#KIM instant messaging

[bumblebyfan]

Good news for 1999!

Did you feel like the Hex KIM messages finished too quickly? that there were too little conversations at the end? Not to worry!

I like how much DE listens to players, I mean, first coptering causing a whole rework of the parkour system to add it, then the bikes being available in any mission, and now this I freaking love this game

[jupiterpilgrim]

Swallow the Pill

Kim Minjeong (Winter) x Male Reader

word count: 17K

The duffle bag is halfway zipped when your phone buzzes on the dresser. You glance over, one hand on a folded towel, already thinking it’s the group chat. Maybe they’re early, maybe someone forgot sunscreen—typical. Instead, the name “Winter” flashes on the screen. The towel drops from your hand as you frown at it.

Winter...

You haven’t heard from her in a few days, not since that weirdly intimate coffee date where she’d kept looking at you like you hung the moon. Cute, sure, but intense. A little too much. You two weren’t even a thing. A couple of drunken makeouts at parties, a handful of late-night texts, and maybe one date that leaned dangerously into feelings territory. That’s it.

Her message is short and loaded:

"Hey, are you busy?"

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard for a second. You start typing.

"Kinda. Packing for the beach. What's up?"

The reply comes back fast, like she was waiting for you to answer.

"I’m sick. Really sick. Can you come over?"

You squint at the screen, reading the message twice. Sick? What the hell? You fire back.

"What do you mean sick? Like hospital sick? Are you okay?"

She sends an emoji—one of those pitiful, droopy ones—then another message:

"No hospital. Just the flu or something. I feel awful. Need help."

It takes a second for it to sink in. She must be joking. You stare at the phone, genuinely confused. She has friends, right? Family? Someone closer to her than the guy she’s hooked up with two or three times?

You type:

"Why me? Don’t you have someone else? Friends? Relatives? A neighbor?"

The response is instant:

"Everyone’s busy. And you’re close.

Please, daddy."

Your stomach lurches at the word. She called you that last time you were together too, whispered it in your ear with a grin, like she knew exactly how to get under your skin. You run a hand down your face and reply:

"Don’t call me that."

"Sorry. Please, though. I’m really sick. Can’t even get out of bed. Just need a little favor."

She adds a sad face this time, really driving it home. You stare at your duffle bag, then back at the phone, then back at the duffle.

You’re not her boyfriend. You’re not even really sure what you are. A fling? A pastime? The guy who texts back at 2 a.m.? And yet, there’s this strange pull. The idea of her alone in her apartment, small and helpless, buried under blankets, sniffling. It needles at you.

You type one last message:

"What exactly do you need me to do?"

Her reply is shameless.

"Take care of me. Bring some meds or soup or something. I’ll owe you big."

You know you should say no. You know you should zip the bag, throw it over your shoulder, and walk out the door to meet your friends. But something makes you hesitate.

Is it guilt? Curiosity? Some twisted sense of responsibility for this girl you don’t even know that well? You sigh, tapping out your final surrender.

"Fine. Be there soon."

You throw the duffle bag in the closet. Goodbye, beach. Goodbye, carefree weekend of sun and booze and forgetting your responsibilities.

Winter, you think, had better be worth it.

—

The plastic bags rustle against your leg as you climb the stairs to Winter’s apartment, the fucking elevator is being fixed, and it gives you more time to think about what exactly you're doing. You should have just told her to order delivery. Or called one of her real friends. Or just—anything but this. But here you are, with cold medicine, snacks, and a pint of strawberry ice cream you’re pretty sure she likes because she mentioned it that one time when you were half-listening.

Her messages played through your head the whole drive over. Fever. Headache. Sneezing. She hadn’t sounded dramatic—just miserable enough to guilt you into dropping your plans.

Her door is slightly ajar, probably because she didn’t want to get up to let you in. You knock anyway, a couple of quick raps, and her voice floats out, soft and faint.

“Come in!”

You push the door open and step inside. The place is small, tidy, and unmistakably her. Neutral tones with little bursts of pastel here and there. A fluffy pink throw draped over a beige couch. A single framed photo of a seaside sunset on the wall. It smells faintly of lavender, like one of those candles she’s probably obsessed with.

And there she is, sprawled on the couch, wrapped in the thinnest blanket imaginable. She’s wearing this oversized long-sleeve shirt that probably hits mid-thigh. Her dyed-blonde hair’s a bit of a mess, and her cheeks are faintly flushed. She looks like some kind of sickly cherub, both pitiful and oddly… attractive in her vulnerability.

“Hey,” you say, unsure where to stand, so you hover awkwardly by the door. “How’re you feeling?”

She shifts, sitting up just a little, her voice soft and nasal. “So-so. Better now that you’re here, though.”

You ignore the flutter of something in your chest and hold up the bag. “I got some stuff. Medicine. Snacks. Ice cream, too.”

That perks her up. Her eyes brighten a little. “Ice cream?”

You mumble something barely audible, already heading to her tiny kitchenette. “Yeah. Strawberry. Figured it’d help with the sore throat or whatever.”

She murmurs a soft “thank you” as you stash the pint in her freezer, then return to the living room. You glance around for a place to put the rest of the stuff and end up dumping it on her coffee table. She looks at you with those big, tired eyes, and you feel like you’ve just handed over some priceless treasure instead of a few basics.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she says quietly, though there’s a small, pleased smile tugging at her lips.

“Well, I’m here now,” you reply, shrugging. Then, unable to help yourself, you add, “Though it’s a shame it’s under these circumstances.”

Her lips quirk. “Yeah. I was the one missing you, and this is what I get. Karma’s cruel, huh?”

You kneel beside the couch, reaching out almost automatically to check her temperature the old-fashioned way. The back of your hand brushes her forehead, warm but not alarming. Her skin is smooth, softer than you’d expected.

“Doesn’t feel like much of a fever,” you say, trying to sound neutral.

“It’s mild,” she admits, leaning into your hand slightly like it’s instinct. “But I still feel awful. Weak. Kinda lightheaded.”

“Mm.” You pull your hand back, studying her for a moment. “Have you eaten anything today?”

She hesitates, her gaze sliding to the side. That’s answer enough.

“Of course not,” you mutter, exasperated but not surprised. “All right. Medicine first, then you’re eating something. I didn’t give up my beach weekend to watch you wither away on this couch.”

Her laugh is soft and a little hoarse, but it’s there. “You’re bossy. I like it.”

You don’t bother replying, already rummaging through the bag for the cold meds. She watches you the whole time, a small, lazy smile on her lips. It’s like she knows something you don’t, and for some reason, that makes you a little nervous.

You pull a pill packet out of the bag and pop one free, holding it out for her like you’re a nurse on shift. She looks up at you, her nose scrunched. “What is it?”

“Magic,” you deadpan, before grabbing the nearest glass off her coffee table, rinsing it in the sink, and filling it with water. You return and plunk it in her hand. “Just take it. It’s for the headache and fever.”

Winter pouts but obediently swallows the pill, washing it down with the water. Her throat bobs as she drinks, and for some reason, you notice her lips lingering on the rim of the glass. You shake it off and clear your throat. “You got anything in the kitchen? Like, soup stuff?”

She blinks, like she has no idea what you’re talking about. “Maybe? I think there’s... carrots? And, um, potatoes?”

“Perfect,” you say dryly, already heading to the fridge. “Soup à la ‘whatever I can find.’”

She props herself up on her elbow, watching you rummage through her cabinets. “Do you even know how to make soup?”

“Nope,” you reply without missing a beat. “But YouTube does.”

Her laugh is soft and raspy. “Good luck, Gordon Ramsay.”

You glance back at her, smirking. “Keep that energy, sick girl.”

—

It takes longer than you’d like—turns out soup’s a bit more complicated than just dumping water in a pot and crossing your fingers—but eventually, you’ve got something that vaguely smells edible. It’s hot, steaming in a bowl, and you’re honestly a little proud of yourself.

You bring it over and hand it to her. She takes it with both hands, peering into the bowl like it’s a work of art.

“Wow,” she murmurs, a small grin tugging at her lips. “It looks legit.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you mutter, sinking into the armchair across from her.

She spoons some up, blowing on it gently before taking a sip. Her eyes widen just slightly. “Hey, this is actually good.”

“You sound shocked,” you say, leaning back. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She grins, small and sheepish. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect you to... you know... be so domestic.”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. This was a one-time deal.”

She finishes the soup slowly, savoring each bite like it’s some kind of rare delicacy. When she’s done, she sets the bowl aside and looks at you. “Thanks. Really. I feel better already.”

You wave her off, standing up and brushing your hands on your jeans. “No big deal. If anything happens, just shoot me a message.”

Her head tilts. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” you say plainly. “There’s still soup in the kitchen. You can heat it up later if you’re hungry. And like I said, message me if you need anything else.”

Her hand shoots out, grabbing yours. Her grip is soft but firm, and it stops you in your tracks. “Don’t go.”

You hesitate, looking down at her. “Winter...”

“Part of the treatment depends on you staying with me,” she says, her voice light but pleading. Her eyes—big, dark, and slightly glassy—fix on yours. It’s unfair. A total cheat code.

“Come on,” you sigh, trying to pull back. “I’ve already—”

“Please,” she interrupts, tugging you closer. “I get clingy when I’m sick. I need you here.”

You groan, exasperated but helpless. Her face is too damn convincing, her voice too soft. Before you know it, you’re sinking down onto the couch next to her, and she’s leaning into you, her arms sliding around your waist in a loose, warm hug.

“You're too dramatic,” you mutter, but your arms move on their own, wrapping around her small frame.

She lets out a quiet sound—half sigh, half happy grunt—and burrows into your chest like she’s been waiting all day for this. “Thank you,” she whispers.

You sigh again, defeated. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t milk it.”

She just smiles against you, holding on tighter. And somehow, you don’t mind.

—

It’s one of those nights where nothing feels rushed, where time slips by in lazy waves. You’re at one of your friends' house, slouched on his shitty couch that’s seen too many parties and not enough Febreze. A game’s on in the background, the volume turned low enough that no one’s paying attention, and the room smells like pizza grease and beer. Everyone’s in that late-night haze where conversation loops into nonsense—who’d win in a fight between Superman and a shark, or the ethics of hot dog toppings.

You’ve got a cold beer in your hand, halfway through your third or fourth, when your phone buzzes on the armrest.

It’s Winter. She had sent you other messages earlier, But you didn't see them. Or you chose not to.

For a second, you just stare at her name on the screen. It’s been a week since you hooked up at that party, and yeah, you’ve texted a bit. Casual stuff. Songs, memes, “what’s your favorite color” bullshit. You’ve been trying to keep it light. She’s cool, and that’s the problem. Cool girls are trouble. They make you think too much, want too much, and you’ve got enough on your plate without adding emotions to the mix.

Still, curiosity wins. You pick up the phone and open the message.

"What r u doing?"

Simple. Innocent. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. You could lie. Say you’re busy. But why bother?

"Chillin at a friend’s. What about you?"

Her reply comes quick.

"Thinking about you."

You blink at the screen, your brain short-circuiting for a second. The bottle in your hand feels heavier.

"Oh yeah?"

She doesn’t reply right away this time. It’s maybe two minutes of nothing, enough time for one of your friends to ask you a question about the game, for someone else to start laughing about God-knows-what. You nod along, distracted, and then your phone vibrates again.

"Yeah... You were really fun at the party. ;) I kinda wanna see you again."

Your heart does this stupid skip thing, and you tell yourself it’s just the beer. She’s probably just bored. Horny. You tell yourself to play it cool.

"Is that so?"

The next message hits different.

"Come over."

Two words. That’s it. And then, right after, the low blow: a picture.

It’s not outright explicit, but it doesn’t have to be. She’s in these tiny-ass pajamas—shorts so loose you can see the curve of her thigh, a top hanging off one shoulder like it’s about to slide off completely. Her blonde hair’s a little messy, like she’s been rolling around on her bed, and her lips are pouty, her eyes big and innocent, like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

She knows. She fucking knows.

Your friends are still talking, still laughing, oblivious to the war happening inside your head. You take another sip of your beer and stare at the photo.

"What’s the catch?"

She replies with another picture. This one’s worse—or better, depending on how you look at it. The shorts have ridden up higher, and her hand’s resting on her bare thigh, just teasing enough to make you swallow hard.

The caption?

"No catch. Just... us."

You’re toast. Game over. Whatever thin line of resistance you had is gone. You drain the rest of your beer in one long gulp and stand up, grabbing your jacket.

“Where you going?” one of your friends asks, looking up from his half-dead vape pen.

“New plans,” you say, keeping it vague, keeping it casual. No one needs to know.

You text Winter on your way out the door:

"On my way."

Her reply comes immediately, a simple:

"Good. Door’s unlocked. You already know the address."

And just like that, you’re heading into the night, her photos burned into your brain and your chest pounding like you’ve already lost a game you didn’t even know you were playing.

—

The elevator hums faintly, a low mechanical noise that fills the silence as you lean against the wall, hands shoved in your jacket pockets. The building smells faintly of floor cleaner and old carpet, and the dim light overhead flickers every few seconds. You glance at the number ticking upward, trying to focus on anything but the flood of memories crowding your head.

The party. You hadn’t planned on much. Show up, grab a drink, maybe stick around long enough to prove you weren’t a total recluse. You weren’t exactly in a social mood, but your friends had dragged you along anyway, saying something about getting you out of your funk. You weren’t even there ten minutes before you saw her. Kim Minjeong.

Winter, as she likes to be called.

She’d practically lit up the room. Blonde hair catching the crappy strobe lights, this magnetic energy that somehow felt both chaotic and easygoing at the same time. You’d been nursing your beer, trying to stay inconspicuous, when she caught your eye and grinned like she already knew all your secrets. It wasn’t long before she was laughing at some half-assed joke you made, her laugh contagious, her hand brushing your arm. Flirting came naturally, her words laced with playful teasing.

And then—your place. Her legs wrapped around you, her breathy moans filling the room as your name spilled from her lips. The way she pulled you closer like she couldn’t get enough, the way her nails dug into your back when you made her come. This story was repeated at another party, then another. And now...

The elevator dings, snapping you back to reality.

You step out into the hallway, the carpet muffling your steps as you make your way to her door. Your stomach twists—anticipation, nerves, maybe a bit of both. The memory of her last message sits heavy in your chest. "Door’s unlocked."

You knock lightly anyway, out of habit, before pushing the door open.

And then she’s there.

Winter launches herself at you like a bullet, arms flinging around your neck, her body colliding with yours so fast you almost stumble back. Your hands fly to her waist instinctively, steadying her, and she clings to you like you’ve been gone for months.

“You came,” she breathes. Her face is so close to yours, her warm breath brushing your cheek, her big eyes looking up at you like you’re the answer to every unspoken question.

“Yeah, I—”

Before you can finish, she presses her lips to yours.

Her kiss is needy, urgent, like she’s been waiting all night for this moment. Her hands move to your hair, fingers tangling in it as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss. You tighten your grip on her waist, her small frame fitting against you perfectly. Her lips are soft and slightly sweet, probably from whatever she’d been drinking before you got here.

You walk her backward, barely breaking the kiss long enough to navigate, until you feel the edge of the couch hit your legs. You sit down, pulling her with you so she lands on your lap, her thighs straddling yours.

“Miss me?” she teases, her lips brushing against yours as she speaks.

“Not sure,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm, though your hands are already sliding down her sides. “Depends on how much trouble you’re planning to cause tonight.”

Her grin is wicked, her eyes sparkling as she cups your jaw. “A lot. Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Probably,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss her again.

She hums against your mouth, her fingers tracing along your jawline. “Good,” she whispers. “I like being your problem.”

You laugh, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Mm, you love it.”

You don’t respond, but the way your hands grip her hips says enough.

Her lips barely leave yours as she speaks, her words soft and breathy between kisses. “Why didn’t you answer my calls earlier?”

The question lands like a curveball, and for a second, you freeze. Her hands are still in your hair, her hips firmly planted on your lap, but she’s pulled back just enough to study your face. Her eyes are sharp, curious, and maybe a little accusing.

“I was busy,” you reply, trying to sound casual as your hands settle on her waist.

Winter narrows her eyes, her head tilting slightly like she’s not buying it. “Too busy to pick up the phone? Really?”

You sigh, leaning back into the couch, though your hands don’t leave her hips. “I answered your texts, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, after I sent about ten,” she counters, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile.

You smirk, raising an eyebrow. “More importantly, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She seems to consider that for a moment, her fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. “Okay, fine. You get a pass... this time.”

“Oh, thank you, Your Highness,” you tease, earning a playful swat on your shoulder.

Her grin softens, and then she tilts her head, giving you a look that’s somehow both sweet and devious. “So... you don’t secretly have a girlfriend or anything, right?”

The laugh escapes you before you can stop it, loud and genuine. “What? No. Where’d that even come from?”

Winter shrugs, but there’s a sly glint in her eye. “I don’t know... You’re kinda hot. Feels like you’d be someone’s boyfriend already.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Trust me, I’m not. You’re not sharing me with anyone.”

“Good,” she says, her tone a little too triumphant. She leans down again, her lips brushing yours. “Because I don’t like sharing.”

You chuckle against her mouth, your fingers giving her hips a light squeeze. “Noted.”

There’s a brief lull, the kind where the weight of the moment lingers, and then she pulls back slightly, her eyes locking on yours. “Hey,” she starts, her tone shifting to something softer. “Wanna get coffee tomorrow?”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden suggestion. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” she says, sitting up a little straighter on your lap. “Like, a casual thing. No big deal.”

You hesitate, your mind running in circles. Coffee. That’s... date territory, isn’t it? Things between you two already feel fast, tangled, intense. The memory of her in your bed is still fresh, and now she’s talking about coffee like it’s nothing.

“Don’t you think we’re moving kinda fast?” you ask, your voice careful.

She tilts her head, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she smirks, her tone light and teasing. “It’s coffee, not a wedding. What’s the big deal?”

You exhale, shaking your head with a small laugh. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Pretty much,” she replies, her grin widening. “So, is that a yes?”

You stare at her for a moment, her face close to yours, her weight warm and solid on your lap. Something about her makes it impossible to say no.

“Fine,” you mutter, smirking. “But you’re buying.”

She laughs, leaning in to kiss you again. “Deal.”

Winter shifts on your lap, her legs straddling you more comfortably as she leans in close, her arms loosely draped around your shoulders. Her expression is playful, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in her eyes.

“So,” she starts, her voice soft and sweet, “tell me something about you. Something real. Like... what do you do for work?”

You smirk, leaning back into the couch. “What, now you’re interviewing me?”

“Yep,” she says with a grin. “Can’t just make out with a stranger all the time. Gotta know who I’m dealing with.”

You let out a breath. “Alright. Well, I just left college not too long ago. Now I’m working this boring office job—data entry and spreadsheets. Real thrilling stuff.”

Winter tilts her head, her blonde hair falling over one shoulder. “Office job, huh? So you’re, like, a suit-and-tie kind of guy now?”

“More like khakis and button-downs. Nothing fancy.”

“Hmm,” she muses. “Doesn’t really suit you.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, well, it pays the bills. What about you? What do you do?”

Winter’s smile widens, and she shrugs a little too casually. “I’m a stylist. Hair, makeup, fashion—the whole package.”

“Wait, really?” you ask, your eyebrows shooting up.

“Why’s that so surprising?” she teases, leaning in closer, her face inches from yours.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t peg you for that. But I guess it makes sense. You’ve got the vibe.”

“Thanks,” she says, clearly pleased with the compliment. Then, out of nowhere, she drops the bombshell: “Oh, and I already knew you before that party.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” she says. “We went to the same college.”

“Are you serious?” You sit up straighter, your hands tightening slightly on her hips.

Winter nods, biting her lip like she’s trying not to laugh at your shock. “Yep. Saw you around campus all the time.”

“Why didn’t you ever talk to me?”

Her cheeks flush slightly, her confidence faltering just a bit. “I was shy back then. Plus, you were always surrounded by other girls.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I wasn’t surrounded by girls.”

“You were,” she insists, grinning. “And I thought you were cute, so I didn’t want to deal with the competition.”

You lean in slightly, your voice dropping. “Well, I thought you were beautiful at the party, you know. Everything about you—your clothes, your hair, your smile. You kind of lit up the whole place.”

Winter’s smile softens, and she looks at you like you just handed her the world. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” you reply firmly. “It’s the truth.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths mingling.

“Do you think about me after we had sex? I mean, whe I leave?” she asks, her voice quieter now.

You pause, the question hanging heavily between you. Instead of answering, you turn it back on her. “Do you think about me?”

Her response is immediate. “Of course I do.”

You blink, a little taken aback by her honesty.

“I kept thinking about our kiss,” she continues, her hands sliding down to rest on your chest. “About your hands on me. The way you were so... affectionate and strong at the same time. And how mysterious you are. Like, you give just enough to make me want more.”

Her words wash over you, leaving you almost speechless. You swallow hard, her gaze locking onto yours, and before you can stop yourself, the truth spills out.

“I thought about you too,” you admit. “Just a little. The way you moaned in my ear, soft and slow. The way you pulled me closer, like you couldn’t get enough. And...” You trail off, your hands sliding down to cup her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “I couldn’t stop thinking about this tight little ass of yours.”

Winter lets out a small gasp, her cheeks flushing red, but the sly grin creeping across her face tells you she likes it.

“Is that so?” she teases, her voice trembling slightly as she rocks her hips against your hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss her again. “It’s burned into my brain.”

Her laugh is breathy and soft against your lips as she kisses you back, her arms wrapping tighter around your neck. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

Winter’s hips shift subtly in your lap, her thighs squeezing against yours like she’s testing how far she can push you. Her breath is warm against your neck, her lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispers, “Show me how much Daddy missed me.”

Your grip on her tightens instinctively, your hands digging into the curve of her ass. Something about the way she says it, soft but deliberate, ignites a spark in your chest and sends it straight to your groin.

“You’re gonna regret saying that,” you murmur.

She doesn’t respond with words, just tilts her head, offering her neck like a challenge. You lean in, your teeth grazing her skin, and she lets out a quiet gasp, her fingers tangling in your hair to pull you closer.

Your touch grows firmer, your hands roaming her body like you’re staking a claim. Winter notices—of course, she does—and the sly smile spreading across her lips only feeds the fire.

“Take this off,” you mutter, your fingers toying with the hem of her top.

Winter doesn’t hesitate, raising her arms obediently, her gaze fixed on yours. The top slides up and over her head, revealing her bare chest underneath. No bra, just smooth, pale skin and her small, almost flat breasts. Her nipples are soft, pink against the lighter tone of her skin, and for a moment, all you can do is take her in.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your voice thick with something between awe and desire.

Winter blushes slightly but doesn’t look away, her confidence unwavering as she leans closer, her hands resting on your shoulders. “Well?” she teases, her voice softer now. “Aren’t you gonna touch me?”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your lips find her chest, warm and delicate against your mouth. You kiss along the curve of her small breasts, your hands sliding up her sides until your thumbs brush against the soft skin beneath her nipples. Winter sighs, her head tilting back slightly, her fingers tightening on your shoulders.

You take your time, your lips closing around one nipple, kissing it before flicking your tongue over the sensitive peak. Her skin tastes clean, warm, slightly sweet, and you can feel her chest rise and fall against your mouth as her breathing quickens.

“Oh,” she murmurs, her voice soft but needy. “That feels so good.”

Your hand moves to her other breast, your fingers gently teasing the nipple as you kiss and suck on the first. Winter shifts in your lap, her thighs pressing tighter against yours as she arches into your touch.

“God, I missed this,” you mutter against her skin, your lips dragging across her chest to give her other nipple the same attention.

Winter lets out a soft, breathy laugh, her fingers slipping into your hair. “You're making it hard to believe that you were thinking about me just a little bit.”

You look up at her, your lips brushing her skin as you smirk. “Maybe I've been thinking about you too much.”

Your mouth trails upward, leaving her chest for her soft, exposed neck. Winter tilts her head to the side, offering it to you like it’s the easiest decision she’s ever made. You kiss along her skin, slow at first, testing, and then your lips part, and you suck gently.

