the shower. He begins sucking on your clit softly, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. "Taste so good ma."

He lifts one of your legs, resting it on the rim of the bathtub. You tug at his wet hair for support, but it doesn't do much once he starts devouring you. He's sloppy with it, french kissing your clit and pushing his warm tongue in your folds. His nose nudges against your clit and you're squirming above him nonstop.

You cry out, hands slipping against the wet wall as you try to hold yourself up. Your legs are shaky with pleasure and your balance is unsteady.

He adjusts your body slightly, holding you up by your ass cheeks and encourages you to grind down on his face. He moves your hand down on his shoulder. You push your hips against his lips sloppily, crying out as the pleasure overwhelms you.

"S-Shiiiiit," You moan. "Gyu 'm gonna cum."

Your nails dig into his shoulder as your juices coat his face. He moans against you, sending vibrations coursing through your body enough to have you cumming in moments.

He focuses his lips back on your clit, sucking harshly on the sensitive bud. He slips two fingers into your hole, pumping them into you. Your orgasm courses through you before you have time to warn him. You cry out, legs shaking as you cum on his face. Your pussy tightens around his fingers and your clit throbs on his tongue.

A rush of liquid coats his face as you grind against him. He kneels there, moaning against you as he relishes in your taste. He gives you a moment to come down, watching as your chest rises and falls from the harsh breaths you take. He pulls his fingers out slowly and helps you balance yourself on your feet.

He presses one last kiss on your clit before standing to his feet again.

"Better?" He asks.

You nod lightly.

"You forgive me yet mamas?" He asks fondly.

You lick your lips slowly and shrug. "Don't think so."

He sucks his teeth. "Baby."

You give him the cold shoulder, turning around so you're no longer facing him. YOu allow the water to drip down your body again.

He's not amused.

He grabs your waist, pressing your back against his chest.

"Gyu-"

He pushes your body flush against the glass of the shower. Your wet tits flatten against the transparent metal and his cock presses against your folds.

"Since you wanna be difficult, 'M gonna fuck it out of you," He groans against the shell of your ear.

You whimper.

Without warning, he enters you roughly. His cock pounds into you from behind, pushing your body up against the wet glass with each thrust.

You cry out, moaning his name as he fucks you. He continues to tell you how perfect you are, words reflecting differently than the way he thrusts his cock into you mercilessly.

Your palms lay flat against the wet wall as you try to hold yourself steady. His cock stretches you open, pleasure hitting you in all the right places. His cock reaches deep into you, pounding against your g-spot with each roll of his hips.

He grunts, tightening his grip on your waist as he feels you stretch around his cock. You're still tight, warmth enveloping his cock and making it hard for him to stop. He would fuck you all day if he could.

You're always wet for him and you feel so fucking good. It's why all those guys were pissing him off so much today. He just thinks everything about you is so fucking perfect. You're his to kiss, to love, to fuck, and only his.

He knows he needs to control his possessive side more, but when you're arching your back and pushing your ass against him like this, he can't help but feel defensive. He'd never share you.

It doesn't take long before you're cumming again. You cry out his name, catering to everything he wants to hear right now. He continues to compliment you, voice breaking as he cums inside of you moments later.

He groans as he fills you up, pumping his load into you and painting your inner walls white. He kisses your shoulder before pulling out and holding you up. Your legs are shaky, but he supports you.

"Was that too much?" He asks softly.

"No, I'm okay," You look back at him.

Your eyes are soft and he can sense you're getting sleepy. He nods in acknowledgment. "I'm sorry for acting like an asshole, seriously. You don't deserve that and I wanna do better."

"It's okay Gyu, I get it. But I've never given you any reason to doubt me, right?"

"Never."

You plant a kiss on his cheek. "Doesn't matter how many guys try to get at me, the only one I want is you. I mean it."

He licks his lips. "I know."

You pull him in an hug him. Your wet bodies press against one another warmly, it's so comforting.

"Alright baby, let's get you properly cleaned up and go to bed, okay?"

_______________________________________________

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

[taetaevantecutie]

seventeen members as their songs

Joshua

Our Dawn is hotter than day😭🥺

because every time I hear this song I start crying, the emotional lyrics

gets to me all the time🥺, plus I connected to shua's parts in the song. It comforted me so much you wouldn't even imagine🥰🥲

seokmin

Hot❤️‍🔥

ma boy shocked me with his vocal skills, I'm not even lying when I say I fell in love with him right then and there. He was killing me in a good way while I was watching the Mv❤️‍🔥😍

Junhui

Fallin flower🌸🏵️🌼 (both versions)

idk about other carats, but I loved the Korean version a bit too much than the original😍😍. Junhui's voice was raising my sugar levels every time he sang😍😩, his voice was dripping with honey. In short, I just loved his voice😩.

Mingyu

24h😣🥴❤️‍🔥💓

If Mingyu were to be one of their songs, he would be 24h bcz boy radiates 24h energy all time😩. Not even joking one bit, he got me on a chokehold in that song😭🥲.

pt2 will come soon guys, until then see ya