Her breath catches. “Oh, fuck,” she whispers.

You grin against her neck, dragging your tongue along the spot where you know her pulse is fluttering wildly. “I’m gonna leave marks,” you murmur, your voice low and rough. “So you don’t forget me.”

Winter’s fingers slip from your hair to your shoulders, her nails digging into your shirt-covered skin. “Do it,” she pleads, her voice breathy and desperate. “Please, daddy, mark me.”

Something about the way she says it sends a shiver down your spine. You latch onto her neck, sucking harder this time, your teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp. She writhes in your lap, her hips shifting against yours as soft moans spill from her lips.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with pleasure.

You move to a new spot, just below her jawline, and suck again, harder this time. Winter whimpers, her hands slipping under your shirt. Her touch is cool and electric against your bare skin, her little nails dragging lightly at first and then scratching down your back.

“Shit,” you hiss, the sting from her nails mixing with the heat of her body against yours.

She smirks, her confidence peeking through as she lifts your shirt higher, exposing more of your skin. “If you’re gonna mark me,” she says, her voice soft but teasing, “I’m marking you too.”

Her nails dig in harder this time, her hands roaming your back and sides with purpose. You feel the faint burn of each scratch, and it only makes you want her more.

You pull back just enough to look at her, her flushed cheeks, her lips slightly parted, her neck now adorned with faint red marks from your mouth. “You’re trouble,” you mutter, your hands sliding back to her hips, pulling her tighter against you.

Winter grins, biting her lip as she looks down at you. “Your trouble,” she says, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning in to suck on another spot just below her ear. Her moan this time is louder, her nails dragging down your chest in response.

Your hand slides down Winter’s side, sneaking under the hem of her loose shorts. The moment your fingers brush against her panties, you freeze.

“Shit,” you mutter, pulling back slightly to look at her. “You’re soaking wet already?”

Winter’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look embarrassed—if anything, she looks proud, biting her lip as she gazes down at you. “Just from your kisses,” she whispers, her voice soft and teasing.

You raise an eyebrow, your fingers dipping further, sliding over the slick heat of her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties. “You’re telling me this is all because of me?”

She lets out a soft gasp, her hips shifting against your hand. “It’s because I’ve been thinking about you. All night. You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, your thumb brushing against her clit through the damp fabric. Her reaction is instant—a sharp intake of breath, her nails digging into your shoulders as she presses closer.

You lean in, biting her lower lip just enough to make her whimper. The faint taste of her cherry lip gloss lingers on your tongue, sweet and sticky, and you pull back with a smirk. “You’ve been thinking about me, huh? Let’s see just how much.”

Grabbing her waist, you lift her slightly, laying her back on the couch. Winter looks up at you with wide, eager eyes, her breathing quick as your hands slide to her shorts.

“Let’s get these off,” you say, your voice rough.

She lifts her hips obediently, letting you pull the shorts down her legs. The thin fabric catches for a moment on her thighs before slipping away completely, leaving her in nothing but a tiny pair of panties, already darkened with wetness.

“Goddamn,” you murmur, tossing the shorts aside. “I missed this. Missed the way you taste.”

Winter squirms under your gaze, her lips parting as she whispers, “Then come and get me.”

You take off your jacket and throw it on the floor before you push her legs apart, pale and soft under your hands, guiding her closer to the edge of the couch. You remove her panties in one smooth motion. The sight of her drives you insane—her pink folds glistening, practically begging for your tongue. You kneel between her legs, hands sliding up her thighs, your thumbs brushing just close enough to tease.

“Patience,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss the inside of her thigh. Her skin is warm under your lips, the faint scent of her arousal filling your senses as you trail kisses along her thigh, inching closer to where she needs you most.

Winter moans softly, her fingers tangling in your hair. “Don’t tease me,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

You smirk, your lips brushing against her skin. “But you like it, don’t you? Makes it even better when I finally give you what you want.”

She whimpers, her hips shifting toward your mouth. “Please, daddy,” she breathes. “I need you.”

You grin against her skin, dragging your tongue up the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, savoring every shiver and gasp. “You’ll get me,” you murmur, your voice low. “But I’m gonna take my time first.”

Your fingers glide lower, grazing her entrance, and the slick heat against your skin makes your cock throb. “You’re dripping, Winter,” you murmur, teasing her as your fingers just barely slip inside before pulling back.

She arches her back slightly, her hips chasing your hand, desperate for more. “Please,” she whispers, her voice soft and breathy.

“Please what?” you ask, your tone laced with mock innocence. You drag your fingers through her wetness, just enough to make her gasp, but you don’t give her what she wants.

Winter whines, her nails digging into the couch as her thighs twitch against your shoulders. “Please... suck me. I need it,” she begs, her voice trembling.

“Need it?” You smirk, your fingers circling her clit lightly, watching the way her body reacts to every touch. “I don’t think you’ve begged enough.”

Her head falls back against the couch, and she lets out a frustrated moan. “Daddy, please,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “I’ll be good. Just—please. I need your mouth on me.”

“Better,” you murmur, leaning in until your lips are just a breath away from her. You can feel the heat radiating off her pussy, the scent of her arousal making your head spin. “But I want to hear you beg like you really mean it.”

Her hips buck again, and she whimpers, her voice desperate now. “Please, daddy, please suck me. I need your tongue. I need to feel you. I’ll do anything, just—fuck, please!”

That’s all it takes to break you.

“Good girl,” you mutter before diving in.

Your tongue runs flat against her slit, slow and deliberate, savoring the way she shudders under you. The taste of her—sweet, salty, perfect—hits your tongue, and it’s almost overwhelming. You groan against her, your hands gripping her thighs to keep her open as you suck gently on her swollen clit.

“Oh my God,” Winter gasps, her back arching off the couch. “Fuck, yes—just like that.”

You don’t stop, your tongue swirling around her clit before dipping lower to tease her entrance. She’s so wet, the slickness coating your lips and chin as you lap at her like you can’t get enough. Her moans grow louder, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer.

“Fuck, daddy,” she moans, her hips grinding against your mouth. “You’re so good at this—oh, fuck—don’t stop.”

You hum against her, the vibration making her cry out. Your tongue plunges into her, tasting her from the inside, while your thumb comes up to rub slow circles on her clit.

“Shit, you taste so good,” you mutter, your voice muffled against her. “I could do this all fucking night.”

Her breath catches, and her moans turn into desperate little whimpers. “Oh, fuck—I’m so close, please, don’t stop, please—”

Her begging drives you wild, your tongue glides along Winter’s folds, teasing her clit as you feel her squirm beneath your touch. But as much as her gasps and whimpers fuel your hunger, you decide to take it further. Your fingers slip down between her legs, sliding easily over her soaked pussy.

“Fuck,” you murmur, glancing up at her flushed face. “You’re so wet, Winter. You always get this messy just thinking about me?”

She nods weakly, her lips parting to answer, but all that comes out is a shaky moan as you press one finger inside her. The heat and tightness make your cock ache, and when you add a second finger, you’re rewarded with a sharp cry that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You remember last time?” you ask, curling your fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her melt before. “That sweet cream you gave me? I want it again.”

Winter’s head falls back against the couch, her hips bucking into your hand as your fingers pump into her. “Oh my God,” she moans, her voice high and needy. “Daddy, I—fuck—I’ll give it to you, just don’t stop!”

“Good girl,” you growl, your pace quickening. Your fingers thrust into her slick pussy, the sound obscene, wet, and fucking addictive. You can feel her walls tightening around you, and as you pull your fingers out slightly, you watch as a thin, creamy slickness clings to them.

“There it is,” you say, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanted.”

Winter’s face is a mess of pleasure, her moans coming louder and more desperate as you keep going. “Oh, fuck, daddy, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you cut her off, leaning in to suck on her clit while your fingers keep working her. “You’re gonna cum for me, Winter. I want all of it.”

She cries out, her nails digging into the couch as her thighs tremble around your head. “I’m close—fuck, I’m so close!”

You redouble your efforts, your tongue swirling over her swollen clit while your fingers curl and thrust, hitting that spot inside her with relentless precision. Her moans turn into frantic gasps, her body tensing as the pressure builds.

“Come on, baby,” you murmur against her, your breath hot on her sensitive skin. “Give it to me. I want to taste all of you.”

Her body arches off the couch as she lets out a broken scream, her pussy clenching hard around your fingers as she cums. You keep going, licking and sucking at her clit, swallowing every drop of her as her juices coat your tongue. Your fingers slow but don’t stop, drawing out her orgasm until she’s shaking and gasping for breath.

Finally, you pull back, your lips and chin glistening with her arousal. Winter looks at you through half-lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and trembling. “You’re so fucking good at that.”

You grin, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you meet her gaze. “Told you I missed your taste.”

Her laugh is soft and breathy, and she reaches out to pull you closer.

“And I missed you,” she murmurs. “Every fucking inch of you.”

You lean up, your lips crashing against Winter’s in a desperate, heated kiss. She doesn’t hesitate, kissing you back with just as much intensity, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer. Her taste lingers on your tongue, sweet and salty, and when her lips part to deepen the kiss, you can feel her shiver against you.

Between kisses, her breathless voice cuts through. “I need you,” she whispers, her tone thick with want. “I need your cock, daddy.”

Her words are gasoline on the fire already burning in you. You tug your shirt off over your head, tossing it aside. Your hands drop to your belt, unbuckling it with quick, impatient movements. Winter watches you, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling as she stares at the bulge straining against your underwear. The sound of your zipper fills the room as you shove your pants down, kicking off your shoes and stepping out of everything, leaving only your boxers.

Your cock is rock-hard, the fabric damp where precum has seeped through. Winter’s hand reaches out, slender fingers grazing the outline of you through the thin material.

“Fuck,” Winter whispers. She slides her hand inside your waistband, freeing you in one swift motion.

The moment your cock is out, her small hand wraps around it, stroking you slowly at first, her touch firm but teasing. Her thumb glides over the head, spreading the wetness there as her lips crash against yours again.

“You’re so fucking hard,” she murmurs against your mouth, her strokes growing bolder.

“For you,” you growl, biting at her lower lip as your hips thrust lightly into her hand.

Her grip tightens just enough to make you groan, but you pull back, grabbing her wrists to stop her before this ends too soon.

“Turn around,” you command.

Winter obeys instantly, her movements eager as she twists to lie on her belly on the couch. You guide her legs up, positioning her so her knees rest on the arm of the couch, her ass raised in the air and her thighs trembling.

The sight of her like this—completely vulnerable, her pale skin flushed, her pussy glistening and ready—makes your breath hitch. You step behind her, standing on the floor, your cock twitching as you grip her hips, lining yourself up.

“Beg for it,” you demand.

Winter lets out a soft whine, her head turning to glance back at you. “Please, daddy,” she starts, her voice shaking. “Please fuck me. I need you so bad. I need your cock inside me.”

“That’s not good enough,” you growl, gripping her ass and squeezing hard.

Her voice grows louder, more desperate. “Please, daddy, I’ll be so good for you. I’ll take all of you. Just—fuck, please! I need you to fill me up. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

You smirk, the raw need in her voice sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s better,” you mutter, your hands sliding up her thighs as you position yourself.

“You’re gonna feel every inch of me, baby,” you promise, your voice dark and full of intent. “And you’re gonna love it.”

You don’t bother teasing. Gripping Winter’s soft hips firmly, you position yourself at her entrance, the slick heat of her pussy already pulling you in. And then you push forward, slamming into her in one smooth, powerful thrust.

Her gasp is sharp, a mix of surprise and raw pleasure. “Oh, fuck!” she cries, her body jerking forward on the couch.

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, pausing just for a second as her pussy clenches tight around you. “You’re fucking tight, Winter. So goddamn tight.”

She moans in response, her head turning slightly to glance back at you. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes are already hazy with need. “Don’t stop,” she begs, her voice breathy. “Fuck me harder. I need it.”

“Careful what you wish for,” you growl, pulling back and slamming into her again. Her cry of pleasure spurs you on, and soon you’re setting a brutal pace, your hips slamming against her ass with every thrust.

Her pussy grips you like a vice, impossibly tight and hot, and each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure through you. You grab a handful of her ass, squeezing the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks as you drive into her over and over.

“Shit,” you groan, your voice rough as your hips snap forward. “You take it so fucking good. This tight little pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Winter moans, her voice high and needy. “Yes, yes—don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Her hands claw at the cushions, her body rocking with every thrust. You lean over her slightly, one hand gripping her hip while the other slides up her back, pressing her down into the couch. The new angle has her crying out, her pussy clenching even tighter around you.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your breath ragged. “You’re so goddamn wet. So tight. Feels like you’re trying to milk my cock.”

Her moans grow louder, more frantic, each one making your cock throb inside her. “More,” she whimpers, her voice breaking. “I need more. Please, fuck me harder. Use me.”

You oblige without hesitation, your grip on her hips tightening as you pound into her mercilessly. The sound of your hips slapping against her ass fills the room, mixing with her desperate moans and your own rough grunts.

“You love this, don’t you?” you growl. “Getting fucked like this, bent over and taking it. You’re such a good little slut for me.”

Her response is immediate, a loud, breathless moan as her back arches. “Yes! I love it—I fucking love it!”

Your thrusts don’t falter, hips slamming into Winter’s ass with relentless force, the wet, filthy sounds of her tight pussy taking you driving you insane. Her body shakes with every thrust, her moans coming louder and louder, each one dripping with desperate need.

And then you glance down at her ass—small, pale, and bouncing every time you slam into her. The sight sends a wicked idea flashing through your mind, and without thinking twice, you bring your hand down hard against her cheek.

The smack echoes in the room, and Winter cries out, the sound somewhere between a moan and a gasp of shock. “Fuck!” she whimpers, her head snapping up as her back arches.

You grin, your hand tingling from the impact. “You like that?” you growl, squeezing the soft, warm flesh you just marked.

“Yes,” she moans, her voice high and breathless. “Do it again.”

Your hand comes down again, harder this time, the sound sharper, and Winter’s reaction is immediate. She moans loudly, pushing her ass back toward you like the filthy little slut she is. “More,” she begs, her voice trembling. “Please, spank your good girl’s ass. I need it.”

“Yeah?” you say, your tone low and mocking as your hand rubs over the red print blooming on her cheek. “You need me to mark this pretty little ass of yours?”

“Yes,” she gasps, writhing beneath you. “Mark me. Use me. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

The words flip a switch in you, and your hand comes down again, and again, each slap leaving a red handprint against her pale skin. Winter cries out every time, her moans turning to shameless, wanton whimpers as she pushes back into your hand, her pussy clenching tighter around your cock.

“Look at you,” you taunt, your voice thick with satisfaction. “Bent over and begging to get your ass spanked like a little whore.”

“Because I am,” she whimpers, her voice trembling. “I’m your little whore. Please, don’t stop. Spank me. Fuck me.”

Your hand comes down one more time, the slap ringing out, and Winter practically screams, her hips jerking forward before slamming back against you. Her ass is warm under your palm, the flesh reddened and glowing, and you can’t help but grab it, squeezing hard as you bury yourself inside her again.

“God, you’re such a slut,” you growl, your grip on her hips almost bruising. “Taking my cock so fucking well. You love being dominated, don’t you? Being used?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking as she gasps for air. “I fucking love it. I love the way you use me.”

Her pussy grips you like a vice, her walls fluttering around you as you pound into her, each thrust sending shockwaves through both of you. But neither of you is there yet—this is just the beginning, and you’re nowhere near done with her.

Your thrusts are relentless, Winter’s high-pitched screams filling the room, each one tearing through you like fuel on a fire. Her once-pale ass is now completely red, the heat radiating from her skin as you give her one last hard slap. The sound echoes, and she cries out, her body trembling beneath you.

“Get up,” you order.

Winter doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even question you. She pushes herself up from the couch, her legs shaky as she stands, looking over her shoulder at you with wide, obedient eyes. Her chest rises and falls, her flushed body trembling slightly as she waits for your next move.

You don’t give her time to think. Grabbing her by the waist, you lift her with ease, her small frame light in your hands. Her arms instinctively wrap around your neck, and her legs lock around your waist, pulling herself closer to you.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your cock brushing against her slick entrance as you position her. “So fucking obedient. You make me so goddamn hard.”

Her breath hitches, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “Anything for you, daddy. Use me however you want.”

“Fuck, Winter,” you growl, the words making your cock twitch.

You push into her slowly, her wetness making it easy, but her tightness still squeezes you. Both of you moan at the same time, the sound mingling in the air as you bury yourself inside her.

Her voice is soft, trembling. “Oh my God... you’re so deep, daddy.”

“That’s because you’re made for me,” you reply, your voice low and rough as your hands grip her thighs. “Every inch of this tight little pussy is mine.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her nails digging into your shoulders as you start to move. You lift her up, her body sliding along your cock, slow at first, letting her feel every inch as you fill her completely.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your neck as she moans softly in your ear. “I love being your fucktoy.”

You groan, your grip on her tightening as you pick up the pace, moving her up and down on your cock like she’s nothing more than a doll in your hands. Her moans grow louder, each one hitting your ear and making your cock throb inside her.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you mutter, your voice thick with lust. “Moan for me. Let me hear how much you love being fucked like this.”

“I love it,” she whimpers, her hips moving in time with yours, her voice high and needy. “I love the way you use me. You make me feel so good—so full.”

“You’re my good girl,” you growl, biting at her neck as you fuck her harder. “And it’s my fucking job to ruin you.”

Her cry is almost a scream, her nails dragging down your back as she clings to you. “Yes,” she moans, her voice breaking. “Ruin me, daddy. Fuck me however you want. I’m yours.”

Your grip tightens on Winter’s thighs as you start pounding into her harder, your movements raw and unforgiving. Her gasps turn into high-pitched moans, her breath hitching with every thrust as her body clings to yours.

“This what you wanted so bad?” you growl, your voice rough against her ear. “You called me over just to get fucked like this?”

“Yes,” she cries out. “Yes, this is what I wanted. I needed your cock—I needed you to fuck me. Make me cum, please!”

“Fuck, you’re so naughty,” you growl, biting her neck lightly as your hips snap forward, driving her down onto your cock with brutal force. “A little slut, calling me in the middle of the night just to get used like this.”

“Yes!” she moans, her voice breaking, her hips grinding against you. “I’m your little slut—I love it! I love being your whore!”

Her words fuel something dark and primal in you, and you slam her down harder, her body bouncing against yours like a rag doll. “Yeah?” you snarl, your tone dripping with dominance. “Then be a good slut and cum on my cock. Right fucking now.”

Winter’s cries rise into screams as you adopt a brutal rhythm, your hands gripping her ass and thighs tightly, throwing her body onto your cock like she’s nothing more than your personal toy. Her moans are loud, desperate, raw, and you can feel her body trembling, teetering on the edge.

“Cum,” you command, your voice firm and unrelenting. “Cum for me, Winter. Now.”

Her body stiffens, her head snapping back as she lets out a long, broken scream. Her pussy clenches hard around your cock, her thighs quaking as waves of pleasure crash through her.

“Fuck!” she cries, her hands gripping you tighter, her nails digging into your back. Her entire body convulses, her moans turning into incoherent whimpers as her orgasm consumes her.

You lean in, attacking her neck with kisses and light bites, your breath hot against her skin. Her eyes roll back, her lips parted in silent screams, and you hold her tightly, keeping her steady as her body jerks uncontrollably in your arms.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur against her skin, your tone softer now. “My good girl. You did so good for me.”

Winter’s breathing is ragged, her body limp in your arms as she comes down from the high. You shift your grip, holding her gently, your lips brushing along her jawline and cheeks, peppering her with soft kisses.

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, your hands smoothing over her back. “You deserved every second of that.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her face burying in your neck as she clings to you. “You’re gonna kill me,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but full of satisfaction.

“Not yet,” you reply with a smirk, kissing the top of her head. “I’m not done with you.”

Slowly, you lower her to the ground, setting her on her knees in front of you. She goes willingly, her legs trembling but obedient, her wide eyes looking up at you as she licks her lips.

Winter smiles, her voice soft and teasing. “Ready for more, sir?”

You look down at Winter, kneeling in front of you like the perfect little slut she loves to be. Her blonde hair is messy, her cheeks flushed, and her lips slightly parted, still red from all the biting and kissing. She looks wrecked, and it’s fucking beautiful.

“Yes,” you say, your voice low and full of hunger. “I’m ready for more. But the question is—are you?”

She nods eagerly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as her eyes flicker down to your cock. It’s still rock hard, slick with her arousal, twitching slightly as you step closer.

You grab the base, stroking it slowly as you guide it to her face. The swollen tip brushes against her soft cheek, and her breath hitches, her hands coming up to rest on your thighs for balance. You drag your cock across her flushed skin, over her delicate jawline, and finally against her lips.

“You see this?” you murmur, smirking as you tap the head of your cock against her mouth. “This is what you do to me, Winter. You’ve got me so fucking hard, and now I’m thinking about marking this pretty little face of yours.”

Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, a quiet whimper escaping her lips as she presses a soft kiss to the head of your cock. “Do it,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “Please, cum on my face. I want it. I want you to mark me.”

Her words send a jolt straight to your core, but you’re not letting her off that easy. You grip her chin gently, tilting her face up to meet your gaze. “If you want it so bad,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over her lower lip, “you’re gonna have to earn it. Make me cum, Winter. Show me how much you want it.”

She doesn’t waste a second. Her hands wrap around your shaft, small and delicate against your thick cock, and she leans in, her tongue flicking out to tease the head. You let out a low groan, watching as she works, her eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“Good girl,” you mutter, your hand resting on the back of her head. “Show me what that pretty little mouth can do.”

Winter’s lips part, and she takes you in, her tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down your length. Her mouth is warm and wet, and the suction she creates has your knees threatening to buckle. She starts slow, her movements deliberate as she takes more of you, her hands stroking what her mouth can’t reach.

“Fuck, that’s it,” you groan, your fingers tangling in her hair. “You look so fucking good like this, Winter. Taking me so well.”

She moans around you, the vibration making you curse under your breath. Her head bobs, her pace quickening as she gets more confident, more eager. Spit drips down her chin, her hands twisting at the base of your cock, and her soft little whimpers drive you closer to the edge.

“Shit, baby,” you mutter, your voice rough. “You’re so fucking good at this. Keep going—just like that.”

Her response is to take you even deeper, her throat constricting around you as she gags slightly, but she doesn’t stop. Her nails dig into your thighs, her moans growing louder, and you can feel yourself getting dangerously close.

“Fuck, Winter,” you groan, your grip on her hair tightening. “You’re gonna make me cum all over that pretty face of yours. Is that what you want? To be covered in me?”

She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips slick and swollen. “Yes,” she gasps, stroking you with both hands. “I want it so bad. Please, cum for me, daddy. Mark me. I’ll take all of it.”

Her words are your undoing, and you feel the tension coiling tight in your core as she wraps her lips around you again, sucking you with even more determination.

Winter’s lips work over your cock like she was born to do it, her soft, pink mouth gliding along your length while her tongue swirls and flicks against the sensitive underside. Every movement sends jolts of pleasure coursing through you, making it harder to keep your composure.

Her eyes glance up, locking onto yours, and fuck—it’s like she knows exactly what that look does to you. Wide, innocent, framed by her messy blonde hair, and full of something sinful. The combination of her gaze and the wet, obscene sound of her sucking you is almost too much.

“Goddamn, Winter,” you groan, your head falling back for a moment as you let yourself get lost in it. “You’re so fucking good at this. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t. She doubles down, taking you deeper, her lips stretching around your cock as her tongue continues to tease. You can feel her saliva dripping down, making a slick mess of her chin, but she doesn’t seem to care. If anything, she moans softly, the vibrations shooting straight through you.

“Fuck,” you hiss, your fingers tightening in her hair. You glance down, and the sight of her small hands now cupping and massaging your balls makes your knees nearly give out. “Shit, baby, that’s... that’s so fucking good.”

Winter’s only response is another moan, muffled around your cock. She speeds up, her hands stroking what her mouth can’t reach, her tongue flicking over your tip with each pass. You can feel the pressure building in your gut, that telltale tightness letting you know you’re close.

“Fuck, Winter, stop,” you growl, pulling her off your cock with a wet pop. You’re panting, your cock twitching in your hand as you take a step back.

She looks up at you, her lips swollen and slick with spit, her chest heaving. “Why’d you stop me?” she asks, her voice sweet and breathless.

“Because,” you say, gripping your cock and stroking it slowly, trying to hold back. “I’m gonna make a fucking mess of your face, and I need you to beg for it.”

Her eyes light up, and she leans forward slightly, her hands resting on her thighs. “Please,” she says, her voice soft and needy. “I want it. I want you to cum on me, daddy. I need it. Please, baby, please.”

“Shit,” you groan, the sound of her sweet little pleas making it impossible to hold back.

You stroke yourself faster, the slickness of her spit making it easy as you aim at her gorgeous face. Winter watches you, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, her expression full of anticipation.

“Fuck,” you growl, the tension snapping as you feel yourself tip over the edge. “Here it comes, baby. Take it all.”

The first hot spurt of cum hits her cheek, followed by another and another, painting her face in thick, messy streaks. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move—she just sits there, taking every drop like the good little slut she loves to be.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your strokes slowing as the last few ropes of cum land on her lips and chin.

Her lips curl into this filthy little smile, and she doesn’t waste a second. Her fingers are already working, sliding through the mess, gathering your cum like it’s something precious, smearing it across her cheeks, her forehead, even brushing it down to her neck. She spreads it out deliberately, almost artfully, until her face glistens with it, sticky and marked like she wants everyone to know exactly what she’s done. Exactly who she belongs to.

Her tongue flicks out, tasting the corner of her lips, humming softly as if savoring the flavor. She's in no rush to get clean, it's like Winter feels like she doesn't need to—she just leans into the mess, into the filth, wearing it like a badge of honor.

"You taste so fucking good, daddy,” she murmurs, her voice low and thick with satisfaction. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she drags her fingers to her lips, sucking one clean with a soft, wet pop. She grins wider, teeth flashing. "I could eat this off me all night.”

You smirk, brushing a thumb across her cheek to gather some of the cum she missed. “Clean me up,” you say, stepping closer and holding your cock in front of her mouth.

Winter leans in without hesitation, her tongue flicking out to lick along your length, cleaning every inch of you with slow, deliberate strokes. She takes you into her mouth one last time, sucking gently, her eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the moment.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her hair as she finishes. “You’re fucking perfect.”

—

The TV hums softly in the background, some late-night infomercial filling the quiet, but you’re not watching it. Your eyes are on Winter, her head resting on your lap as she sleeps. Her soft blonde hair falls over her face, her lips slightly parted, her breathing slow and steady. She looks so peaceful like this, curled up on the couch under your hand.

You stroke her hair absentmindedly, your mind drifting. It’s not the first time you’ve been like this with her, and that’s what’s messing you up. You think back to that night at her apartment—the way she kissed you like she’d been waiting her whole life for it, the way she moaned your name, the way she asked you to mark her, the way she fell asleep in your arms afterward.

And then, the morning after. That was unusual for you. Normally, you’d wake up, maybe share some awkward small talk, and then you’d be gone. No texts, no calls, just a memory and a closed chapter. But with Winter...

You remember how she clung to you that morning, burying her face in your chest, refusing to let you go. How you didn’t mind staying in bed with her, your arms wrapped around her, her warmth sinking into you. It was so... different.

Now here you are again. Winter on your lap, completely comfortable with you being here. And you, sitting here like an idiot, unable to tear yourself away. If only she wasn’t so cute, so sweet, so... fucking irresistible.

You sigh quietly and glance at the clock. It’s late, and you know you shouldn’t stay. Carefully, you slide your hand out from under her head and shift her onto the couch, laying her down gently. She murmurs something in her sleep but doesn’t wake up. You grab a blanket from the armrest and drape it over her, tucking it around her small frame.

You pause for a moment, just looking at her. God, she’s beautiful. Too beautiful.

Shaking your head, you grab your jacket and head for the door. You’ve got your hand on the doorknob when you hear a soft, groggy voice behind you.

“Where are you going?”

You freeze, turning to see Winter sitting up on the couch, her eyes heavy with sleep but full of confusion. She looks at you like a child caught waking up to an empty room, her expression tugging at something deep inside you.

“I was just leaving,” you say quietly. “You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”

She gets up slowly, the blanket falling off her shoulders as she shuffles over to you. Her arms wrap around your waist, her cheek pressing against your chest. “Stay,” she murmurs, her voice soft but firm.

You hesitate, your hands hovering awkwardly at your sides. “Winter...”

“Why do you always run away?” she asks, her voice muffled against your shirt.

“I’m not running away,” you say, though it sounds weak even to your own ears.

She pulls back slightly, looking up at you with those big, questioning eyes. “Yes, you are. You did it the first time, and the second, and—God, you always do this. Why?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t... I don’t do relationships, Winter. That’s not my thing. I’m not trying to hurt you—I just...”

“Just what?” she presses. “What are you so afraid of?”

You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. Finally, you take a deep breath and say, “Maybe I like you more than I should. And I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and you feel her grip on your shirt tighten.

“Relationships are messy,” you continue, your voice low. “They’re complicated. And I’m not good at that shit. I don’t want to fuck this up, Winter. I don’t want to fuck you up.”

She blinks at you, her expression softening. “You’re not fucking me up,” she says quietly. “You’re... you’re making me happy. And I think I make you happy too. Or am I wrong?”

You look at her, the vulnerability in her eyes. “You do,” you admit. “You make me feel things I don't want to feel, Winter.”

“Then stay,” she whispers. “Just for tonight. Stop running, just... stay with me.”

Her words hang in the air, and for once, you don’t have a reason to say no. Letting out a heavy sigh, you throw your jacket back on the couch and wrap your arms around her and pulling her close, resting your chin on top of her head.

“Alright,” you say quietly. “I’ll stay.”

Winter hugs you tighter, her body relaxing against yours. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice soft and full of relief.

Winter tugs you back to the couch, her small hands wrapped around your wrist as she pulls you down beside her. The blanket slips off the couch as she curls up next to you, her head resting against your shoulder.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask, glancing down at her.

“Better,” she murmurs, her voice soft and still a little groggy. “Just a little cold.”

You tilt your head, your brow furrowing slightly. “Want me to grab you something from your closet? A hoodie or something?”

She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she looks up at you. “No. You’re already enough to warm me up.”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth twitches upward. “You’re so clingy.”

“And that's why you like me,” she shoots back, leaning into you a little more.

You sigh, letting the moment settle for a bit, but then Winter shifts, sitting up slightly to face you. There’s something in her eyes now—a mix of curiosity and determination that instantly puts you on edge.

“So,” she starts, her tone deceptively casual. “Why are you so anti-relationship?”

“Winter…” you warn, already feeling the weight of the conversation she’s trying to start.

“Nope,” she says, cutting you off with a shake of her head. “Don’t brush me off. You just admitted you like me, so now I get to ask questions.”

You groan, leaning your head back against the couch. “This is why I don’t talk about shit like this.”

“Too bad,” she says firmly, poking your chest with her finger. “Spill.”

You let out a long sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “Fine. You want the story? Here it is.”

Winter doesn’t say anything, just waits, her eyes locked on you, her expression soft but focused.

“It was high school,” you start, your voice quieter now. “I was seventeen. She was… everything. Or at least, I thought she was. We were together for two years—serious, like, talking-about-the-future serious. Then, out of nowhere, she dumped me. Said she was bored. Two years, and she just… walked away like it was nothing.”

Winter’s face twists in disbelief. “Are you serious? She said that? That she was bored?”

You nod, a bitter laugh escaping you. “Yeah. And she was already hooking up with some guy from her physics class a week later. Guess I wasn’t exciting enough.”

“That’s fucking awful,” Winter says, her voice soft but filled with anger on your behalf.

“Yeah, well, it kind of destroyed me,” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. “I was stupid enough to think it was love, you know? Thought she was the one or whatever. But after that, I decided I wasn’t gonna deal with that shit anymore. Relationships are messy, and people suck.”

Winter doesn’t say anything right away, just stares at you like she’s trying to piece you together. Finally, she asks, “So, what? You’re just gonna live the rest of your life alone?”

“Pretty much,” you say with a shrug. “I’m not living in the 50s, Winter. I don’t need to get married or settle down to be happy.”

Her brow furrows, and she shifts closer, her hand resting lightly on your knee. “I’m sorry you went through that. I really am. But…”

You raise an eyebrow. “But?”

“But,” she continues, her voice firm, “not everyone’s like her. Not everyone’s gonna break your heart.”

You scoff lightly. “Right. Until they do.”

Winter shakes her head, her hand squeezing your knee. “I’m not saying you have to trust everyone. I’m just saying… maybe you shouldn’t shut the door completely. You’re not the same person you were back then.”

You glance at her, her face so earnest it almost hurts to look at her. “What are you getting at?”

She takes a deep breath, her hand moving to cover yours. “I’m saying… give me a chance. Let me show you that relationships don’t have to be messy and painful. That they can be good, too.”

“Winter…”

“Just think about it,” she says softly. “I’m not asking for forever. I’m asking for a chance. For us.”

Her eyes search yours, and for the first time in years, you feel the walls you’ve built around yourself start to crack, just a little.

“Why me, anyway?” you finally ask. “There are so many guys out there—guys who actually want to date, who don’t have all this baggage.”

Winter sits back a little, still close but giving you enough space to think. Her eyes stay locked on yours, though, unwavering. “Because none of them are you,” she says softly, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

You blink, caught off guard by the simplicity of her answer. “What does that even mean?”

She smiles, a small, almost shy curve of her lips. “It means I don’t want someone else. I want you. You’re funny, and you’re smart, and you’re—” She pauses, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You’re different. In the best way.”

You snort lightly, trying to deflect the compliment. “Different how?”

“You just are,” she says, leaning forward. “Remember that night I couldn’t sleep, and you were up playing video games? We messaged for hours, just talking about the dumbest shit.”

You do remember. She’d been wide awake at 2 a.m., texting you about how she hated the sound of the neighbor’s wind chimes. You’d been mid-match, only half-paying attention at first, but then she’d started making jokes, and somehow you’d ended up talking until the sun came up.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. “That was... pretty cool.”

“Exactly,” she says, her smile growing. “You made me feel better that night without even trying. And it wasn’t just that. It’s everything. The way you talk, the way you think. You don’t even realize how... captivating you are.”

You glance away, the intensity of her gaze making your stomach twist. “You’re overselling me, Winter.”

“I’m not,” she says, and before you can argue, she climbs into your lap. Her movements are smooth and confident, and suddenly, she’s straddling you, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders.

“You’re scared,” she says softly, her face inches from yours. “And I get it. But if you give me a chance, I promise you won’t get tired of me.”

You look at her, her wide, earnest eyes, her lips slightly parted, and you know she’s being honest. You sigh, leaning your head back against the couch. “I already know I wouldn’t get tired of you,” you admit, your voice low. “That’s the problem.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” You pause, your hands instinctively settling on her waist. “What if it’s the other way around? What if you get tired of me?”

She stares at you for a moment, and then, without saying a word, she leans in and kisses you. It’s soft at first, her lips brushing against yours gently, but then she deepens it, her hands sliding up to cup your face. It’s not just a kiss—it’s an answer.

When she finally pulls back, her voice is firm. “I’m not going to get tired of you.”

You stare at her, her words settling somewhere deep inside you, and you can’t find it in yourself to argue.

She smiles again, softer this time, her fingers tracing along your jaw. “So... is tomorrow’s coffee still on?”

You chuckle, shaking your head slightly. “As long as you’re feeling better.”

She grins, her eyes lighting up. “Deal.”

Winter’s hand moves slowly over your chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your shirt. Her gaze softens, though there’s a playful glint in her eyes. “So,” she starts, her tone low and inviting, “what do you think about celebrating this new phase of ours… in bed?”

“You’re sick, Winter.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a sly smile. “I feel cured already.”

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Do you?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, leaning in closer, her fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to brush against your bare skin. “And if I’m not, maybe you could… help with that?”

Your laugh is soft, though your body betrays you, your hands already resting on her hips. “You really think I’m gonna fuck you when you’re sick?”

“Why not?” she counters, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Are you saying you’d stop just because of that?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, though your grip on her hips tightens slightly. “Because I actually care about your well-being, even if you don’t.”

Her smile widens, and she leans closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “For the sake of my well-being, I need to be fucked really hard. By you.”

You pull back slightly, giving her an incredulous look. “And how exactly is that supposed to help?”

She shrugs, her fingers sliding further up your chest. “It’s alternative treatment,” she says, her tone teasing. “I’m pretty sure it’s good for circulation or something.”

You shake your head, fighting a grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re already hard,” she points out, shifting her weight slightly to grind her hips against your lap. The motion is subtle, but it’s enough to make your cock twitch, the heat of her body pressing against you.

“Winter—” you start, but she cuts you off, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re hard from the thought of fucking a sick, vulnerable girl,” she says, her voice dropping to a provocative whisper.

You smirk, your hands sliding down to squeeze her little ass. “You don’t look very vulnerable right now.”

She laughs softly, her breath warm against your neck. “You’re right. I’m not. In fact, I’m fucking horny.”

Her words send a jolt straight through you, and before you can second-guess yourself, you’re standing, lifting her effortlessly into your arms. Winter squeals softly, her legs wrapping around your waist, her hands locking behind your neck.

“You’re so fucking naughty,” you mutter, carrying her toward the bedroom.

“And you’re irresistible,” she counters, grinning.

You glance down at her, her flushed cheeks, her bright eyes, her lips slightly parted. “You are too,” you admit, your voice quieter. “Too fucking irresistible for your own good.”

She leans in, brushing her lips against yours in a soft, teasing kiss. “Then don’t resist.”

You step into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind you before lowering her onto the bed. She looks up at you, her messy blonde hair splayed across the pillow, her lips curling into a pout. “Promise you’ll be affectionate with me after?” she asks, her voice soft but laced with mischief. “I'm so sensitive.”

You laugh, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Sensitive? You? That’s the last thing you are.”

Her pout deepens, though the glint in her eyes gives her away. “I can be sensitive!”

“Sure you can,” you tease, your hands already sliding under her shirt. “But I think we both know you’re a lot more dangerous than that.”

She grins, her hands tugging you closer. “Dangerous or not, I’m all yours.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you murmur, lowering yourself over her as your lips capture hers in a kiss that promises everything she asked for—and more.

As you pull back from the kiss, standing over Winter while starting to unbutton your shirt, she suddenly shifts, adopting this dramatic, old-Hollywood expression. Her eyes widen with mock innocence, her hand fluttering delicately to her chest.

“Oh, Doctor,” she says in an exaggerated, breathy voice, like a starlet from a black-and-white film. “Are you sure this… treatment is absolutely necessary?”

You blink, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

“This treatment,” she repeats, pointing vaguely between the two of you. “It feels so… unconventional. I’m not sure I should be here.”

The way she’s looking at you, like she’s trying to win an Oscar, makes you snort. “What the hell are you doing?”

She gasps, putting a hand to her cheek like you’ve just scandalized her. “I’m your patient, Doctor! You mustn’t mock me in my time of need!”

It finally clicks, and you shake your head, chuckling as you play along. “Oh, I see how it is,” you say, pulling your shirt off and tossing it onto the floor, already working on your pants. “Well, don’t worry, Miss Winter. You’re my favorite patient. The most beautiful, the most well-behaved. You deserve the best care.”

She covers her mouth like she’s shocked, then peeks through her fingers with a mischievous grin. “Oh, Doctor, you must say that to all your patients.”

“I don’t,” you say firmly, now standing in just your underwear. You slide your hands slowly down her thighs, her skin soft and warm beneath your palms. “You’re the only one I touch like this. The only one I care for in such a… special way.”

Winter bites her lip, pretending to be shy as she squirms under your touch. “Doctor,” she whispers, her voice trembling with fake innocence. “Promise you’ll take good care of me?”

You smirk, leaning down so your face is close to hers. “I promise. That’s my job, after all.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks up at you through her lashes. “You make me feel… strange things, Doctor.”

You raise an eyebrow, playing along. “Strange things? What kind of things, Miss Winter?”

She hesitates, biting her lip like she’s embarrassed. “Well… down there,” she says softly, gesturing vaguely toward her hips. “You make me all… wet.”

You fight back a grin, your hands tightening slightly on her thighs. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she continues, her voice growing more dramatic. “And I’ve been having such impure thoughts about you, Doctor. Thoughts about your… hands. And your lips. And other things.”

You let out a low chuckle, leaning down to kiss her, slow and teasing. “That does sound serious,” you murmur against her lips. “But don’t worry, Miss Winter. I know exactly how to solve this.”

She gasps softly, her hands tangling in your hair as she kisses you back, her voice a little less dramatic now and a lot more needy. “Oh, Doctor,” she murmurs, her tone shifting into something real, full of anticipation.

You grab the hem of Winter’s oversized shirt, lifting it slowly, and the sight of her bare thighs makes your breath hitch. But when you lift it higher and realize she’s not wearing panties, her pussy already glistening, you pause.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your eyes locked on her. “You’ve been walking around like this the whole time?”

She grins, her cheeks flushed but full of mischief. “Maybe. It's more practical to simply not wear panties around you.”

You slide a hand between her legs, your fingers brushing against her wetness, and she gasps, her hips jerking slightly. “Soaked,” you murmur, rubbing her gently. “You’re soaked already. You’ve been like this the whole time, haven’t you?”

“Since you walked in,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I’ve been dreaming about this cock since you got here.”

You lean in, kissing her hard while your fingers work her pussy, sliding along her slick folds. She moans into your mouth, her hands reaching down to grip your cock through your underwear. The pressure is just enough to make you groan, and she strokes you, slow and deliberate, her fingers wrapping around your length.

“Dreaming about me, huh?” you say, pulling back just enough to look at her flushed face. “Were you even sick, Winter?”

She hesitates, biting her lip before confessing, “Maybe… I'm not that sick.”

You smirk, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m noticing that.”

Your fingers slide inside her, and she lets out a sharp gasp, her nails digging into your shoulders. She’s tight, hot, and so wet it’s almost obscene. You move slowly at first, curling your fingers just right, and her moans grow louder, her body arching into your touch.

But then you pull your fingers out, watching as they glisten with her slickness. Without a word, you bring them to her lips. “Suck,” you command softly.

Winter’s eyes widen slightly, but she obeys, parting her lips and taking your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around them, slow and sensual, and the sight of her makes your cock throb painfully.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you mutter, watching the way her lips move, how she looks up at you like she’s daring you to lose control.

You pull your fingers from her mouth with a soft pop, her lips shiny with saliva, and you smirk. “Open your mouth,” you say, your voice rough.

She does as you ask, her lips parting slightly, and you spit, the act filthy and intimate. She takes it without hesitation, her tongue darting out to taste it before you lean in and kiss her hard, your hand gripping the back of her neck.

Your other hand comes up to her cheeks, holding her face as you pull back slightly. “Tell me,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over her flushed skin. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need.

“That’s not polite,” you say, smirking. “Ask nicely.”

Her eyes darken, and she bites her lip before speaking again. “Please, daddy. Please fuck me. I need you so bad. Please.”

You grin, leaning down to kiss her again before pulling back. “Lie down,” you command.

Winter obeys, sliding back on the bed until she’s lying flat, her legs spreading instinctively. You strip off your underwear, your cock springing free, hard and already leaking.

“Condom?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

She shakes her head, her lips curling into a sly smile. “You know we don’t need it.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “I like to be polite.”

She giggles, her laughter soft and breathy. “You don’t look so polite when you’re fucking me like an animal.”

You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself between her legs, your cock brushing against her entrance. “And you love it,” you say, rubbing the head of your cock along her slick folds, teasing her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her hips shifting as she tries to take you in. “Yes, I love it. Please, don’t tease me.”

You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear. “Then beg louder,” you murmur.

Winter’s whines turn into outright begging, her voice trembling as her hips tilt up, desperate to pull you in.

“Please,” she whimpers, her hands gripping the sheets. “Please, I need it so bad. I’ll be your little whore, I promise. I’ll be good, daddy. I’ll do whatever you say—just fuck me already.”

Her words make you grin, the filthy desperation in her voice hitting you in all the right places. You look down at her, her angelic face flushed with need, her wide, pleading eyes fixed on you, and you can’t help but marvel.

“How can you look so sweet,” you murmur, your voice low, “and be such a little slut at the same time?”

Winter moans at the words, her thighs trembling as she spreads her legs even wider. “I’m your slut,” she whispers. “Only yours. Please, please, don’t tease me anymore. I need you.”

“Yeah?” you growl, gripping her hips tightly. “You’re mine, huh? My needy little slut?”

“Yes, daddy,” she cries, her nails digging into the sheets as her head tilts back. “All yours. Please, just fuck me!”

You don’t make her wait another second. With one powerful thrust, you bury yourself inside her, all at once, hard and fast. The sheer heat and tightness of her pussy make you groan, your fingers digging into her hips as her scream of pleasure fills the room.

“Fuck, Winter,” you growl, barely able to hold yourself back. “You’re so fucking tight.”

She’s writhing beneath you, her back arching as her hands grab at your arms, her moans coming high-pitched and desperate. “Yes, yes, fuck—just like that!”

You don’t waste time easing into it. You pull back and slam into her again, setting a violent, unrelenting pace that has the bed creaking and her cries growing louder with every thrust. Her pussy clenches around you, slick and hot and perfect, pulling you deeper every time.

“Goddamn, you take it so good,” you growl, leaning over her as your hips snap against hers. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To get fucked like this?”

“Yes!” she screams, her nails raking down your back. “Yes, yes—fuck me harder! Use me, please!”

“You love being my slut, don’t you?”

“I love it,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I fucking love it. I’ll do anything—just don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Her legs wrap around your waist, locking you in place as her body trembles beneath you. Her moans are constant, her cries mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. The sight of her like this—messy, desperate, completely lost in you—only makes you go harder, driving into her like you’re trying to ruin her.

“You feel so fucking good,” you groan, your grip on her tightening as you pound into her mercilessly. “This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? Made to be fucked like this?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Winter cries, her voice shaking as she clings to you. “It’s yours—only yours. Please, I can’t take it—please don’t stop!”

Your cock drives into her over and over, each thrust rougher, deeper, more unrelenting than the last. Winter’s high-pitched moans fill the room, her thighs trembling as her hips push up to meet yours, desperate for every inch you’re giving her.

You bring your hand up to her throat, wrapping your fingers around it, just enough for her to feel it. Winter gasps at the touch, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours, and her lips part in a soft, breathy moan.

“You like this, don’t you?” you growl.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “I love it. I love how you make me feel.”

You smirk, leaning down slightly, your hand tightening just enough to make her breathing shallow. “You love being submissive, huh? Love being at my mercy?”

Her head tilts back, her eyes rolling slightly as she moans louder, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. “Yes,” she whimpers. “I love it. I love being yours.”

The sight of her—so completely lost in the pleasure, so willing to let you take control—sends a jolt of heat through you. You squeeze her throat a little harder, watching the way her body reacts instantly, her back arching as her pussy clenches around your cock.

“Fuck, Winter,” you mutter, your hips snapping against hers. “You’re so fucking perfect like this. You’re made to be my little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice strained but dripping with need. “I’m your slut—your good little slut. Please, don’t stop, daddy.”

You lean down further, your lips brushing against her ear as your hand stays firmly on her throat. “You like being choked, don’t you? Like how it feels when I take control?”

Her eyes roll back again, her body shuddering beneath you. “Yes, yes—I love it,” she gasps, her voice barely audible now. “Please, don’t stop. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Yeah?” you growl, your other hand gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks as you thrust into her relentlessly. “You’d do anything for me?”

“Yes,” she moans, her nails digging into your arms. “Anything. I just want to please you.”

You tighten your grip on her throat slightly, watching as her lips part in a silent cry, her body arching off the bed. The way she looks right now—eyes hazy, mouth open, completely at your mercy—drives you insane.

“Good girl,” you mutter, your pace never faltering. “You’re such a good little slut for me. Taking my cock so well.”

Her moans grow louder again, her body writhing beneath you as you push her closer and closer to that edge. But you’re not done yet—you want her completely undone, begging for more, completely yours.

Your cock slams into Winter’s soaking wet pussy with relentless force, the violent pace making her body bounce with each thrust. Her moans are high-pitched, desperate, and completely filthy, and you can feel the way she’s tightening around you, her body trembling as she gets closer and closer.

“I’m close,” she cries, her voice breaking, her nails clawing at the sheets. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

The moment the words leave her mouth, you slow down drastically, pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in painfully slow. Winter whines loudly, her hips trying to chase yours for more friction, but you grab her waist, holding her still.

“What did you just say?” you growl, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t cum unless I say so.”

“Sorry, daddy,” she whimpers, her eyes squeezing shut as her hands grip the sheets tightly.

“Do you?” you challenge, raising your hand and slapping her cheek firmly, just the way you know drives her wild. Her head turns with the impact, her lips parting in a sharp gasp, and her eyes flutter open, looking at you with a mix of surprise and arousal.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“Louder,” you demand, your hand gripping her chin to make her face you. “Speak clearly when I’m talking to you.”

“Yes!” she cries, her voice louder now, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed over. “I understand. I’ll be good, I swear!”

“That’s better,” you mutter, giving her one more light slap for good measure.

Without another word, you lift her off the bed with ease, her small frame fitting perfectly in your hands. You reposition her so she’s sitting in your lap, her back pressed against your chest. The intimacy of the position contrasts sharply with the dominance in your touch as you slide back into her, burying yourself deep.

Winter lets out a choked cry, her hands grabbing at your thighs as you hold her firmly against you. Your chest presses against her back, your arms wrapping around her waist as you start to move again, slow and possessive this time.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your lips brushing against her ear. “You feel so fucking good like this. You’re mine, Winter. My good girl.”

“Yes,” she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder. “I’m yours. I’ll be good, daddy—I promise, I’ll be good for you.”

“You better,” you growl, your teeth grazing her neck as your hands roam over her body, gripping her hips and pulling her down onto your cock with each thrust. “If you want to cum, you’re gonna have to earn it. Be the perfect little slut for me.”

“I will,” she gasps, her body trembling against yours. “I’ll do anything for you. Just don’t stop.”

You hold her tighter, your thrusts growing faster, deeper, the angle making her whimper and cry out with every movement. Her head rolls against your shoulder, her lips brushing against your neck as her hands grip your thighs desperately.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmur, your voice rough with lust. “You take me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking. “Made for you. Only for you.”

Your cock drives into Winter slowly, each deliberate thrust making her squirm in your lap. Her back is pressed tightly against your chest, her flushed skin damp with sweat, and her whines are soft and desperate, filling the room like music. You can feel how badly she wants it—the way her pussy clenches around you, her hips trying to push down to take you deeper. But you don’t let her.

Instead, your hand slides up to her throat, fingers wrapping around her delicate neck, and you give her a firm squeeze. She gasps at the contact, her head tilting back against your shoulder, exposing her throat to you.

“You really like this, don’t you?” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “The way I fuck you. The way I tease you.”

“Yes, daddy,” she whimpers, her hands gripping your arms for support. “I love it. I love everything about it.”

You squeeze her throat a little tighter, your lips brushing against her ear. “You sure about that?” you ask, your thrusts slowing even more, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in agonizingly slow. “Because if you’re not, I can stop. I won’t let you cum.”

“No!” Winter cries, her voice high-pitched and panicked. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

You chuckle darkly, your free hand sliding down to grip her hip, keeping her firmly in place as you continue your slow, deliberate pace. “Then tell me,” you growl. “Tell me how much you love this cock.”

“I love it,” she whines, her voice trembling with need. “I love your big, thick cock. I love the way it fills me up, the way it drives me crazy.”

Your cock twitches at her words, and you tighten your grip on her throat just enough to make her gasp. “Yeah?” you murmur, your tone still teasing. “You love the way I fuck you, don’t you? The way I make you beg like this?”

“Yes, yes,” she moans, her head rolling back against your shoulder. “I love it so much. You make me feel so good—so fucking good.”

You smirk, your lips grazing her jawline. “You’re not just saying that, are you?” you ask, your hand flexing around her throat. “Because if you’re lying, Winter, I swear I’ll stop right now.”

Her body shudders, and she turns her head slightly to look at you, her eyes glassy with desire. “I swear,” she says, her voice breaking. “It’s true. I love it. I love the way you fuck me. Please don’t stop, daddy. Please, let me cum.”

You study her for a moment, her trembling body, her wide, pleading eyes, the way her voice shakes with desperation. There’s no denying how much she means it, how much she needs this.

“Good girl,” you murmur, your grip on her throat easing slightly as you press a kiss to her cheek. “You’ve been so good for me.”

Winter moans softly, her hands tightening on your arms. “Does that mean I can cum?” she asks, her voice hopeful and needy.

“Not yet,” you reply, your smirk growing. “But soon. I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

Your hands move up from Winter’s waist to her chest, cupping her small breasts as you start to squeeze and knead them. Her soft moans grow louder, her nipples hardening against your palms as you gradually pick up the pace, your cock sliding deeper and harder into her with every thrust.

“You like this?” you growl, your lips brushing against her ear as you whisper. “You like how I fill you up, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice trembling. “I love it. I love how deep you are. Please, don’t stop.”

Your fingers pinch her nipples, twisting just enough to make her gasp, and you lean in closer, your breath hot against her ear. “I’m gonna fuck you every day,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “Every chance I get. I’m gonna make you scream so loud the neighbors’ll know exactly how good I fuck you.”

Winter shudders in your arms, her head tilting back against your shoulder as a moan tears from her lips. “Fuck,” she cries, her nails digging into the sheets. “I’d let you. I’d let you ruin me every fucking day.”

The way she says it, so shameless and raw, makes your cock twitch inside her. You smirk, gripping her hips tightly as you pull out slowly, savoring the way her pussy clings to you. Then you shove her forward, letting her fall onto her hands and knees.

“Get on all fours,” you command, your voice rough with need.

Winter scrambles into position, her pale little ass sticking up, her glistening pink pussy on full display for you. She looks back over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted as she waits.

“Good girl,” you murmur, stroking her ass lightly before positioning yourself behind her.

Her pussy is already full of creamy slickness, and when you slide back into her, the wet, obscene sound it makes drives you wild. “Shit,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips as you start to fuck her hard, the bed creaking beneath you.

Winter’s moans grow louder, turning into screams as you pound into her, your cock hitting her deep and fast. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” you growl, your hips slamming against her ass. “So wet and messy for me.”

Her cries are almost incoherent, her body jerking forward with each thrust. “Yes! Yes! Fuck me harder!” she begs, her voice breaking.

Your gaze drops to her ass, watching the way it bounces with every thrust. Her tight little hole quite inviting as you fuck her, so pink and tempting. You reach out, rubbing your thumb against it in slow, deliberate circles.

Winter gasps, her head snapping up as her back arches. “Oh my God,” she moans, her voice trembling. “Yes, touch me there—please, more!”

You keep rubbing, teasing her hole with your thumb as your cock slams into her harder, deeper. “You like that?” you growl, watching the way her body responds to every touch.

“Yes,” she cries, her hips pushing back against you. “I love it—don’t stop, please!”

Your grip on Winter’s hips tightens as you pick up the pace, your cock slamming into her soaking pussy harder and faster. Her screams are music to your ears, high-pitched and raw, echoing off the walls. Her ass bounces against you with every thrust, the creamy slickness of her pussy making every movement wet and obscene.

At the same time, your thumb continues massaging her tight, virgin asshole, slow, deliberate circles that make her body shudder beneath you. Her moans turn breathless, desperate, her hips twitching as she pushes back against your hand.

“You like it when I play with your ass, don’t you?” you growl, leaning forward slightly, your breath hot against the back of her neck.

“Yes,” Winter moans, her voice trembling with need. “Fuck, yes—I love it!”

“You’re such a fucking slut,” you snarl, your thumb pressing more firmly against her entrance. “Getting off on me fucking your pussy and playing with your ass at the same time. That’s what you are—a needy little slut.”

“Yes,” she cries, her voice breaking. “I’m your slut—only yours. Please, don’t stop!”

You grin, knowing how much she loves hearing you call her that, and you feel her pussy clench tighter around you, her body trembling as she edges closer to the brink.

“I’m close,” she warns, her voice shaky and frantic. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

Your pace becomes brutal, your hips slamming against her ass as you drive into her harder, deeper, faster. At the same time, you press harder on her asshole, teasing her entrance with your thumb.

“You’re gonna cum with my finger in your ass, aren’t you?” you growl.

“Yes!” she screams, her voice raw. “Yes, yes—please, make me cum! I need it!”

You smirk, pushing your thumb in slowly, just enough to stretch her a little, and her reaction is instant. Her back arches sharply, and she lets out a guttural moan, her nails clawing at the sheets.

“Fuck, Winter,” you groan, your cock driving into her harder as your thumb moves slightly inside her. “You’re so fucking tight everywhere. Such a perfect little slut for me.”

Her cries grow louder, her body shaking violently as she teeters on the edge. “I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna fucking cum!” she screams, her voice echoing through the room.

“Do it,” you growl, your grip on her tightening as you fuck her relentlessly, your thumb pressing deeper. “Cum for me. Let me feel it.”

Winter’s entire body tenses, her head snapping back as a scream tears from her throat, so loud it’s a miracle the neighbors don’t start banging on the walls. Her pussy clamps down on your cock, her hips jerking uncontrollably as her orgasm crashes over her, wave after wave of pleasure leaving her shaking and gasping for air.

“Fuck,” you mutter, feeling the way her body spasms around you, completely undone.

Her cries eventually fade into soft whimpers, her body going limp beneath you as she collapses onto the bed, her chest heaving. You pull out slowly, your thumb sliding from her ass, and you smirk as you watch her shiver from the aftershocks.

“You’re fucking perfect,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to her back.

You hold Winter close against your chest, showering her neck and shoulders with tender kisses as she catches her breath. Her body is still trembling from the intense orgasm you just gave her, her pussy dripping wet and sensitive. You stroke her hair gently while whispering in her ear.

"Such a good girl for daddy, cumming so hard on my cock like that. You're perfect, baby."

Winter preens under the praise, a proud smile spreading across her flushed face. She's never experienced pleasure this intense before - her whole body is still tingling from the force of her climax. Your words make her feel cherished and special.

"The neighbors definitely heard what a naughty girl you are," you tease, making her bury her face in the mattress with an embarrassed whimper. Her ass wiggles enticingly as she squirms.

"I bet they heard every single moan and scream while I was pounding your tight little pussy. Now everyone knows what a dirty girl you are for daddy.”

Winter's embarrassment only makes her more aroused. She can feel your hard cock still buried deep inside her, and she desperately wants to make you feel as good as you made her feel.

"Please daddy," she whimpers needily, turning her head to look at you with big innocent eyes. "I want to make you cum now. Will you...will you cum in my ass?"

Your cock twitches inside her at those filthy words coming from such a sweet mouth. Hearing your innocent submissive good girl beg for anal makes your head spin with lust.

"Is that what you want, baby? You want daddy to fill up your tight little asshole with cum?" You give her ass a firm squeeze.

"Yes daddy, please," she moans. "After you played with my ass, I can't stop thinking about having you inside me there. I want to feel your hot cum filling me up."

"Fuck, you're such a dirty girl," you growl, your cock hardening even more. "Begging daddy to cum in your virgin ass like a little anal slut."

Winter whimpers and pushes her ass back against you needily. "Please daddy, keep fucking my pussy and when you're about to cum, just put the tip in my ass and fill me up. I want to feel it so bad."

"Stay right there on your stomach like a good girl," you command, repositioning yourself between her spread legs. Your cock is still buried in her dripping pussy, and you start thrusting again at a steady pace.

Winter moans and arches her back, presenting her ass to you perfectly. "Does daddy like my tight little holes? They're all yours to fill up however you want."

Her dirty talk drives you wild and you pick up the pace, fucking her pussy harder. "Keep talking like that baby, tell daddy what a naughty anal slut you are.”

"I'm your anal slut daddy," she pants between moans. "I want you to stretch my virgin asshole and fill it with your hot cum. I've been such a good girl, please give me my reward."

You spread her plump ass cheeks apart with both hands, exposing her tiny pink asshole. The sight of that tight virgin hole makes your cock throb with need. You start fucking her pussy even faster, your heavy balls slapping against her clit.

"Look at this perfect little asshole," you growl. "So tight and pretty, just begging to be filled with daddy's cum. You want it bad don't you baby?"

"Yes daddy, please! I need it so bad," Winter begs shamelessly. "Cum deep in my ass, mark me as yours. I want to feel your hot cum dripping out of me."

Her filthy words push you closer to the edge. You spread her ass wider, watching your cock slide in and out of her soaked pussy while her tight asshole clenches and relaxes invitingly.

"Such a dirty little anal virgin," you pant. "Begging daddy to take your ass and fill you up. I'm going to cum so deep inside that tight hole."

Winter's moans get louder and more desperate. "Please daddy, I'm ready for you. Put it in my ass and fill me up with your cum. I want to be your anal slut."

You can feel your orgasm building as you pound her pussy relentlessly. Her tight walls squeeze your cock perfectly while she continues begging for anal.

"Daddy please, I need your cum in my ass so bad. Make me your anal princess. Fill up my virgin hole."

When you're right on the edge, you pull out of her dripping pussy. With one hand you spread her ass cheek wide, exposing her tiny pink hole. With the other, you guide the head of your cock to press against her virgin entrance.

The tight ring of muscle resists at first, but then the head of your cock pops inside her ass. The incredible tightness sends you over the edge instantly. Winter cries out as she feels your hot cum start flooding her virgin asshole.

"Fuck baby, taking daddy's cum so deep in your ass," you groan as you empty your balls inside her. "Such a good anal slut for me."

Winter moans and shivers as she feels each hot spurt of cum filling her ass. The head of your cock stays snugly buried in her incredibly tight hole as you finish cumming.

When you finally pull out, your cum immediately starts leaking from her stretched asshole. You spread both of her cheeks wide apart to watch the erotic sight of your white cum dripping down toward her pussy.

"Look how pretty your ass looks leaking daddy's cum," you praise her. "Such a perfect little anal princess."

Winter whimpers and wiggles her ass. "Thank you daddy. I loved feeling you cum in my ass."

You continue admiring the view of your cum trickling from her freshly-fucked hole. Her virgin ass took you so well, stretching perfectly around the head of your cock.

"We're definitely doing that again baby," you tell her, giving her ass a playful smack. "Now daddy knows what a naughty anal slut you can be."

Winter blushes but smiles proudly, happy to have pleased you. She can still feel your hot cum inside her ass, marking her as yours.

You lay down beside her and pull her into your arms, peppering her face with soft kisses. She snuggles against your chest contentedly while your cum continues slowly leaking from her ass.

"Such a good girl for daddy," you murmur. "Taking my cock in your virgin ass like that. Did you like having daddy's cum filling you up?"

"Yes daddy," she says shyly. "It felt so naughty but so good. I loved feeling you cum inside me."

You stroke her hair and hold her close, letting her bask in the afterglow of her first anal experience. Her body is completely relaxed against yours, thoroughly satisfied.

"Next time I'll fuck that tight ass properly," you promise. "Really stretch you open and fill you with cum over and over."

Winter shivers with arousal at your words. "Yes please daddy. I want to be your anal slut whenever you want."

You spend the next little while cuddling and exchanging soft kisses, your hands roaming over her curves possessively. Winter occasionally squirms as she feels more of your cum trickling from her ass.

"Should we get cleaned up baby?" you ask after a while, noticing the mess of cum between her legs.

"Not yet," she says, clinging to you. "I like feeling your cum inside me. Makes me feel like I'm yours."

You smile and kiss her forehead. "You are mine baby. My perfect little anal princess."

—

You sit across from Winter at a small café table, the sunlight spilling through the large windows and catching the golden streaks in her blonde hair. She’s wearing a light yellow sundress that flares out just above her knees, a little bow tied at the waist. The dress shows just enough skin to drive you crazy while still looking effortlessly cute. Her white sneakers complete the look, giving her an innocent, casual charm that feels so uniquely hers.

Winter’s playful smile is fixed on you, her chin propped on her hand as she stirs her iced coffee lazily with a straw. She’s got that look, the one that says she knows something you don’t. Probably feeling like she’s already won whatever unspoken game you’re playing.

“You’re really feeling better?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you take a sip of your drink.

She nods, her grin widening. “Completely cured.”

“You sure? Because you got better awfully fast. Makes me wonder if you were even sick in the first place.”

Winter lets out a soft laugh, twirling the straw between her fingers. “That’s because of you,” she says, batting her lashes mockingly. “You were such good… medicine.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Medicine, huh? Pretty sure I broke a few ethical guidelines as your doctor.”

“Yeah, well,” she teases, leaning forward slightly, “I’m not complaining.”

She looks too damn proud of herself, and you can’t resist poking at her.

“Hey, you spilled some coffee on the table,” you say, pointing to where she spilled it.

“Oh, you're right! Hand me a napkin.”

You pick up a napkin and slide it toward her. “Here. Do you clean by yourself or do you want daddy to help you?” you ask, purposely raising your voice a little.

The shift is instant. Winter’s playful confidence crumbles as her cheeks turn bright red, her eyes darting around the café to make sure no one heard.

“Are you insane?” she hisses, grabbing the napkin and glaring at you. “Don’t say things like that in public!”

You chuckle, leaning your elbows on the table. “Why not? You seemed to love it in bed yesterday. Hell, you couldn’t stop saying it.”

Her face gets even redder, and she throws the napkin back at you, hitting you square in the chest. “I was dying of embarrassment even leaving the house today!” she exclaims. “I’m pretty sure the neighbors really heard everything.”

Your laughter only makes her more flustered, and you lean back, grinning. “Hey, you asked for it. Literally.”

Winter groans, burying her face in her hands for a moment before peeking out at you. “You’re insufferable.”

“You chose the insufferable,” you say smoothly.

She tries to hold her annoyed expression, but a small smile slips through. “Whatever,” she mutters, picking up her coffee again.

“So,” you say after a moment, tilting your head. “You gonna call me daddy again later?”

Winter glances up at you, her lips twitching as she tries not to smile too much. “Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. “I love calling you that.”

There’s a moment of silence, charged but comfortable, before you clear your throat. “Anyway, why’d you pick this café again? There are like, fifty others places we could’ve gone to.”

Winter shrugs, stirring her drink again. “Last time didn’t count.”

“Didn’t count?”

She looks up at you, her expression soft but serious. “You dodged all my questions last time. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to be there.”

The guilt hits you instantly, and you exhale, leaning forward. “Yeah, I… I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t you, though. It’s just…” You pause, lowering your head. “You already know the reason.”

Winter nods. “I know. But it still kind of sucked.”

You nod, meeting her gaze. “You’re right. It did. I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry. But I’m here now. And this time, I won’t run.”

Her smile grows, slow and genuine, lighting up her entire face. “You promise?”

“Promise,” you say softly.

Winter leans forward, resting her chin in her hand again, her grin turning playful once more. “Good. Because I wasn’t gonna let you run anyway.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out.”

For the first time in a long time, you feel it—something steady, something warm. Maybe this time it’s worth the risk. Especially with her.

[adoresoperecs]

Jungkook Masterlist Series

Joyride (S) @maisanshine

Wobbly Legs (S,F) @httpjungkookcom

Summary: Jungkook's never shy when asking you to try new things because he knows you'll never judge him, never laugh at him. (With malicious intent anyways.) That doesn't mean he's not nervous, hiding and ducking his head the entire time with a giant blush spread across his face while he's asking. With a bit of coaxing, Jungkook finally spits it out. Unknowingly, he's more in for it than he even realizes.

lucky (S,F) @kooberryfields4ever

a hero’s journey (S) @hansolmates

Summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story

Focused on her (S) @000jeon

Summary: He had always been a master of concentration, but the sight of you in that black, figure-hugging dress was enough to shatter his focus. The way the fabric clung to every curve of your body, accentuating your shape, was simply irresistible. It was as if the dress had been tailor-made for you, and him alone. Every inch of his being was drawn to you, he found himself struggling to keep his eyes off you and had to his frustration out in other than boxing gloves. So about a leftover spiked condom in his leather wallet he had left from previous nights?

WRONG IN THE RIGHT WAY (S) @chunghasweetie

Summary: Jungkook’s been locked up for 4 years and he’s finally back to see you!

All mine (S) @iarchmybaculaa

Drive Me Crazy (S) @highvern

Summary: You're not the only one with a shitty dating life. Your driver seems to be having a worse night than you can imagine. But things take a turn for the better in the backseat of his car.

snack thief (S) @floralseokjin

Summary: Jungkook steals your snacks while you’re away. Can he make it up to you? He’ll try his best...

Secretly Mine (F,S) @pennyluna

HE GIVE IT TO ME (S) @chunghasweetie

Summary: Always giving out free shit to his favorite customer

CAN'T LET IT GO (S) @chunghasweetie

Summary: Loser nerd jk has crushed on her for years and is assigned to be her college tutor for her calculus class. studying doesn’t go exactly as planned and he ends up losing his virginity in the best way possible.

make you scream (S) @13lov

Summary: In which jungkook fucks you while wearing a Ghostface mask for thousands of people to see.

a fic by @7brownsuga7

@maisanshine masterlist

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Dulce Venganza! (S) @cherigu

A Happy Accident (S) @taetaesbaebaepsae

Summary: You accidentally send nudes meant for your friend with benefits Hoseok to Jungkook.

Champagne Confetti (S) @busanboykoo

Summary: “You won't regret me, champagne confetti” or maybe just jungkook wants you to tell him what you want him to do to you.

messages scenarios <pt.I> @yok00k

Nerdy!JK (S) @guksfairy

Summary: Nerdy! JK that’s been crushing on you since high school so when he’s given a chance to tutor you in uni he takes it without hesitation

loser!jungkook, sub!jungkook (S) @hannieehaee

High Demand (S) @bunnyhugs77

Summary: College student! reader, grumpy jk, brief texting! au, jk is lowkey whipped, drug use (marijuana), reader is his special customer, vaping, opposites attract, suggestive themes, minor jealousy, idiots in love (but they won't admit it), shotgunning, grinding, fwb?

melomaniac (S) @jungkxook

Summary: You’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because he’s supposed to be your best friend and nothing more. worst part of it all is that you know he’s in love with you too.

I heard a rumor (S,F) @taeshobipop

Summary: One slip of a finger, and you realize you’ve liked an Insta photo of college hotshot Jeon Jungkook…from two years ago. You manage to unlike it within seconds, except it’s too late — Damn Kim Namjoon and his lightning-fast eyes. Do not tell a soul; you are hiss. The man merely smirks. Next thing you know, a rumor is spread throughout campus. Y/n likes Jungkook…and now he knows.

damn the delivery boy (F,S) @deerguk

Summary: Jeon Jeongguk is a computer science major working as a pizza delivery boy, and you are an uninspired published author who has just started an art degree. When you realise that the delivery boy is your old high school crush, he keeps coming back, but with more to offer than just puff pastry and vegetarian supreme. Though little did he know that he would end up giving you something much more that flips both of your worlds completely upside down in the form of two blue lines and nine months.

bands (F,S,A) @xpeachesncream (Series Completed)

Summary: Jeon jungkook has it all: the looks, the fame, the money, the women. being considered the sexiest man in the industry, he finds no complaints about the way his life is going nor does he find any reason to apologize for the way he approaches it. he is a force to be reckoned with - until he meets you. 

late fee (F,S,A) @1kook

Summary: “Captain Underpants isn’t glorified by all the tryhards, so when I pick those books, you’re unknowingly more interested in me.”

hold me close (F,S,A) @ahundredtimesover (Series Completed)

Summary:  When Jimin hits a crisis, he enlists the help of his older sister - you - and his best friend, Jungkook, to put the pieces back again. That proves to be difficult when 1) Jimin’s a brat and a certified pain in the ass, and 2) Jungkook has grown and suddenly, you can’t keep your eyes off him.

For science (S,A,F) @boymeetsweevil (Series Completed)

Summary: Jungkook asks you to let him watch you get off. For science.

Lick back (S) (infidelity) @explicit-tae

Realizing that your boyfriend has become a completely different person & being malicious towards you could only mean that he’s being nice to someone else.

total loser. ⊹₊⟡ (S) @frmisnow

Summary: Crash a party just to unwind? yeah, that was the plan — until you end up sharing a smoke with the lead singer of that metal band. turns out the ‘playboy sex god’ image? total myth. awkward, tipsy, and apparently… a virgin?! this night just got interesting!

close friends (S) @bangytell

Summary: Your best friend and roomate who's been keen over you for a long time.

COLD NIGHTS & BLURRED LINES (m) — JJK (S,F,A) @awrkive

Summary: Jungkook and you have been in a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. Is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.

(SEQUEL TO THIS ^)WARM NIGHTS & CLEAR LINES — JJK (m.) (S,F) @awrkive

Summary: There haven't been a lot of people who have come into your life that became important to you – and you didn’t expect Jeon Jungkook to be one if it – not at all. but what started as a casual relationship turned into more than that, and now you find yourself deeply in love with him – and happily so.

no textbooks here (S) @ririkookiemonster

Summary: Being a model in the art class was common for you, but this time, you gave a chance to be the female model in biology class. it was for educational purposes anyway, how far could it go?

3D (S) @ladyzayismultifandom

Summary: Your friend with benefits wants to show off his new purchase and he knows just the right way to do it.

NEEDY (S,F,A) @girlygguk

Summary: Hiding his feelings when you didn’t even know his name was hard. hiding his neediness and obsession when you finally did know his name and you were his fucking girlfriend? impossible. well, then it's a good thing you like him needy.

Hot for Pool Boy (S) @written-in-flowers

Summary: He’s definitely too young for you. You’re married with children. He’s a college student who cleans your pool every month. But still…you can look at him, right? 

ִֶָ── ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ Kinktober D5- panty kink (S) @redcherrykook

Summary: JK loves cute panties, pussyjob action with white lacey panties on, cumplay asf, Jk comes twice <3, whiny bf koo, obsessed with his gf

Driven 2 U (S) @bunnyhugs77

ORDINARY THINGS ⋆ 정국 (F) @lovieku

Summary: After a lost match, jeongguk’s only source of comfort is you.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 (S) (YANDERE KOOK!) @pennyellee

Summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

Romantic Dreams (S) @kooktrash

Summary: you’re not going to lie and say you’re fully over what happened but you’re tired of fighting it. you’re too worried for his well-being to leave him yet and you find yourself constantly enabling him with your soft words and telling him what he wants to hear. or in this case showing him you’re all his and you’ll never change that.

An Abundance of luck & a Sprinkle of Fate (A,S,F) @borathae

Summary: When two souls, with different reasons for why life has broken them, find together, it needs a whole lot of a luck and a little bit of fate to make them see that maybe healing together isn’t as bad as it sounds.

I'll Wait For Your Love (S) @slut4jeon

Summary: Co-parenting with Jungkook was easy until it wasn’t

Unexpected Message (S) @oddinary4bts

Request: I would like to read a smut fic with little bit of plot where it involves girl x girl x jungkook. Pls there aren't many fics on this.

Boy With Luv (S,F) @hannieehaee

Summary: a new job as a barista should be easy enough, right? except it gets a whole lot more complicated when the coffee shop's most loved client just decides he has to have you OR richboy!jk falls for barista!reader and refuses to give up.

Jungkook fic recs by @luviestarz

Friends Within Touching Distance (F,S,A) @dailynnt

Summary: Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

Soft bf! Jk x innocent gf! (F,S) @leeluvsyoongi

Does he know (S,A) @girlatmirror

Summary: She told you she’s celibate, she told me i could nail her shit’. in which your ex comes back to town, but you are in a new relationship.

"big tiddie anime bitches" | jjk @h0neypjm

Summary: Jungkook, bless his heart, has an obsession. An obsession with big titty anime girls and the idea of you dressed as them. His birthday is coming up, what better time to fulfil his weeb fantasies than on Jungkook's special day.

INTRO ⋆ 정국 (F,S) @lovieku

Summary: You’re Jeongguk’s secret santa this year, so you give him the best gift he’ll ever receive.

ridin || jjk (S) @letsbangts

Summary: When the car ride has you both wildin

you belong with me (F,A) @banzonism

Summary: Beneath the light banter and playful teasing of childhood friends lies a deep well of unspoken feelings, simmering just out of reach. Quick glances shared during laughter hold more meaning than anyone dares to acknowledge. But everything shifts dramatically when a heartfelt letter reveals unexpected truths, shattering the carefully constructed lives they have built. Will they find their way back to each other and uncover the truth of their feelings? In the end, they must find out if they really belong with each other.

when jungkook is a vessel of love, and love is as beautiful as the poets said it was (F) @matchaelette

Summary: idol!jk and oc!ash, established relationship, the first time 'I love you' was spoken out aloud. the more earlier stages of their relationship. yearning, tenderness, fluff, it's all sickeningly full of love.

you’re an idiot (so am i) | j.jk (F,S,A) @liveyun

couples getaway (F,S) @girlatmirror

Summary: you and jungkook spend the weekend before christmas with taehyung and his girlfriend at his cabin in the mountains, and you start it off with a bet.

Only at Camera (S) @97kuu

Summary: Jungkook and you keep your sexual relationship a secret—until his friends from the 97 line start betting on who can win you over first. Feeling jealous, he pulls you into a private room at the next awards show, claiming you as his. As he sends a video to the group chat, he makes it clear that you belong to him.

Calling it now (S) @newmittens

Summary: Your best friend and fellow grad student, Jungkook finds a part time job as a trainer at a high end spa. When he starts working out his clients in a very different way, what does that mean for your friendship? And how long can you keep ignoring your growing feelings for him?

Dolbeault's Theorem (S,F) @mister0ctopus

Summary:  When you found out you’d be paired with the smartest guy in class for a math project, you couldn’t help but anticipate all the things you could learn from him.

bend my rules (S,F) @girlatmirror

Summary: In which jeongguk jeon, the frattiest of all frat boys, has been trying to get you to go out with him since freshman year, no success. what if the events that occur in junior year change your opinion on jeongguk and you actually give him a chance?

fool for you (F,A,S) @btsgotjams27 (Series Completed)

Summary: When Jungkook is finally single, you shoot your shot.

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국 (F,S) @lovieku

Summary: When renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.

Cold Hearted (S,F,A) @margotw10bis

Summary: It's no secret that you absolutely hate Jeon Jungkook, the captain of the hockey team. But you hate him even more when you are forced to share the same ice rink.

[leolithe]

Someone please ship a POM-2 to Natah/Lotus/Margulis they need to know the wonders of Kinematic Instant Messaging

The Lotus System using the KIM only to find out through first-person recounts that the Drifter fumbled 6 Hex members in a row

[gottencents]

Good Graces - Jennie Kim

pairing. idol!jennie x streamer!reader

synopsis. during an among us stream, y/n finds herself awkwardly flustered when a fellow female streamer begins flirting with her.

y/n is seated at her desk, headphones on, fully immersed in an among us stream with several streamers and friends. the group is in the middle of chaotic accusations, laughter, and the occasional loud defense when one of the other players, a popular female streamer, starts focusing her attention on y/n.

“wow, y/n, you’re really good at being suspicious,” the girl says teasingly. “i mean, i’d definitely let you deceive me anytime.”

y/n laughs nervously, glancing at her chat, which is already spamming messages like: “uh oh,” “y/n’s panicking,” and “SOMEONE HELP OUR AWKWARD QUEEN.”

“uh… thanks, i guess?” y/n says hesitantly, keeping her tone polite.

“no, seriously,” the girl continues, clearly leaning into her playful flirting. “you’ve got that quiet, mysterious vibe. it’s… cute.”

y/n’s character stands completely still in the game as she fumbles for a response. “uh… that’s… i mean, i’m just trying to figure out who the imposter is.”

the chat is now exploding with: “SAVE HER,” “Y/N HAS LEFT THE BUILDING,” and “WHERE’S JENNIE?!”

the other players are too busy laughing at their own antics to notice the tension, but the girl doesn’t let up. “so, y/n, do you play among us often? maybe we could do a private game sometime?”

before y/n can respond, there’s the faint sound of a door opening off-camera. she glances to the side nervously, trying to mute her mic, but the girl keeps talking.

“what do you say, y/n? just the two of us?”

suddenly, jennie’s voice cuts through, firm but calm. “hey, sorry to interrupt, but y/n’s not interested.”

the entire lobby goes silent, the players confused by the new voice. y/n, on the other hand, looks both relieved and mortified.

“uh… jennie,” y/n mutters, unmuting her mic. “you didn’t have to—”

“no, it’s fine,” jennie says, stepping closer to y/n’s desk, still off-camera. “listen, i’m sure you’re just joking around, but y/n’s a little too polite to tell you she’s uncomfortable. so i’m telling you instead: stop.”

the girl stammers, “oh, i didn’t mean—”

“it’s fine,” jennie says, her voice sharp but not unkind. “just… maybe don’t push it when someone’s clearly not interested, okay?”

y/n’s chat goes wild:

“JENNIE COMING IN HOT.”

“PROTECTIVE GF ENERGY.”

“MVP OF THE STREAM.”

the girl awkwardly apologizes and shifts the conversation back to the game, and the stream continues without further incident. as the match ends, y/n leans back in her chair, visibly flustered but also grateful.

“so, uh… that was something,” y/n says with a nervous laugh.

jennie, now leaning casually against the wall, smirks. “next time, just tell them you have a girlfriend. it’s not that hard.”

“i was trying to be nice!” y/n protests, pouting slightly.

“too nice,” jennie teases, leaning down to kiss y/n’s temple before heading back out of the room.

as soon as the door closes, y/n’s chat explodes again:

“JENNIE IS A QUEEN.”

“SHE REALLY SAID ‘MY GF IS OFF-LIMITS.’”

“Y/N AND JENNIE ARE THE RELATIONSHIP WE ALL WANT.”

y/n shakes her head, smiling shyly. “well, uh… i guess that settles that.” she pauses, glancing at the chat. “let’s just play the next round, yeah?”

but even as the game continues, the moment lives on in the stream’s replay, becoming an instant highlight that fans replay endlessly, dubbing jennie the ultimate protective girlfriend.

[0lgerd]

For anyone who is

- scared they might fumble a conversation

- can't seem to find a good answer

- wants a sure way to romance the Hex

- prefers dating sim walkthroughs

- loves spoilers

May I suggest visiting for full convo flowcharts

[ducktoo]

Office Antics

Yena x Reader

Note: Recently rewatched Hyemileeyechaepa and man I missed 2/3 of Jo Yuriz. If you haven't watch it yet I really recommend yall to do it!

Here's for fellow resident duck.

The office was alive with the familiar hum of keyboards and the occasional ring of phones. It was another Monday morning, and as usual, you were the first one at your desk, sipping a subpar instant coffee you’d made from the breakroom. The workday ahead promised to be a mountain of reports, client proposals, and dreaded spreadsheet formatting—tasks that demanded focus. Yet, your mind wasn’t on the work.

No, your thoughts were fixated on a certain someone who had yet to show up.

Choi Yena. Your supervisor. The office’s resident prankster. The embodiment of chaos wrapped in pastel blazers and a permanent grin. She was always the last one to arrive but somehow managed to make her presence known instantly, turning even the dullest workday into a whirlwind of noise and mischief.

You were halfway through organizing the team’s task list for the day when the elevator doors dinged.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning!” Yena’s sing-song voice bounced off the walls as she burst through the door, holding two iced coffees in her hands. Her grin stretched wide as she plopped one down on your desk.

“Iced Americano for my favourite team member,” she chirped.

You raised an eyebrow, instantly suspicious. The last time she gave you coffee, it was spiked with salt instead of sugar. “What’s the catch, Sunbae?”

Her eyes widened in mock offense. “No catch! Can’t a supervisor just be nice to her hardworking team?”

“Not when that supervisor is Choi Yena,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

She gasped, clutching her chest as if wounded. “Wow. The lack of trust here is unbelievable. I’ll have you know that I’m turning over a new leaf. No pranks today, I swear.”

You weren’t buying it, but the coffee smelled too good to resist. With a cautious sip, you confirmed it was safe. No salt, no hot sauce, no glitter bombs waiting to explode. Yena watched you expectantly, her lips twitching like she was holding back laughter.

“What?” you asked, already bracing yourself for whatever she had planned.

“Nothing!” she said, a little too quickly, before skipping back to her desk.

-

Work officially started at 9:00 a.m., and the day unfolded like any other. You were in charge of preparing the weekly task overview—assigning smaller chunks of projects to each team member while flagging urgent deadlines.

The first task on your list was compiling data for the company’s quarterly performance review. You groaned inwardly, knowing the amount of cross-referencing it would require.

“Hey, sunbae, can we talk about the client feedback report for the Kim & Lee project?” you called over to her.

“Of course,” she replied, spinning her chair dramatically before walking over to your desk with her usual exaggerated flair. “Let’s tackle this head-on. Serious Yena-sunbae mode: engaged.”

You slid the draft report across the desk. “The issue is with the client’s notes on the second phase. They’re asking for an entirely new cost analysis, and we’ve got a two-day turnaround. Can we reassign some of my other tasks?”

Yena leaned over, scanning the document with a furrowed brow. For once, she was genuinely focused. “Hmm. Good point. Let’s offload some of this to Eunji and Sungho. I’ll handle the final approval.” She gave you a thumbs up. “Boom. Delegation, baby.”

-

By mid-morning, the office had settled into its usual rhythm: the quiet clatter of keyboards, the hum of printers, and the occasional buzz of phones. You were elbow-deep in Excel, trying to fix a formula that some long-forgotten coworker had created to "streamline" the quarterly financial summaries.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

“Why does this formula look like someone coded a secret message?” you muttered, leaning closer to your monitor. You had just started unravelling the mess when—

“Ya, ya, yoohoo!” Yena’s voice broke through your concentration, startling you so badly you nearly toppled out of your chair. She was suddenly looming over your desk, holding up a packet of snacks like she’d just discovered gold.

“Want some dried mango?” she asked, dangling the packet in front of your face.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “…Sunbae, do you even work here, or are you just here to disrupt me?”

“Excuse me, I’m your supervisor. Disruption is part of my job description,” she said with a wink. “But seriously, how’s it going with that finance thingy?”

“It’s not a ‘thingy,’ it’s a nightmare,” you replied, gesturing to your screen. “This formula makes no sense. It’s like someone deliberately made it as complicated as possible.”

“Let me see,” she said, pulling up a chair beside you. She squinted at the screen, then immediately leaned back, shaking her head. “Yeah, nope. That’s a you problem. I’m more of a ‘big picture’ kind of gal.”

“Wow, so helpful,” you deadpanned.

“Hey, I didn’t say I couldn’t help in other ways!” she chirped, pulling out her phone.

“Oh no. What are you—”

“Shhh. I’m solving your problem,” she said, cutting you off as she started typing furiously. A moment later, she grinned and held up her phone. “Ta-da!”

You squinted at the screen. It was a meme about how Excel was designed to make grown adults cry.

“Very funny,” you said, but a small smile tugged at your lips.

“See? I’m boosting morale. That’s like, half my job as a supervisor,” she said, patting you on the shoulder before skipping off to her own desk.

-

Five minutes later, the printer jammed.

“YENA-SSI!” someone from the design team shouted.

She popped her head up like a prairie dog. “What? It wasn’t me!”

“It’s always you!”

“I take that personally,” she said, hopping up from her chair and making her way to the printer. “I’ll have you know, I’m a model employee. Watch and learn, folks.”

You glanced over just in time to see her dramatically roll up her sleeves, as if she were about to perform life-saving surgery. She yanked open the printer tray, dug around for a moment, and triumphantly held up the offending piece of paper, which was crumpled beyond recognition.

“Fixed it!” she declared, tossing the mangled paper into the trash.

The printer whirred back to life, and the team gave her a half-hearted round of applause.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, bowing theatrically. Then, as she walked back to her desk, she sprinkled star-shaped confetti onto the floor behind her like she was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs.

You sighed, already knowing who would be tasked with vacuuming it up later.

-

At around 10:30 a.m., Yena made her rounds through the office. She stopped by everyone’s desk, offering unsolicited advice and handing out snacks like a chaotic fairy godmother.

“Eunji, you’re overthinking that layout. Trust your instincts!”

“Sungho, great job on the client emails, but maybe use fewer emojis next time. We’re professionals, remember?”

When she reached your desk, she leaned over your shoulder and whispered, “Still fighting the Excel file?”

“Yes, and it’s winning,” you replied without looking up.

“Want me to call IT?” she offered.

“I am IT,” you said flatly, earning a laugh from her.

“Well, when you’re done, come see me. We need to prep for the Kim & Lee client pitch. You love PowerPoint, right?”

You groaned. “You’re evil.”

“Evil? No, no. I’m effective,” she said with a wink before disappearing into the break room.

-

When lunchtime rolled around at 12:00 pm, the office buzz quieted as everyone scattered to their usual spots. Some gathered in groups to eat at their desks, while others slipped out for fresh air or made a beeline to the cafeteria. You decided to head to the break room to escape the endless spreadsheets and give your eyes a break from the glaring screen.

As you stepped inside, the smell of warm food hit you immediately—ramyeon, fried rice, someone’s dubious reheated fish—and in the middle of it all sat Yena, perched on the counter with her legs swinging, humming a tune to herself.

“Ah, my loyal team member!” she greeted dramatically, raising her half-eaten kimbap like royalty. “Come to dine with your favorite supervisor?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you made your way to the fridge to grab your lunchbox. “Favorite by default, considering you’re the only supervisor I report to.”

She grinned. “Still counts.”

You settled at the table, peeling back the lid of your leftovers: some rice, grilled chicken, and steamed veggies. Simple, nothing like the variety of colorful side dishes Yena always seemed to have. As if on cue, she hopped off the counter and slid into the seat across from you, pushing her kimbap container into the middle of the table.

“Want some? I made it myself.”

You eyed the kimbap warily. “What’s in it?”

“Rice, seaweed, veggies, and unconditional love,” she said with a wink, holding out a piece with her chopsticks.

You raised an eyebrow. “Unconditional love, huh? Sounds suspicious coming from you. sunbae.”

She gasped dramatically. “Wow! Can’t a supervisor just share her lunch without being accused of foul play?”

“Not when that supervisor once put chili powder in my tteokbokki.”

“That was one time!” she protested, pouting.

“And what about the fake soy sauce prank? Or the time you switched the sugar with salt?”

Yena bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh at the memories. “Okay, fine, maybe I have a history, but I swear this kimbap is safe. Scout’s honour!”

You stared at her for a moment, debating whether you should trust her. Finally, you gave in, cautiously taking a piece from the container. It looked normal enough. Taking a slow bite, you braced yourself for some hidden twist—but to your surprise, it tasted great.

“See? I told you it’s good!” Yena said triumphantly, clapping her hands together. “I’m not just a prankster. I can cook well.”

You shook your head, chewing thoughtfully. “Fine, I’ll admit it. This is actually... really good.”

Her face lit up like you’d just handed her a trophy. “Knew it! Now I feel validated as both your supervisor and a good home cook.”

“Don’t push it,” you warned, but there was no bite to your tone.

The two of you ate in relative peace for a few minutes, the easy banter filling the room. Yena kept sneaking pieces of your chicken when she thought you weren’t looking, and you retaliated by stealing some of her kimbap. It was a rare moment where she wasn’t causing chaos, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying her company.

But, of course, this was Yena. The peace was never meant to last.

“So, about that trust thing,” she started, her voice taking on an innocent lilt that immediately put you on high alert.

“What about it?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Well…” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small plastic spider, dangling it in front of your face with a mischievous grin. “You’re not scared of these, are you?”

Your glare could have cut through steel. “Sunbae, I swear—”

Before you could finish, she tossed the spider onto your rice. You jolted back, startled, only to realize it wasn’t moving. Fake. Of course, it was fake.

“Relax!” she said between bouts of laughter, clutching her stomach. “Your face—oh my gosh, I wish I’d recorded it!”

You picked up the spider and tossed it back at her. “You’re unbelievable. Can’t even make it through lunch without pulling something, can you?”

She dodged it with ease, still giggling. “What can I say? It’s my love language.”

“Your love language is being too nice,” you sarcastically muttered, shaking your head.

Yena just winked, stealing another piece of chicken from your plate. “You’re lucky you have me to keep things fun.”

-

The office was quiet as the clock ticked closer to quitting time. Most of your co-workers had already packed up for the day, leaving you and a few others burning the proverbial midnight oil. Your focus was on the final edits for the Kim & Lee proposal, your fingers flying across the keyboard as you updated figures, corrected typos, and double-checked client specifications.

The spreadsheet in front of you was practically your baby at this point—a meticulously crafted, formula-heavy masterpiece. Losing it would be catastrophic.

As you clicked to save your progress, the screen suddenly froze. Your cursor vanished, replaced by a spinning wheel of doom. Then, without warning, the screen went blue.

You blinked, momentarily stunned.

The iconic blue screen carved deep into your tired mind; the haunting words lingered:

“CRITICAL SYSTEM ERROR. ALL FILES DELETED.”

Your heart stopped.

“No, no, no, no!” you muttered, panic bubbling to the surface. You frantically clicked the keyboard, your mouse, anything to undo the apparent catastrophe. Nothing worked. The message continued to flash, taunting you:

“ALL FILES DELETED. SYSTEM FAILURE IMMINENT.”

Your pulse was racing. Everything—hours of work, detailed charts, carefully formatted tables—gone in an instant. You’d have to start over, and with the deadline looming, that wasn’t just inconvenient; it was impossible.

“Why now? Why me?!” you groaned, your voice echoing in the empty office. Sweat prickled the back of your neck as you opened Task Manager, desperately trying to shut down whatever program had caused this.

That’s when you heard it—a barely stifled giggle.

Slowly, you turned your head, eyes narrowing.

“Yena-sunbae” you said, your voice low and dangerous.

Behind you, Yena stood just outside your cubicle, clutching her phone and biting her lip to keep from laughing. Her shoulders shook with barely contained glee, and her face was turning red from the effort of holding it in.

“What did you do?” you demanded, your tone sharp enough to make her flinch—almost.

That was the wrong question because it sent her over the edge. She exploded into laughter, doubling over as if you’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

“Your face!” she managed to wheeze, tears forming in her eyes. “Oh my gosh, you should’ve seen your face!”

“YENA,” omitting the formality, you shouted, standing up so fast your chair rolled backward.

“It’s—it’s just a screensaver!” she choked out between fits of laughter, holding up her hands in surrender. “Relax! Your files are fine. Everything’s fine! I saved it already!”

You froze, your panic slowly giving way to disbelief—and then anger. “A screensaver? You nearly gave me a heart attack for a screensaver?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “I couldn’t resist! You’ve been on edge all day, and you were so focused—it was too perfect!”

You stared at her, torn between throttling her and collapsing into a puddle of relief. “Yena, I swear, if you ever—”

“I’ll never do it again, promise,” she interrupted, holding up three fingers in a Scout’s honour gesture. Then she ruined it by snorting with laughter. “Okay, maybe not never, but not anytime soon.”

Your glare could’ve melted steel. “You’re lucky I didn’t actually lose anything, or I’d be writing the longest HR report of my life right now.”

“Aw, come on, don’t be mad!” she said, stepping closer and placing her hands on your shoulders. “It was funny, admit it.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you grumbled, sitting back down and trying to calm your frazzled nerves.

“You’ll laugh about it later,” she said confidently. Then, after a beat, she added, “...Maybe.”

You huffed but couldn’t stay mad at her for long. This was Yena, after all. Chaos was her default setting, and you knew what you were signing up for when you started working under her.

“Alright,” you sighed. “But you owe me dinner. And drinks. Good drinks. None of that cheap stuff.”

“Deal!” she chirped, already bouncing on her heels. “Let’s go! My treat. No pranks this time, I promise.”

She linked her arm with yours, dragging you toward the elevator. Despite yourself, a small smile crept onto your face.

With Yena, your life might’ve been unpredictable, messy, and occasionally terrifying—but at least it was never boring.

Even though you wanted to quit halfway through because of her antics.

[ki2rins]

⟢ SUGARBOT - pjs

four - stupid [redacted]

warning : contains a slur in the text message. READ ONLY IF COMFORTABLE.

written wc : 557 words

prev | masterlist | next

as soon as jay got into his car, a notification appeared on his screen. his hand swiftly reached into his dress pants and whipped out his phone to check the message.

"knock knock sugarbot here! we are ready to show you some profiles! type /show to start, /like to send a like to someone, /next for the next profile and /stop to have a break. enjoy!"

jay slid down on his seat to get comfortable while pressing on the notification, bringing him to the chatbot. once in the chatbot, his fingers danced on the keyboard and sent out the message. and in an instant a profile appeared on his screen.

"kim yuri, 18. hi are you looking for the one? because youre looking at me. like my profile for me to give you the time of your life!"

while jay analysed the the profile, something in his head screamed 'stop' as he glanced at the age. without even looking at her picture, he typed out /next at the speed of light.

minutes have passed and no profiles have impressed him. they were either too young, too scandalous or too greedy. with a sigh he typed out '/next' for the umpteenth time, mentally telling himself that this would be the last profile before he would have to call jake to ask him to hurry his ass up since they were running late.

"yn, 20. hi im yn! im new on the bot, just trying things out here!"

a soft smile crept out from jay’s lips. his checklist was checked out. 20 years old? not too far from his mature age so check! profile picture? a nice simple faceless shot that made him curious on her looks so check! lastly, her bio. a bio of what seems like a honest being and jay himself was new on the chatbot too so check!

as jay was thinking on whether to like the profile, the door of the passenger side flung wide open.

"my bad bro, was looking for the contract.' jake entered the car and glanced at his friend in the driver seat 'what are you looking at?"

"nothing much, just checking out sugarbot." jay muttered without any hesitation as he typed out "/like" on his phone before shoving it back into his pockets.

with the mention of the word sugarbot, jake’s eyes immediately lid up. however, before the man could even say anything, jay lifted his palm up right in front of his face.

"shut it, we are already late for the meeting. keep your words for later and double check on all the paperwork we need for later." he demanded before starting up the car’s engine and swiftly started the trip.

jake groaned in annoyance upon hearing jay’s words. the man beside him was no doubt a work oriented person who spends more than half of his day at the office, putting in his 200% to close deals both regionally and internationally.

however, he was also pleased that jay was putting in subtle effort to do something other than work. he knows that his friend went through a tough period when things ended with his ex three years ago. what hurt him most was that it was a mutual breakup. but for now, it was time for them to focus on a deal codenamed - mr fucking han.

rin’s yap : sorry for being ia this week, had loads of exams and presentations ☹️ but heres an update for sugarbot!

taglist! : open! reply on this post and i’ll add you to the taglist!

@kaykay11sworld @jvngw0nlvr @meowseong @enhaz1 @jakeswifez @nshmrarki @ice-dandan20 @ziiao @minawannabealone @enhamonsterghoul @d-dilemma @urmomdotcom5678 @starry-eyed-bimbo @r1kixss @jensyed @notab1tchwho @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @jooniesbears-blog @seongiewon @jayyvvhxss @younjo @siimplestar @suhwife @immprettywhenyoucry @machambrx @luvleyylina @maniluvzyou @ezekiel-bublz @lovingjongseong @in-somnias-world @strayy-kidz @xoaumin @wonnieluv @rairaiblog @dark-moon-light02

© ki2rins 2025, please do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[pars-ley]

I...do? (part one)

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x f. reader (ft Jung Hoseok briefly) Summary: Based on the film ‘the proposal’ - You hate your boss. He's rude, arrogant and conceited, not to mention works you to the bone, day and night. So walking into one of his meetings, where he announces your upcoming wedding, you being shocked is the least of it. But when he threatens the career you've worked so hard for, can you still say no to his proposal? Genre: Enemies to lovers au / CEO au / fake dating au / colleagues to lovers au / co-workers to lovers / series / angst / fluff / smut Rating: 18+ (future chapters will be nfsw) Warnings (per chapter): blackmail / manipulation / rudeness / angst W/C: 2.9k Banner: @shadowkoo you are amazing Beta: @beomcoups and @cherrysoulth thank you so much!  Notes: So this has been in the works for about four fucking years now and I’ve decided to do this as a series and i’m finally ready to start posting! Sorry to anyone who has been waiting. This was originally for the 'spring will come again' event with @bangtanarmynet Please, share and comment, it will really help with motivation for writing, which I have been lacking for a while. Thank you so much for reading! Taglist: @ladyartemesia @taestannie @somewhereofftheglobe @moonchild1 @taebangtanbabe @leedoesntknaur @siadreams @m-1234

It’s a lovely spring morning; the trees are green, and the flowers are beginning to bloom. The sun is out and the air is fresh. You have one of the most beautiful views in the city outside your office, floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the new growth and warm weather. You’re relaxing into your seat, basking in it…that is, until the elevator down the hall stops on your floor, and you know exactly who's about to step off. You type out your usual frantic message to everyone in their office cubicles in the expanse between the elevators and his office, which you sit directly outside of, and hit send.

Y/n: Satan is entering the gates of hell

Everyone rushes frantically back to their desks. Hushed whispers sound across the void, filling the atmosphere with nervous energy. The elevator dings and silence is instant. You watch as your boss struts along, ignoring everyone else’s presence entirely. 

“Good morning, sir,” you remark with a polite smile as soon as he reaches your desk, to which he strides past you, straight into his office. Resisting the urge to make a sarcastic remark, you focus back on your work, but your irritation grows towards him. Your patience is already thin this morning.

Discreetly, you glance in his direction, noting the way he sits behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, leg crossed casually over the other, and flipping through document pages with an arrogance you can see, even from here. You absolutely hate how good-looking he is. Why does someone so infuriating get to look like that? It somehow makes his whole attitude even worse.

His low voice calling your name snaps your attention. "Get in here."

Sliding your chair out from under your desk, you follow orders.

“Yes, Mr Kim, ” you respond, standing with hands clasped in front of you. Your posture and all-black attire, particularly the skirt, were requested by him.

“Where was my usual tea this morning?” he asks, eyes unwavering from the pages he's absorbed in. 

“The shop was closed this morning, sir, and I thought it best not to go to the other one, as you told me their tea 'looks and tastes like noodle soup.'” Your heart races with annoyance, as you chew the inside of your lip, attempting to hold back any smart-arse remarks.

I’ll tell you where I’d like to put your tea, sir, I’d shove it right up your-

“Then, what is this?” He points to the mug you left on his desk in replacement, a look of disdain twisting his face.

“That’s the tea I made for you, Sir.”

His eyes meet yours for a second with a hard stare. “Right, well next time, how about...don’t.” 

Your teeth clamp together, jaw tensing as you struggle to bite back your retort, instead opting to take the tea and down it right in front of him. The hot liquid burns your throat as it slides down uncomfortably, and you carefully place the mug back on his desk, wiping the corners of your mouth with your fingertips.

"Is that better, sir?" You smile sweetly, but it’s written all over his face that he knows it’s not genuine judging by the glare he throws your way.

Your stomach somersaults nervously, worrying you've gone too far before his eyes fall back down to his paper.

“I have an unscheduled meeting in twenty minutes, it’s important, so make sure I am not disturbed by anyone. Are we clear?” He meets your eyes again, the intimidating aura he radiates hitting you fiercely.

“Y-yes, Mr Kim. Should I delay the ten o’clock meeting then?”

“You’re a smart girl; figure it out.” 

He looks back down at his work, seeming bored of your presence, but you stand there aghast as to what you can reply to that without getting fired.

“Get out.” He waves a hand, dismissing you.

"Right away, sir." You bow dramatically before leaving and closing the door, forcing yourself not to slam it and wishing you could go and scream into a pillow. 

Mr Kim Taehyung can kiss your arse.

Sitting back down at your desk, searching for anything to get your mind off the frustratingly rude man, when your mobile phone rings, surprising you. Even more so when you see it's your mum.

"Yes, mama, I'll be down this weekend," you say quietly into your phone once you're finally able to get a word in. Keeping your voice low to avoid your slave driver of a boss hearing your personal call.

Your mother’s squeal makes you giggle. "Like I'd miss my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary celebration."

"How long are you staying for this time? It's been too long since I've seen my baby!" she stresses.

You can't help the smile that tugs at your mouth. "I know, mama, I'm still working on that."

"You need to tell that boss of yours that enough is enough before he ends up working you to the bone!" Her disapproving tone makes you feel at home.

You see Mr Kim heading your way, "Hmm-mmm, listen, ma, I've got to go; I'll see you this weekend. Love you." You hang up abruptly and get straight back to typing.

"Personal calls should be taken at personal times," he says firmly, heading off down the hall.

Heat flashes up your chest, and your attempt to bite down a retort wavers, "That would mean me being allowed a personal life, sir, " you call after him.

His steps falter for a brief moment before continuing on with not another word or so much as a glance in your direction. 

You swallow and let out the breath you didn't realise you'd been holding, envisioning hurling your phone at the back of his head. I wonder how hard I'd have to throw it to knock him unconscious or to at least give him a concussion.

Taking a long breath and trying not to grind your teeth, something that has become a habit lately and focusing back on your workload.

A short while later, Mr Kim is sitting in his unscheduled “important” meeting, meaning you could blissfully get on with paperwork without interruption. However, glancing up from your computer, you notice how tense and somewhat uncomfortable Mr Kim looks, something most uncharacteristic of him. So it does not surprise you when your work phone vibrates loudly at your desk. Looking down, you see the message "Save me," sent from him, your usual code system to get him out of something he really doesn't want to be part of anymore.

Getting up from your desk and striding across the space, you knock quietly on the door before entering.

"Sir, you have an urgent call on--"

"Ah, here she is," Mr Kim beams at you, a sight that is not only shocking because of how rare it is but also how breathtakingly gorgeous his smile is. You stand there frozen in your spot, unsure what has caused this sudden change in his mood. "No need to stand on ceremony, sweetheart; Mr. Jung is well aware of our upcoming nuptials." 

You stare at him blankly, wondering if he's perhaps having some kind of stroke and considering whether or not you should call an ambulance. He comes over to your rooted feet by the door, and before you can say anything, his arm winds around your waist and guides you over to his desk. You're hyper-aware of his hand on you in such an intimate manner and it infuriates you, boiling your blood liquid hot in your veins. It feels like everything's moving in slow motion while you attempt to piece together all the chaotic thoughts happening in your mind, but nothing makes any sense. 

Upcoming nuptials? Hell would have to freeze over more than once for you to be hitched to a man as rage-inducing as him. In fact, you'd rather be a miserable, shrivelled-up spinster living with a household full of cats than walk down an aisle where he's waiting for you.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, and please, call me Hoseok." Mr Jung stands up and shakes your hand, offering you a dazzling grin. You don't fail to notice his suspicious gaze raking over you and your boss. "So, a wedding, that sure is exciting, huh?" he asks you, raising an eyebrow as he waits for your response.

You feel Mr Kim's hand dig into your waist, sparking you to say, "Yes, very. Who doesn't love a wedding?"

Hoseok laughs. "It's true, they are such joyous occasions. Are you prepared? Is everything set, I mean?"

Before you can say anything, you hear your boss's baritone voice beside you, sending vibrations through your body and muddling your mind even more. "There are still a few things here and there to take care of, but I have faith it will all be done in time."

"Perfect." The man smiles at you. "So your families know about this wedding?" 

Hell, I didn't even know about it, so they definitely don't.

"I don't have any family; both my parents died years ago, no siblings or grandparents alive," Mr Kim admits, voice impassive. You can't help but be surprised by this new piece of information. You’re unsure if that was true or part of his weird ruse, but your heart tugs a little at imagining someone not having anyone, even someone as vile as him.

"Oh, I am sorry," Hoseok offers, "and what about your family?" He aims at you.

"We were planning on telling her family this weekend," Mr Kim interjects. “It's her parents' wedding anniversary, so we thought we'd go up there for the bank holiday and surprise them, didn't we, sweetheart?" 

You clench your teeth together to stop your mouth from popping open in shock. He squeezes you closer to his side, a movement that has you tensing your jaw in an attempt to keep the searing in your veins down to a minimum. 

"Yes, yes, we are," you add, forcing a smile.

"So what happens now?" Mr Kim asks.

You glance up at him, then at Hoseok, who seems to be scrutinising your every move. You resist the urge to squirm uncomfortably in Mr Kim's grasp.

"Well, you'll both have to come in for an interview at some point. Provided you both pass this stage and I deem this marriage legitimate then, we'll fill in the necessary paperwork, you'll no longer be deported and your new visa will be valid."

You no longer hear the words being said, everything becoming muffled and moving in slow motion. Deportation!? Legitimate marriage!? That's why he's made this up, so he can stay in the country. 

You feel your stomach drop to your feet, heavy, yet threatening to shoot up and out of your mouth, decorating his office carpet.

"Great. Is there anything else you need from us, Mr Jung?"

He taps his chin and stares at you quizzically. "Just make sure neither of you are lying, then we'll have no problems. A fine and prison time is not to be looked at lightly."

What!? You laugh nervously. "People actually get sent to prison for that?"

He nods. "Sure, it happens all the time. You could face up to five years in prison and a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar fine, and yet people still think that they can trick us." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Anyway, I'll be sending you both a letter about when and where your interview will occur, most likely in a few weeks, I look forward to seeing you both then." 

You shake hands before he's gone and both of you are rooted to the spot, staring after him. 

Soon enough, Mr Kim moves back around to his desk, flicking through his papers, his eyes focused as if nothing out of the ordinary has just happened.

You stand there frozen, waiting for some kind of explanation, and when nothing comes, you speak up, "Excuse me, sir, but what was that?"

He sighs as if bored by your presence and continues to focus on the files in front of him. "They were going to fire me once I got deported and give Mr Park my job."

You stare at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. 

"Don't worry, we'll get married and get a quickie divorce. It will be over in no time."

You feel like your feet will surely collapse from the weight of this burden that has suddenly become yours. Without asking or consenting, you've ended up in a situation you're unsure how to deal with or get out of.

"Sir," you finally speak, breaking through your stunned silence and swallowing the burning you feel rising into your throat. "I cannot marry you."

Finally, he drops his papers and meets your panicked eyes. "Listen, you don't really have a choice; if you don't, I'll fire you and ensure that any new job you apply for will have zero interest in hiring you. I'll make something up so terrible you'll be blacklisted, and where will that leave you, after all the hard work you've put in during the last three years? Hmm?"

You stare into his cold, dark eyes and know there's no hint of a lie or an exaggeration in his words. 

“All of those late nights runs to the grocery store for me, all the weekend calls and late night working will have been for nothing.”

You struggle to find the words, feeling your world crashing in on you and smothering you beyond belief. Feeling yourself being pushed against a rock and a mountain with nowhere to escape, when all your legs want to do is run.

You suck deep breaths into your lungs. 

He would ruin your career and everything you've worked so hard for. In one fell swoop, your life would be over. For the last three years your job has been everything, not allowing an ounce of a social life; no holidays and no relationships, nothing has existed outside of your job.

Not to mention, how could you afford your apartment if you had no job? You'd have to move back home with your parents to small-town life...the thought made your stomach churn, that was more frightening than anything. 

"If I do this, I'm taking a big risk here, so I'm going to need some assurances."

He smirks, sinking back into his chair and folding his arms across his chest. The material of his blazer stretched across his bicep muscles, giving him an even more intimidating edge.

"I wasn't aware you were in a position to make demands."

Your hands clench into fists at your sides, longing to make a connection to his perfectly chiselled jaw, as anger bubbles inside the deepest pit of hatred you have for this man.

"I could go to prison! You're not asking me to go on a business trip; you're asking me to marry you so you can stay in the country! So, you either give me what I want, or I quit here and now, and bye-bye, Mr Kim, hello, Mr Park." turning towards his office door, your face flushes with angry heat. Feeling brazen and reckless, two can play at this game and if you are going to do this, you are damn sure you're going to make it worth your while.

"Wait," he says quickly.

Glancing back, you watch the smugness on his features slowly die as he realises how serious you are. "What is it you want?"

"A promotion. Not a bullshit one you make up so I can continue assisting you either."

He sighs and massages his temples. "Ok, ok, fine. How about the head of a department?"

You've wanted that since you started at this company; ever since you were hired, that has been your focus and the only thing getting you through this role.

"Hm, which department?" You act coy, knowing there's only one answer you want to hear.

He rubs his face and groans, his cool, calm exterior well and truly forgotten. "Design. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Taken aback by how he could have known that you pause for a moment before composing yourself once again. "Yes. I want it in writing and signed by you." 

"Fine."

You nod, feeling a triumphant bloom expand in your chest.

"Are we done here?" He asks.

"Ask me nicely." 

His hands come down hard on the desk; an exasperated look withers his face. "What?"

"Ask me nicely to marry you."

His mouth pops open, closes, and opens again. His cheeks flush, and the sight makes you smile. Who would have thought something so simple would make him blush?

"That's ridiculous."

"Ok, goodbye, Mr Kim; I wish I could say nice knowing you." You turn and push his office door open.

"Alright," he calls. "Just….shut the door."

You can hear the pleading in his voice, knowing how desperate he is and wondering how much you should take advantage of that. You do as he says, step back into the room, and watch with unashamed amusement as he stands up and rounds his desk, closing the gap between you rather sheepishly.

He takes a deep breath as his eyes stay fixed on your blazer's lapels. "Will-"

"On one knee, please." You interrupt.

His cheeks darken as he prepares to argue, but he second-thinks as his eyes flit desperately between yours. He slowly sinks down onto the ground at your feet and plasters on a fake and yet still dazzling smile, "Will you, please, marry me?" he finally says, sarcasm dripping off of every word.

For a moment, you enjoy the sight of him on his knees in front of you, looking up through thick eyelashes, but your abhorrence of him stops your mind from going any further.

"Fine," you reply with a smirk as you walk out, leaving him staring at your back. If you are doing this for him, you sure as hell are going to make him pay for it.

[weirdsht]

What if i have an idea and it's orv's "incarnation kim dokja will be killed at the hands of the person he loves most" BUT it's reader and cale

May Our Fates Intertwine Once More - Cale/Reader

notes: 1. Anon I'm sorry for taking so long to write your req; and 2. I'm sorry to everyone who saw the small preview I posted before and thought it was fluff.

tags: fluff, no gender specified for reader, novel spoiler (sealed god's test), hurt no comfort, angst, death, canon divergence from 620

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist

One moment you were next to Cale then the next second you’re standing in the middle of an unknown place with this weird half-transparent blue screen in front of you.

[Quest List:]

[1. Pass the tutorial

2. Launch a widescale attack on the safe zones during the eclipse 

3. Die after fighting a magnificent battle at the hands of the person who loves you the most]

“What the fuck…”

You cursed as you read what the screen says. You tried to see if you could touch it but something else popped up as soon as your finger made contact with it.

[WARNING!! WARNING!!]

[All injuries sustained in this body will be mirrored in your real body!]

“This isn’t my real body? But it looks the same.”

It really does. The only thing that has changed is your clothes. You’re wearing something that fits the image of a deity.

Still confused, you look around you. There’s nothing you recognized. But it does look like you’re somewhere abandoned.

[A message has arrived! Tap here to read!]

You tapped the new overlay that popped up and it instantly brought you to the message.

[Are you enjoying your lover’s original world?]

The anonymous message said. Immediately, you had an inkling as to who it could be.

“What the fuck? You must be that stupid god presence we felt back there.”

[Such brash words while talking to a god… Anyway, are you aware of where your lover is?]

“His around here too right? What the hell did you do to him?”

[Nothing much. His just under my test to overcome his despair. I’m waiting for him to be consumed by it so he can take my hand.]

“Knowing Cale, I'm sure he’ll overcome it. He’d rather die than work with you.”

[That’s where you come in dear.]

You feel like you can hear the god’s vile laughter even through the screen. But you wondered how you’d help meet Cale’s demise. Unless a demon possesses you to the point where you can’t control yourself, you won't do it.

Then it dawned on you.

The mission.

[3. Die after fighting a magnificent battle at the hands of the person who loves you the most]

“HAHAHAHAHAHA! You’re quite witty, aren’t you? On the bright side, I found out Cale loves me the most thanks to you.”

[It’s great, isn’t it? If you don’t do your missions you’ll be stuck here forever. If you do them you’ll die. Whatever you do you love must say goodbye. An instant recipe for despair.]

“We’ll see about that. You might be underestimating me too much.”

You pointed your middle finger towards the screen with messages before closing it.

Getting past the tutorial was easy. Turns out you have an inventory that contains countless supplies of food and other necessities. You also have the ability to summon monsters.

The same monsters your lover told you he fought in his previous life before becoming Cale Henituse.

“Ho? This is interesting. It feels like I’m playing a game of some sort.”

You said no one in particular as you read the descriptions of the monsters at your disposal. You spend the whole day navigating the screen that calls itself the “status window”. According to it, you have the whole day free today as the eclipse will happen tomorrow.

As you take yourself on a tour of your inventory one particular item catches your attention.

[Sword of Liubi Duplicate]

It was your sword. Well, a duplicate of it. It was given to you by Cale after you first met. Clicking on the sword, you read what properties would its copy have.

[A sword replicated from your world. It’s strong, probably one of the strongest swords on Earth 2 despite being nerfed. However, since it’s a duplicate it will only have half of its original prowess. It is still a remarkable weapon nonetheless.]

Some of the terms used like “nerfed” you don’t understand as they don’t exist in your world. But it still gave you a general idea as to what the status of your sword is.

Well, it’s better than nothing.

Plus you think the only time you’d have to use it is when you fight Cale so it’s better that it’s not as strong as before.

“Either way I die huh…”

You mumbled as you stared up at the ceiling of the abandoned house you found. Usually, a person would not be able to stay in such a place so leisurely. However, since the monsters won’t touch you it's a different story.

“What am I getting sad for? I was supposed to die way back! I’m just fulfilling it now…”

It’s the truth. If it wasn’t for your lover and his friends you would’ve died a long time ago. You guess someone bound to die early will die early.

You dismissed the thoughts of your death out of your head. Instead, you focused your energy on thinking about how you would get Cale to fight you so he could complete his mission.

With those thoughts in mind, you slowly fell asleep. 

“Okay, this is kind of fun… but I feel bad since Cale and the others are fighting the things I summoned.”

You’re on top of a building. A good distance away from Cale– no Kim Rok Soo’s safe zone but still near enough to be able to observe what’s happening.

“Is that Choi Han? At first I felt bad for them, but now I feel bad for myself. They’ll finish my babies in no time!”

Observing Choi Han and the others fighting, you kept summoning more monsters. The monsters you summon are regulated by the status window but you still find some joy in doing it.

It is getting tiring though.

You can’t believe you have to keep doing this for 24 hours straight. You’re not even getting paid…

[Alert!]

[One (1) of your “Grade 1 Taster Monsters” have broken from the pack]

[Alert!]

[Two (2) of your “Grade 1 Taster Monsters” have broken from the pack]

“What the hell? I swear my dearest must have an ancient power that allows him to gather powerful beings. His even stealing away my babies.”

You huffed in frustration as you watched two of your summons go over to Kim Rok Soo’s side.

“Isn’t this whole thing too good for me though? Everything I need to survive is free… And summoning monsters doesn’t cost anything.”

[It's the least I could do for someone bound to die either way]

That pesky god messaged you again.

“Well look at you being Mr. Nice. Are you flirting with me? Sorry, I’m taken.”

For emphasis, you brought up your ring finger that contained your engagement ring. As if flipping the god off.

[Blasphemous as ever. It tempts me to take you as one of my children. Too bad you won’t be able to take in the despair that comes as a price.]

“Yeah yeah. Just shut up. It’s not like I have any plans teaming up with a god.”

Sealed God shut up and you lived the next days in peace.

You have the monsters at your disposal that can do whatever you need them to do. And you have no quest assigned to you aside from that dying one. Your mind has also been at ease as you have a general plan as to how you’ll get your love to fight you one-on-one.

[New Mission Alert!]

[Summon one (1) Electric Eel in Gwangalli Beach]

Gwangalli Beach where is that? You have absolutely no idea. In fact, you’re tired of your status window acting as if you were from this world.

“I’m sure the monster will know where it is…”

Convincing yourself that your summons will know where it is you summoned a flying monster to take you to that place.

Luckily, your assumption was correct. In no time you were where you need to be.

“Status window summon one Electric Eel… Who named this thing? I mean it’s a snake that will be summoned from the sea, and has electricity as one of its powers. But Electric Eel? Seriously?”

After bashing the monster’s name a little, you summoned it.

“I’m sure you already know what to do…”

You mumbled to the monster before going away to hide before someone saw you.

All that’s left for you to do is watch and wait for your entrance.

3 days. That’s how many days it took for them to defeat the Electric Eel.

While everyone was doing that you were watching on top of the building. Your robed dress flows freely in the wind as you do so. There were a lot of instances you wanted to intervene. Wanted to go help the love of your life and the man you considered your brother.

But alas you couldn’t.

The status window with only one quest left reminded you of that every time.

[Are you ready for the final act?]

Sealed God messaged you again. As if laughing at your inevitable demise.

“Just watch my performance. It’ll be spectacular.”

For a moment you were tempted to curse him out as you usually would. However, you decided that if you’re gonna go out today, you’re going out with grace and elegance. It's only fitting as the fiance of a duke’s son.

[Player _____ will be killed at the hands of the person that loves them the most]

[The last arc of the game…]

[Starts Now]

Ignoring the status window, you ride the flying monster waiting for you. It’s the same monster that brought you to the beach before.

“I worked so hard just for you to defeat my baby.”

You gently spoke as you gracefully descended from the monster's back and onto the dead Electric Eel. 

“...That’s your baby?”

Kim Rok Soo mumbled quite mournfully. He was supposed to be your baby after all.

“Wait how are you even here?”

He asked. Looking at you curiously. 

“Oh, I’m the one summoning all the monsters you’ve been fighting. Was it fun? Ah, don’t ask me where they come from though. I have no idea where they came from. I can only summon them.”

You spoke as if there was nothing wrong. As if you guys aren't standing on the opposite sides of the battlefield.

“_____-nim…”

Choi Han, the man you have come to consider your brother, slowly called out to you.

“What are you doing?”

He asks, not minding the whispers from the people around you three.

“So that’s what happened to my Dark Tiger… Asking permission to borrow my things would have been appreciated, Your Highness.”

You addressed Alberu first before answering the swordmaster’s question.

“Don’t you still get it? Every play must end with the hero defeating the evil mastermind! And you Kim Rok Soo…”

The sword you summoned on the way here pointed towards your lover.

“You shall be the one who strikes the final blow.”

Kim Rok Soo’s brain connected the pieces. You smile while observing him. And that smile pissed him off.

Because you were smiling as if everything was okay.

As if you hadn’t just announced your death.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll be stuck here and die. You wouldn’t want that would you?”

“So I just have to kill you here?”

‘And then you’ll return to my arms in our world?’

You knew the silent question that lingered in the commander’s reddish-brown eyes.

“Yes.”

Yet you ignored it. Letting him believe that everything will be fine. That you will only die in this world. That nothing will happen to you in your world and all shall be well.

It was for his own good.

The only way for him to not fall into despair once more.

Drawing your sword once again, you beckoned for your lover to fight you.

“Everyone else stay back. I’ll summon another unranked monster if you interfere.”

“Follow what they say and just watch.”

You and Kim Rok Soo said before your powers clashed with each other.

Lightning after lightning struck you. However, your sword blocked most of them. Dodging the ones you couldn’t block.

When it was your turn to attack, you struck your sword towards Cale. Each slash either landed on the Indestructible Shield or was blocked by the Fire of Destruction.

“Your sword is stronger than this. I did not give you such a flimsy thing.”

Cale spoke as you failed to cut through his shield once more.

“Don’t worry this isn’t the one you gave– Ugh!”

A lightning struck you. Cale used it as an opportunity to land more hits.

“I was talking you know? You’re as rude as ever. Anyway, this one is a duplicate.”

Your sword managed to land a cut on the commander’s arm. Everyone else watched the two of you. People who don’t know you were wondering how can the two of you fight while bantering as if your lives aren’t on the line.

But not everyone in the audience didn’t know you. Two people in there knew you very well. 

“I’m going back first. Something about this feels off.”

Alberu told Choi Han who was gripping his scabbard tightly.

“His Majesty is going first?”

“Seems like it.”

You can Cale continued talking as you fight. It reminded you of the small talks he would engage you in as you train.

It reminded you that this is probably the last time you will be able to talk to him like this.

“Ow! That hurts you know!”

A particular attack from the Sky Eating Water rendered you unable to pick up the sword. Cale took this as an opportunity to hold you down using the trees summoned earlier to fight the Electric Eel.

You watch as Cale turns off his Sound of the Wind. He walks towards you at a leisurely pace, picking up your sword on the way. 

“I’m sorry.”

He said and you noticed his hand tremble ever so slightly.

“Don’t be. I’m happy that it’s you. Do you want to know what’s the prerequisite of my death?”

Cale did not answer but you said it anyway.

“I shall die by the hands of the one that loves me the most. That’s what it said.”

The commander’s eyes shook along with his hand.

“That’s why I’m glad…”

Blood spilt from your mouth as your sword stabbed your heart. From the corner of your eye, you could see Choi Han running towards where you are.

“_____-nim!”

Your brother called out to you as Cale let go of his control on the trees in favour of holding you instead. 

There’s still blood spilling from your mouth but that didn’t stop you from smiling at him. Your smile was weak and tired, but it was the best you could do at the moment.

“I’m fine…”

You assured Cale squeezing your hand.

“I’ll be waiting for you in our world. So don’t be sad okay? Remember you have to overcome despair.”

“Promise?”

Cale asked you as he cradled your body in his chest.

“I promise.”

You left out the part that you’ll probably be dead or dying when he sees you. 

Weakly, but full of determination you raised your left hand to link your pinkies together. The diamond in your engagement ring shone as you did. Meanwhile, your right hand is being held by Choi Han.

They said that your life will flash in your eyes at your last moments. No such thing happened to you. But you did remember a conversation that you and your lover had prior to this whole thing.

“So you’re birthday is on November 8th? Why are you only telling me this now? There’s so little time to prepare a gift for you!”

“What are you talking about it’s still so far away?”

“No, it’s not! It’s not enough time for me to prepare the perfect gift for you.”

That’s right, today is November 8 in this world. It’s Cale’s birthday…

“In Raon’s castle… My gift is there. He should know about it…”

“You can just give it to me yourself when we get back.”

Cale answered and you almost laughed at his cluelessness.

“...Happy birthday my love. May you always find happiness.”

Those were your last words before you took your last breath. Before your body slowly turned into dust in Cale’s hold.

But Cale wasn’t in despair even as you die.

He may be sad, but he wasn’t in despair.

It was because he was holding onto your words that you’d meet him back home.

That’s how Cale was able to pass the Sealed God’s test.

But why…

“MOVE ASIDE, LET PENDRICK AND SAINT-NIM HANDLE IT!”

Why was the first thing he heard as soon as he came back Alberu’s shouting when he was supposed to be in his castle making preparations?

“CALL FOR MORE HEALERS WE’RE LOSING _____-NIM!”

“_____ wake up. Please wake up.”

Alberu and Raon’s voice rang on his head. 

At that moment. Rosalyn and Eruhaben noticed that he was back. They quickly greeted him before calling over Raon and Sherrit to remove the barrier that surrounded him.

“What’s happening?”

Cale asks as he enters the room where the shouts are coming from.

The sight made him stop in his tracks.

Laying on a grass bed that’s similar to where he was just a few minutes ago was his lover. His fiance.

They were lying there. Bleeding.

On the heart.

Exactly where Cale had stabbed them back on Earth.

A realisation dawned on him at the moment.

You just promised that you would meet him back home.

You did not promise that you would meet him alive.

Cale, the fool, had only assumed you would.

[nonushu]

heavy heart - kim mingyu

genre: angst | wc: 885 | warnings: kissing, toxic relationship, reader has no self-respect | mingyu x reader a/n: I'M SORRY FOR THIS, i got bored at work (i'm still at work right now)

you heard it from your friends first, as a warning that kim mingyu doesn’t want to be held down. they spoke with a mix of concern and resentment, recounting how many times he’d walk away from someone if they got too close. “he’s not the type to settle,” they said, the words ringing in your ears. 

the longer you kept your head pressed against the window, the more you wondered if he even cared at all.

you watched the rain trickle down the glass, each drop reminding you of each time you let him back into your life. the streetlights became blurred, making the outside world seem so distant that the only reachable source was mingyu. 

that familiar embarrassment heats your body, knowing how much of a fool you’re making of yourself right now.

you know you’re naive to think he’d even want to commit to something real, but you swear there were lingering feelings during the nights you spent together. the way he held you, the soft words he said in the dark—it all felt too genuine to believe he didn’t want to stay with you forever.

though kim mingyu was just a man you falsely envisioned to be perfect. those fantasies you filled the gaps of your mind with were of relationships that could never be. reality was far different, and deep down, you knew that. 

the notification from your phone made your head rapidly turn to what or who it might be. mingyu, hopefully, you thought. 

reading the name felt like a fever dream. as if it was any surprise, it’s the man you believed you could change. each moment was a painful tug to your heart but you always came back to it.

you opened his message, the illumination of the screen giving you a slight validation.  

[mingyu]: are you busy tonight?

you should’ve said yes, or a smarter move should’ve been to not reply at all. yet you never listened to your head when it came to him.

your fingers move in disappointment as you type in your reply. 

[you]: no, do you want to come over?

he replies in an instant.

[mingyu]: be there in 15. 

you sighed, staring at the screen in humiliation before tossing it aside. you knew this wasn’t good for you, but you’d tell yourself that if it was anyone else, they wouldn't be able to resist his charms either.

the minutes dragged by the seconds and finally, the doorbell rang. 

it’s almost shameful how quickly you get up to answer the door, but there he stood, looking effortlessly handsome as he always does. his presence filled the doorway and for a moment you felt like you’d rather get lost in this. 

with one look at you and no words spoken, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours almost roughly. mingyu's bigger frame took control of the kiss, putting a hand around your waist and making you take steps backward to your living room. he shuts your door with his other hand behind him while still keeping you against him. 

mingyu kisses you like he means it, but you know it’s not real. the warmth of his hand attached to you feels like home, but you know it’s far from that. each touch and each breath was like he was trying to say something, but then again, you know he really isn’t.

tears welled up in your eyes as mingyu deepened the kiss. for some reason, you couldn’t pull back from this. even if you tried, you hate to admit that it’s the only thing keeping you going. 

you whimper loudly into the kiss causing mingyu to pull back. his brows furrow at the sight of you, now crying in his arms. 

mingyu frowns, confused. "are you not in the mood?"

you shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. "mingyu," you whispered, almost inaudible. “what’s holding you back?”

he sighed, letting you go and stepping back. "what do you mean y/n?”

“why can’t we date?” your voice cracking. you feel the walls close in, your tone getting too desperate. 

you hate when he looks at you like this. with pity and a hint of frustration in his features. “why can't we be serious about each other?”

your eyes, quick to become swollen, gaze up at mingyu who seemingly stares right back at you with no patience. 

“y/n,” he says, straightening his posture, making you feel smaller. “this can never be serious. you knew that from the start.”

you start to breathe heavier, the air getting thicker. “i-i know, but—”

“just call me back when you’re not so emotional.”

with that, he turned and left, shutting the door too harshly and leaving you alone in your apartment. the sound of the rain outside seemed to beat with your heart. you sank to the floor, your sobs blending with the patter of rain against the windows.

you felt the weight of mistakes, knowing you had let yourself fall mingyu. the realization stung, and you cried harder, the rain outside mirroring the storm inside you. the tears flowed freely, mingling with the bitter taste of regret of giving so much of yourself.

to mingyu, you were nothing more than a passing distraction. but you weren’t sure if that was enough to keep you away.

[hexonthepeach]

perfume - k.dy

pairing: f4!nct doyoung x fem!reader (past johnny x reader mentions)

genre: hana yori dango/boys over flowers/meteor garden/f4 thailand reverse harem au (mild allusions and characterization only)

warnings:

bully-to-friends-to-lovers, established relationship, polyamory, dom!doyoung, glucose father adjacent, scent kink, control over food consumption/bathing (for scent kink purposes only), gratuitous use of the l-word by anti-romantics, angst/feelings, flashbacks and history

🔞 edging, cockwarming, orgasm denial, oral (m/f receiving), passionate sex, rough sex, spanking, creampie, bukkake, consensual negotiated kink (degradation, somnophilia), anal play (f receiving)

wordcount: 20k

author's note: this is a doyoung-centered continuation of my ongoing F4 au. it can stand on it's own but i recommend reading Dive for more context. Doyoung's role in the F4 is Sojirou Nishikado/So Yijung/Ximen/Kavin (playboy control freak) so this fic incorporates elements of his secondary romance within the original/adaptations, now with y/n.

read on AO3

fic headers / dividers credit to @ saradika + please do not repost

Freshman year, Kocher International. 

Head down in your books at lunch, trying so hard to escape scrutiny from above, you pretend to be no one. 

It shouldn't be hard to be nobody, otherwise ignored and immune to whatever social contract deliberates your life. In a better world you'd be invisible. It's a superpower you'd wish for much more over the usual playground answers of super speed or control of the weather. 

Let me be unobserved, you'd thought. Let me open a door and not worry about a bucket full of dirty mop water falling on my head or the inevitable posting of a grainy video of it, posted in a Telegram channel to fulfill some checklist made up by bored, rich monsters. 

Your four-generation-behind phone with its cracked screen proved useful in some regards; you never heard about these public pillories until some kind stranger sent you a screenshot of them, usually in the context of whatever plans they'd made to torture you again.

Every notification is already a pain, driving splintered glass into the pads of your fingers. Just now you're reading a text message from your father asking you to pick up more cheap instant noodles from the convenience store on your walk home to round out whatever scraps he's picked up from the local restaurant your mother bussed tables and cleaned dishes at when she needed extra money.

"Why is Saint Kim watching you?" your friend asks across the table. She's been looking up at the room this entire time, unable to give you even a moment of her attention or assistance to finish the English homework you'd been working on. You'd been rushing all day to finish it before afternoon class, after a late morning of delivery driving for your family's drycleaning business.

"Are you sure it's not the Devil?" you ask, parsing through the lines of a book you'd bought secondhand, trying to match verse for verse.

"No," she says, shaking her head when you finally look up. "Don't react. He's coming this way."

"Shit," you say under your breath, eyes flicking to your untouched lunch. "I need you to leave now. Take these trays and dump them and I'll meet you outside of 4th. If I make it."

You don't look up from your book as you mutter, but you follow her path and her hesitancy as she internally debates whether to heed your warning or watch from a safe distance.

Your handwriting becomes a scrawl of nonsense you have to cross out in sharp lines. You begin the verse again, holding your breath as you will your entire body and mind back to a manufactured calm. 

If you can't be invisible, you can at least play your role. You're copacetic by the time you see the tips of polished black wingtips beside you, before you hear the Saint clear his throat.

“Y/N.”

He drops a familiar, school-mandated clear cosmetics bag next to your ratty backpack. The already embarrassing stash of tampons and old chapstick has a new bounty including a "used" pregnancy test stick with a second line drawn in with pink gel pen jumbled into its contents.

"You left this . . ." he says, not finishing the sentence to indicate where he'd found it. You immediately hear a titter. Your flock of spectators is growing by the second and the useful idiot at its center seems wholly unconcerned.

"Thanks," you say, not bothering to look up or to even hide the bag. You keep writing, blindly, the English words just rounded shapes flowing from your shaking hand. 

Their kind fed off attention, your only defense is to starve them of it.

The Saint clears his throat, again. Apparently he’s not just unconcerned, he’s also unwilling to leave.

"Aren't you grateful Doie found it before someone else did?" You don’t have to look up to know it's Miranda who’s asked, glimpsing her manicure as she picks up your bag, green gems shining on perfectly-tipped nails. 

"Oh this must not be hers. I didn't think she could afford this."

You think she might be diving into the stash for one of the Lilies' pointed additions but no–you watch in horror as she plucks out the bottle of perfume you'd been carrying with you since your parents had gifted you a single, tiny box last Christmas. 

"Chanel?" she says, laughing. "No wonder you smell like my grandma."

"Probably a knock-off," another of the Lilies says. Ginger, by the sound of her grating voice. Her handwriting on the board in homeroom listing out your abortions is as familiar as the pink gel pen script on the extra large foil condom with xoxo slut written on it staring at you through the plastic.

"Definitely a knock-off. You have a nose, don't you, Doie?"

You look up, finally, at Saint Kim. He's alone for once–the other one, the Devil Kim that shadows him is still up on the second level, leaning on the railing over his shoulder. You watch the Saint’s small mouth turn into a moue of distaste, nose wrinkling at the proffered bottle.

"Authentic," he says, capping it before offering it back to you. Your field of vision is obstructed by that veined, pale hand–fingernails as perfectly groomed as the rich girls who surround him.

You reach up to take your most prized possession back only to find he doesn't let go, holding tight when you try to pluck it from his fingers.

"You should know . . . " he says, sniffing slightly.

You look up at him with alarm blazing in your eyes. Every word Kim Doyoung says to you writes your next damnation. You should ignore him, run, anything–but you can't look away once you've met his assessing gaze, his tall frame limned in the fluorescent cafeteria lights like he's carrying his own personal halo. 

Even seeing him at a distance every day can't depreciate how ethereally handsome he is. You know better than to swoon at that elegant face, night-black hair pushed away from his forehead. Beneath his family’s charities and his PR-scripted concern you know he’s just another ungodly creation birthed of nepotism and curated genes.

He leans in, carefully, musical voice a whisper. 

"You should know it doesn't suit you."

The laughter that follows is deafening.

No, you think. He's just as soulless as the rest of them.

“What do you mean actually sleep?" you ask, coyly, unbuttoning your romper. "Like after we . . . ?"

"I've managed 6 hours of sleep in 36 hours, y/n–” Doyoung seems to hesitate, dark eyebrows raising, hand pushing his hair back from his pale forehead. He snaps his laptop closed, at last, shoving it to the farthest edge of the bedside table.

No–you think–not hesitation. 

Frustration.

You've seen this man before. 

All work and no play made Saint Kim into a Prince of Hell. He'd spent the first 8 hours of your date day half-present–the other in the 4 hours of sleep he's gotten since some crisis at his family’s headquarters in London that usurped your vacation. 

A whole 2 days in which he hasn't held you at all. His rules, his chance, but you can't help but wonder what has him so clenched that he's barely even touched you since your date began at 6 am Bangkok time.

You'd taken two extra strength melatonin and slept like the dead, anticipating his early-riser schedule. Only you and God had to know you'd fallen asleep next to your day tour fit ready to be fucked in it. 

You’d made yourself so pretty only to find him in the kitchen hunched over his phone, laptop softly pinging with notifications. Doyoung had still been dressed in the clothes you'd seen him in the night before, ending his conference call to laser in on you hovering in the kitchen.

"Are you upset?" Doyoung asked.

"No," you'd lied, pushing the piece of paper he'd left the staff on the counter, his English handwriting crisp and formal. "What’s this?" 

"We have a few dietary restrictions today," he’d said. 

"Are you saying I am what I eat?" You’d asked, taking a bite of a plump strawberry. "Is this some kind of prep?"

"It's for the date," he'd said, resigned. "Just be patient with me."

Then he'd smiled, disarming you with a casualness you hadn’t seen on him in a long time, rubbing his eyes blearily under his thick glasses. 

"Can we go back to sleep?"

And so you'd settled into his grasp on your made bed, scrolling Insta and waiting for the inevitable alarm–which turned out just to be Jungwoo delivering two iced Americanos in some gambit of checking your progress.

"Missed the floating market opening?" Jungwoo asked, eyebrows raised at the sight of Doyoung face first in a pillow.

You'd silently mouthed your thanks, leaving the drinks to sweat on the bedside table as you changed into your second outfit of the day, occasionally drifting in to check on your sleeping beauty.

It was a rare delight to have him so vulnerable beside you, blanket rucked up beneath his chin and his white teeth visible past the sweet curves of his mouth. Without consciousness your partner for the day is just Kim Doyoung, the gentler side of the same creature who you knew would often choose a couch to watch serial television with you over a day trip if you wanted it. 

But this was different.

Now instead of using his precious time to fulfill what you'd felt promised in his casual brushes against your back when you'd finally traveled out, or the way he'd stroked your leg at brunch under the table (every bite chosen by him, of course), you're being railroaded into lying still while he sleeps. 

Again.

You continue undressing, letting him drink in the sight of the lingerie set he’d left in your room. You knew it was custom made by the way it lifted each curve he’d already had access to, tailored for you as if every millimeter of your body was to account for.

Doyoung's cheeks are hollowed, lip chewed. He pulls his glasses down and regards you even more as you continue to undress yourself.

"You do know what the word 'nap' means, don't you?"

"I'm not the one who hasn't slept," you say. "At least let me get comfortable."

His stare pierces into you as you turn around, stripping for utility rather than give him a show he clearly hasn’t earned. You check yourself in the floor-length mirror beside the bathroom, viewing yourself through his eyes as you pluck the lace over your curves to sit just right. 

“Do you like it?” you ask.

You may as well be speaking to the floor when you turn around, finding him buried in the pillows only by the dark fall of his hair.

“You can’t be that tired,” you say. 

You're used to taking a late afternoon siesta in peak summer but you're far too excited to even consider sleep right now. For one, it's sweltering–windows open to allow the noises of hawkers and traffic not far off to drift in.

Second, you've never been more turned on in your life. 

You can still feel the tingling in your toes from when he’d slipped his hand up under the hem of your shorts, teasing at the velvety smooth skin on your inner thigh as you tried not to choke on your mimosa.

You make your way to the bed languidly, crawling up the thick white duvet with a teasing smile.

"Just stay on your side of the bed, please," Doyoung says.

"Oh," you say, collapsing on top of the covers beside him. "Well you're no fun." 

"And you're impatient and uncouth," he retorts in a way that makes you wonder if he really means it. 

"Will you at least hold onto me?"

"Too hot." He rolls on his back, flapping his half-buttoned shirt in the breeze from the fans. You sigh dramatically, collapsing into the pillows in the middle of the bed. 

"You should get naked, then.” You say. “Don't be modest on my account."

He opens one eye to glare at you, finding you relaxed and inviting beside him. His throat bobs, gaze flicking to the ceiling.

"That year of celibacy really took a toll on you, didn't it? Two hours. Indulge me."

"Please, sir," you whisper. "I've been such a good girl."

It had been a stipulation of the F4’s latest deal–24 hours for you to recover from your first night before the gauntlet began. Doyoung had been more than strict about the terms, leaving you your own set of instructions including–not surprisingly–not touching yourself.

Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t think about masturbation constantly, at all hours of the day. He may as well have told you to try not to think about a white bear for how powerful the intrusive thought had taken over since then.

"You'll get your reward. Later," he says. He's an impassable wall, stretched out beside you, so you content yourself with staring at his profile. Even under these oppressive circumstances you appreciate the light dusting of freckles on his cheek brought out by the sun, the dark lashes dusting his cheeks over the slight bluish marks of sleep deprivation.

"Yes, sir."

It only takes a few minutes for him to snap at you again.

"Stop that," 

"Stop what?" 

"Getting so handsy."

You hadn’t even realized your hand had drifted over the plane of his belly under his white shirt, too absorbed with watching the muscles in his cheek spasm as you inched nearer. 

"Can I help it when you're right there?" you ask. "I thought this was your–"

Doyoung rolls you before you can slither any closer, pressing your back into the sheets with his hands on your wrists, knees digging into your thighs. 

If the intention was to get you to stop being uncomfortably turned on it has the opposite effect: you let out a moan of pleasure, legs twisting together for friction. He slams them shut between his own, groin pressed into yours.

He's as hard as you hoped, and you lift up into him to let him know you know it.

"If you don't behave I'll have to cancel this," he warns directly in your ear, sounding as choked as you feel. "I thought you were already trained." 

"Trained to fight back," you correct, pressing against him with your own strength.

"That's not trained," he says, lifting up. "I'll blame your lack of experience and experienced partners. Nothing we can't work on. Until then you'll follow my rules or I pull you from the game. Understood?" 

You let a few beats pass, accepting there's no way out and you don't have anything to throw back at him.

"Yes, sir," you pout.

"Now that's a good girl," he says.

Just as quickly as you were taken down you're let go, inhaling deeply now that you're not being pressed into the soft bed. 

"You really don't want to play with me before you sleep?" you ask, brushing your lips against his chin as he crouches over you. You’d be a liar if you didn’t say you enjoyed the way his nostrils flare a bit, working his pink bottom lip between his teeth. Whatever arbitrary rules he’d set for your time together you can tell he’s at least regretting it right now, stiff length brushing against your bare leg as you lift your knee to test it. 

“Are you trying to make me punish you?” he asks, voice husky. 

"I thought you liked it when I was a brat," you say, cocking your head. 

Doyoung sighs, eyes half-lidded. "I do. But not when you're using it to avoid intimacy."

Your throat clenches, a hard knot forming in it you can't seem to swallow as your face gets even hotter.

“What are you talking about?” you ask. 

“I think you know what I mean,” he continues. “It’s not like we both don’t have a habit of using sex as a distraction from anything emotionally challenging.”

You gape up at him in disbelief. 

Of course you’d never been able to hide that aspect of your last relationship with him when he’d often been right outside the door. All of the F4 knew how many times your arguments with he-who-should-not-be-named-especially-not-while-in-bed-with-his-best-friend had ended in you shutting him up by any means necessary. Not that you didn’t enjoy it at the time–but rather you understood it wasn’t the most healthy template for a relationship. 

"I thought this wasn't going to be about feelings," you blurt out.

“Proving my point.”

Doyoung tsks, tapping your cheek with his fingers–nowhere near a slap but just as effective, soothing the spot with his thumb. Soon he’s brushing your tears away when they inevitably spring up and you have to turn to hide their seep into the mass of pillows.

"If I wanted therapy I wouldn't be here, Kim Doyoung," you say, trying to bury your face in the piles of soft down. 

“Shh, silly girl,” He gently pulls you out from hiding, soothing you with a warm kiss against your forehead when you stop struggling and let him hold you, releasing that surge of emotion and writing it off to hormones and the sting of rejection.

“You know I’m speaking to myself here, too,” he states softly. “Bear with me, I’m learning.” 

"Do you even really like me?" you ask, face pressed into his chest. 

It’s horrible to admit this specific insecurity but you can’t help it. Being abandoned multiple times in your life when you’d finally, finally let your walls down would damage anyone’s trust. You’d hoped this day with him would be easy and carefree and light, not dimmed by the shadows of your anti-romantic histories. 

"I adore you, actually." He settles partially on top of you, leg wrapped over yours as he props himself up on his elbow. "Which is why I want to start this right. You wanted the F4 boyfriend experience. This is mine."

"Last I checked you’ve never seriously dated anyone," you groan, sniffling. 

"Last I checked, neither have you." 

Well, that connects. You swallow your fears, relaxing into the cage of his embrace, retreating a little from the vulnerability of being exposed.

"What kind of girlfriend experience were you expecting, then?"

A lazy smile gusts across his features. You can't help but find it a bit sinister after being handled so indelicately. 

“I don’t always know what’s going on in that empty little head of yours." He accompanies his statement with a brush of his thumb across your flushed cheek, tracing your semi-parted lips in a way that sends sparks down to your core. 

"I’d like to stop guessing and actually get you to let me treat you the way you want to be treated. Have you ever asked yourself what you want?"

You panic a little, considering his words. Living with disappointment had made this question a hard one to even consider. 

"I just want a good time. Isn't that what you want, too?"

Doyoung seems to ignore your ask, drifting into a relaxed state against the pillows. His hand traces the hairline at your temple. "You know I worry about you. All the time, actually.” 

His voice is lower, a little wistful, and it’s doing just as much as the slight brushes of his fingertips to make you throb all over again. A lack of sleep must have made him delusional, you think. This is not the Kim Doyoung you know.

“You’re always thinking of how to take care of the people around you, I think you’ve forgotten how to relax and let other people take care of you.”

"Is that why you're always involving yourself in my business?" you ask, matching his tone in how breathless you are. You expect a quip, not the sincerity written on his face when he swoops in to press a gentle kiss against your lips, too fleeting to be anything but sweet and sincere. 

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do all this time? It certainly wasn’t just to get into your pants. I want you. All of you.” 

You're taken aback by his honesty. You'd always suspected his constant meddling in your affairs came from a place of interest but you'd never wanted to give him too much of a response–maybe a little afraid his fickle nature and fear of commitment would mean he’d give up on your friendship, too. 

Another thing you knew about Saint Kim: he had a tendency to run like a frightened rabbit at the first sign of emotional neediness in his partners. You'd never given him reason to believe you expected anything from him, but you'd also stopped fighting him on giving you what he desired to give.

It wasn’t just presents or expensive experiences, of course. He’d found out quickly those weren’t welcome without some cajoling. No–his art was in knowing what you needed even before you realized it, nudging it across your path. 

You’d figured out his deviousness after the umpteenth time someone was charitable at your little florist shop part time job, offering to fix your scooter in exchange for a nice arrangement for a proposal. As soon as you’d seen the fully restored bike outside and the customer didn’t return your texts you’d called Doyoung, completely unsurprised to find he was at the coffee shop next door, waiting to pick up his flowers.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you’d said. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“What makes you think I’m giving you charity,” he’d responded, dropping a department store bag and your own custom coffee order on the counter. “You’ll wear this when I come to pick you up tonight at closing, including the jewelry and perfume. I need you to play your part again. The flowers are a consolation for the heart we’re breaking.”

He’d enlisted you as his defacto “new girlfriend” for the more difficult separations, and though you’d gotten your share of a glass of expensive wine thrown in your face more often than he ever experienced it (his type always went after the easier target) it wasn’t like he didn’t have a replacement dress ready and a nice dinner waiting after you’d cleaned off the Chateau Lafitte Rothschild. 

You have to face the fact that no matter how many times he’d treated you like his girlfriend, you’d never actually expected him to want you to be one. 

“I’ve waited a very long time for this, Y/N. Which is why I want our first time together–alone," he adds quickly. "–To be special."

It's difficult to believe him but you're spellbound all the same, watching pink dust his cheeks and his ears turn a shade darker as he most likely realizes how ridiculous it is considering him fucking you senseless the other night with the help of two other men. 

But you can empathize with his anxiety. Yesterday's Thai massage he'd arranged had helped you work out the flight or fight of anticipating being alone with him. It’s back now, but different. The way he's looking at you makes you feel infinitely naked, infinitely unlocked.

"What do you mean special?" you ask, wary, hoping to see some glimmer of uncertainty or falsehood in his gaze. You want to believe it's a lie or just some artful prank, trying to ignore your heart flip-flopping in your chest. 

It’s a mistake to let him see you squirm considering it’s Doyoung’s drug of choice–his lips twist into another menacing grin as he plays with the charm on your necklace. Another of his little gifts.

"Do you think you can handle it?" Doyoung asks, dripping self-satisfaction. “Or are you going to chicken out on me?”

You turn over so he can't see your expression, realizing he’s throwing your own words from the night before right back at you.

"I haven’t decided if I want to date you, yet,” you say. 

"Maybe not," he says. "But you'll have to pardon me for wanting to show you this good time you supposedly want while also treating you decently. Unless we're no longer friends?"

"We are," you say, biting your lip, "even if you enjoy torturing me."

"Torture?" He laughs, breathy. 

"Metaphorically speaking."

"You have no idea, do you?" You can feel the edge of his glasses as he bites the place where your clavicle connects to your shoulder, his hand snaking around your bare middle.

"You could show me," you invite, mid-gasp, as your body responds to his long-awaited touch. His fingers are almost cool in contrast to the heat in the room, tracing circles in your skin that have you squirming. 

"Is that a challenge?" he asks.

Why not?

"We don't have to have sex," you offer. "Maybe you could just–"

"Shh," he says, fingers skimming lower. "My terms. Are you going to stay quiet for me?"

You nod into the comforter, breath hitching as he touches you through the thin layer of your underwear, veined hand flexing as he molds the damp fabric to your body. It's such a delicate pressure but he's already memorized your shape, index finger sinking into your folds, gently rubbing a ring around your throbbing clit.

You're sticky and swelling with each pass, entranced by how good he is at teasing you, cherishing the way he sucks in his breath when he pushes into the indent of your hole.

“Doie,” you whine, leaning back into him, trying to get him to kiss you as he laughs into your hair. 

“Quiet,” he reminds you, kissing your cheek and teasing the seat of your underwear where they're soaked the most. "You want to take these off?" 

You shake your head, sensing it would be too easy of you to give in.

"That wasn't a question," he says, tugging down the band, leaving them trapped tight around your thighs. "I don't want you to wear them until I tell you that you can." 

You feel your core clench at the way his voice cracks, his fingers sliding back up to slowly and delicately draw a thread of moisture from your bared slit. You whine a little when he stops touching you, bringing his fingertip to your lips.

"Taste it." 

You let your mouth fall open, let him run it over your tongue, beginning from the middle and swirling over it. 

"Describe it," he murmurs. "If I like your answer, maybe I'll indulge you more." 

"Salt," you say, immediately. 

He tugs your hair, making you meet his eyes. 

"Have I taught you anything? I want specific notes. Flavors." 

You're transported back to the time he'd taken you to your first (and last) wine tasting. Spitting into a bucket and being lectured about body and tannins and soil conditions was the last thing you'd wanted to do after an hours-long trip to a vineyard but you'd indulged him, allowed one glass of what he considered the only drinkable wine on the premises. 

An unrefined palette, he'd called you. 

"Fruity and floral," you make up. "A nice lingering finish. Want a taste?" 

He looks down at you behind his glasses, equal parts amused and unimpressed. "Did you use the soap I asked you to?" 

Your brain glitches at that. Had you? You'd been in such a rush to go out–

You gasp when he palms your breast, squeezing the meat of it through the breathable fabric of your matching bra.

"I'll take that as a no," he says. "I guess you're not ready." 

He rolls off of you, leaving you in a lurch as you realize your legs are locked together by your underwear. You move to remove them, taking off your bra as well to avoid the awkwardness of being partially dressed.

By the time you're done you realize he's on his back, the hand that had been stroking you buried in his loose khakis. 

"What are you doing?" you ask, more than a little pissed off at the sight of him masturbating as if you aren't ready and willing to assist beside him. 

"Getting ready for our date. You can watch. No touching." He cracks an eye to look at you before closing it again. "Either of us."

"Are you edging me, Kim Doyoung?" Your menacing tone is entirely natural.

He hums a bit, working himself at a more punishing pace, knuckles peeking out from under his boxer briefs with each full pass over his length.

"Can't even look at me? Afraid you'll lose control?" You sidle down on the bed, beside his tensed thigh. You can smell a bit of the ozone on him from a morning in the sun, your knees knocking into his calves when you move over him.

"I don't trust you," he says, voice deeper than you've ever heard it.

"Is it touching if you finish on my face?" you ask when he finally blinks up at your presence, hovering over him with your breasts dangerously close to his clothed thighs.

"Absolutely not."

"Not touching–"

"Just. Watch," he orders.

He pulls himself free from his pants, surprising you with how dark and weeping his tip is as his thumb encircles it. Pools of white precum spatter on his lean, pale belly, your head dipping dangerously close–

"I said watch." He grabs at your hair, denied when you bend up again, showing him your dirty tongue.

He groans, fingers clenching air. "You were put on this earth to test me, weren't you?"

Still, he doesn't break his attention on the way you roll the drops you'd licked from his clean skin in your mouth, swallowing once you've fully enjoyed the taste.

"A little sweet you say," teasing him. "Drinking pineapple juice?"

"Brat," Doyoung says, but he's almost gone–eyes dark with desire, gently gripping your skull as you continue to ease in.

You're a master at following his lead, blowing a breath over the spot you'd licked, and then his length until his movements slow, cherishing the way you hold your mouth over his cock.

"If you can't give me what I want, then at least give me a taste," you say, sticking out your tongue in offering. You love the way he responds to the sight, needy and losing it when you hold eye contact, drilling into him.

"No," he echoes, weakly. He's too smart to push into your open mouth, instead driving his hips up to fuck his fist as you watch his glasses slide down his nose, eyes clenching shut. 

"You're no fun," you say. "Just a little swallow can't hurt?"

"No. Don't want to ruin it," he says cryptically, making a choked noise as you brush his fingers with your nose and he has to pull you away.

"I promise you it . . . It will be worth it," he manages. His jaw clenches as his movements relax, finally in control of you both.

"It better be," you say. 

You lower your lashes as your eyes flick between his cock and his face, stretching out your tongue to the point that drool begins to drip down your chin, splashing on his whitened knuckles and the tight stretch of his balls peeking out from his underwear. He bites his lip, breath holding as he starts to spiral.

The first thick rope of white rockets up his half-bared chest. Soon he's spurting even more, cum reaching his rucked up shirt, a little getting on his glasses. 

He's so out of it he doesn't fight as you wrest out of his limp hold. You clean up the sticky mess on his skin with your tongue, his abdominal muscles twitching under the light flicks and drags. 

"Want to give me some notes?" you ask, straddling him without resting any weight down, taking off his glasses. This time when you move to kiss him he rises weakly to meet you, lips parting to accept what you haven't swallowed. 

In truth, he tastes wonderful. Coffee, a little menthol from toothpaste and a hint of the watermelon you'd shared earlier mix beneath the coat of his spend.

He licks into your mouth until you moan, your body throbbing with unfulfilled pleasure. You follow him as he sinks back into the pillows, enjoying having him at your disposal, your core leaving wet trails on his thigh when you brush against the fabric.

"I'm going to wait until you're asleep and use you if you don't help me get off," you threaten, pressing soft kisses to his slack face. It’s no use. Doyoung has passed out again, lower teeth visible as he snores softly, forehead sheened with drying sweat.

Fuck it, you think. 

You ooze off of him to take your second cold shower of the day, and maybe get acquainted with one of the fancy showerheads in his massive walk-in while you use his special soap. 

It's not–technically–touching yourself.

Your mystery destination isn't an unknown–it's in every tourist booklet and blog you'd skimmed before your trip, thinking you'd be on your own to find a good spot to traverse to. But it still takes your breath away the moment the car door opens in the sprawl of motorbikes and delivery trucks and Doyoung takes your hand to pull you into Paradise.

Pak Khlong Talat is a bustle of energy well after dark, the time you know its treasures are delivered fresh and unbloomed, wrapped in newspaper and steeped in crushed ice. For as far as you can see the market sprawls along Chak Phet road, but even more overwhelming than the sights and sounds is the scent. 

Jasmine, roses, lavender. Thousands upon thousands of blooms strung up and tended to by night owl vendors, delicate arrangements hand-sewed by artisans streetside into garlands so well-crafted Doyoung has to tug you to keep you moving, onwards to some other unspoken destination. 

"I was worried you might hate flowers after working with them for so long. I take it you like it?" he asks, indulging you when you ask if you can take his picture at a particularly lovely hang of garlands, the purple-blue light perfect for the film you'd loaded into your father's old camera. Photography had never been your craft, but after your dad had passed you'd made an effort to capture more of your memories, cherishing what you'd taken for granted before.

“It’s perfect,” you say, admiring him through the viewfinder. "But can you look like you're having fun?" 

Your model is stiff, mouth a moue as he checks the street for other observers or a possible collision with a laden handcart. 

"Fun?" Doyoung asks, and you snap his picture on the offbeat, enjoying his look of surprise. 

“Like you've taken your date to one of the most romantic places on earth, after buttering her up with a night cruise of Chao Praya and finally letting her eat real food." 

He sniffs at a fall of marigolds, a smug look on his face that you commit to film, right before he sneezes. 

"For the record, we're eating after this. Som tam hardly counts as a meal, I just didn’t want that drink going to your head." 

You're shepherded through the vast warehouse of the main market, to an adjacent street, and into a non-descript building painted in a funereal white.

"Are we even allowed to be here?" you ask, once the key code is entered and you enter the strange business. 

"I called in a favor," he says, taking your hand, leading you up a metal staircase past a simple storefront of dried blooms and shelves laden with boxes and bottles alike.

An apothecary? An alchemist's shop? The purpose of the space eludes you.

"An atelier," Doyoung explains. "One of the most sought out in the world."

There's the distant hum of the city outside and a central air you're unused to in this climate but the upstairs is quiet–by all accounts either an office or a laboratory, or a mixture of both. The central working area is a chaotic but organized space filled with tables of glassware and dried floral arrangements contrasting potted orchids, small beakers of coffee beans littered amidst rows of labeled brown bottles.

"So this is how they make perfume," you say, inspecting a stoppered bottle labeled "Gerianol 10%".

"Not just any perfume. The best. Here." Doyoung leads you to a much less cluttered workstation, the desk arranged with the lights still on, a note detailing some instruction you can barely read before he slips it into the pocket of his slim-tailored pants. Beneath it is a notebook, scrawled with a perfect cursive English you recognize from the cards he’d included in boxes or bags whenever he’d bothered to claim their contents. 

"Sit," he instructs. You think he means the comfortable chair but before you can sit down he presses you to the desk, caging you in. 

"Sit," he repeats, hands on your hips through your slinky skirt, lifting you to the bench. You scoot back, carefully, the white blooms of some exotic flower brushing against your cheek until he can move the vase a careful distance. 

"Do you understand what we’re doing here?"

You can't possibly know what he means, eye level with the graceful column of his neck and his exposed collarbone beneath his translucent button-down, drowning in the melange of scents but most especially his clean, neutral cologne. 

"No," you say, honestly, heart beating fast. 

He picks up a corked flask from some kind of metal scale, dipping a thin thread of paper into it to waft it a fair distance from your nose.

"Before we came here--before you even agreed to this trip–I sent instructions to my friend for a specialty blend of their creation. It took quite a bit of back-and-forth–I even visited here last month to take a private class and make sure we prepared the base and middle to your standards."

"For me?" 

You feel dizzy, reaching out to take the sample and smell it again, his hand capturing your own before you can bring it too close to your nose. He wafts it for you, expectant as you absorb the details.

Indeed, it smells divine–exactly the kind of warm, bright notes that make your heart feel at ease. There’s something floral and citrus worked in, not too heavy, the finish leaving you with an impression of a lazy summer afternoon. 

“It’s beautiful,” you say. “Did you make this to match what you knew I liked?”

"Yes.” Doyoung exhales, looking almost sheepish. "I had some references. That cheap shampoo you never stop buying, the Lush exfoliator with the orange blossom, even–" he shudders a bit– "that awful Chanel you doused yourself in, in high-school."

"Coco Mademoiselle," you say. "It's been years since I–"

"It didn't suit you," he says, standing up to sample another bottle from the neat row. 

Something dawns on you, a distant memory locking into place.

"It was you," you gasp in realization. "You're the one who got rid of it. I should have known when you tried to give me that bottle of Jo Malone–"

“It had already turned. You need to store your scents away from direct light.”

“It was a keepsake!” There were very few possessions from your youth that you’d been able to hold onto–not only because your parents had been barely able to afford your school uniforms, much less gifts. What little you’d had was lost when your house was destroyed by the men your father owed money to, this small thing neglected in the destruction.

“It didn't suit you because it wasn't made for you," he continues. "You wore it because you thought it would make you fit in, when you should have made what you wore wear you–"

"Please, stop."

You have to bite your lip to the point of pain, remembering how excited you'd been to unwrap that tiny bit of luxury your parents had saved up to buy you, your mother sure the brand name would save you from another day of humiliation. You didn’t have the heart to tell them that the cutout ad from the magazine on your wall was for the model, not the actual perfume, but you felt loved by the gesture all the same.

Hundreds of thousands of won an ounce for it to only turn on your skin, well before afternoons spent on the basketball court under the thankless sun. That memento had aged from pink to a sickly rose unused on your cosmetic shelf, a totem from a time when you imagined yourself belonging. Before it had disappeared, like so many other things.

You can't remember the last time you'd worn anything, had never even gone near that section of a department store after the humiliation of being made fun of for smelling cheap.

“My dad skipped lunches and my mom worked double shifts to get that for Christmas my first year in Kocher,” you say. “Mira was the brand ambassador for that campaign, you know.”

Mira had been your idol even before you won the scholarship she’d established to attend Kocher. Perfect, beautiful, but most of all the first girl in their sphere to show you genuine kindness.

"It must be so easy for you," you say, wiping your face. You rarely cried these days but that memory was particularly painful, a reminder of how often you’d assumed Doyoung found you just as offensive. Not just your scent, you thought, but you.

Something to be tolerated. Below his regard. 

"Whatever you want, you can have. Whatever you don't like, you can get rid of. I'm sorry, I don't live in your world. I can’t just throw something away when it’s not useful."

"No," he says, quietly, abandoning his explanation. "That was thoughtless of me. I can replace it–"

“Can you?” You glare up at him. “Is this what you really want? To dress me up like your perfect doll and feed me from your hand so I’m more able to suit you?

Doyoung looks like he's going to be ill, every design in his head unraveling before your eyes. You’d feel sorry for him if you didn't know this was a lesson worth imparting.

"Don't ever offer to replace what you don’t know the true value of," you say, voice trembling.

There's a weighted silence as he considers his next words. You still haven't slipped away from him, choosing to hold your ground. How many times had you been forced to be the antagonist in some fruitless class warfare, unresolved? But then you also had a habit of finding battles in peacetime. 

You pluck the newest scent strip from his frozen hand and waft it between you, at the designated distance.

“Thank god this smells nothing like it,” you murmur. You offer him a wry smile, anger fading. “I couldn’t stand it.”

You feel Doyoung’s relief as he collapses against you, forehead against your hair as his arms wrap tight around your middle. You relax after a bit, cheek pressed to his collarbone as you breathe in his unique scent–a little like fresh laundry left out in the sun.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “All these promises and plans and stupid details and at the end of the day I really . . . Don't know what I'm doing."

"I really don’t know what you’re doing, either," you say. "But I like that you try.”

"You do?" The hope in his voice makes your iciness melt a bit. You let your hands twine around his neck, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease with the gesture.

“I know it’s not easy for me to admit but I do appreciate everything you do for me, Doie,” you say. 

He doesn’t respond in words but you savor the shift in his demeanor, like a weight has been lifted from him. You think even he didn’t know it was there. You ignore the glassiness in his eyes when he pulls back, choosing to look at his notes instead.

“Are these all the ingredients?” you ask, working out a few of the more familiar words. “What’s op–?”

“First things first,” he says, rolling up his sleeves.  "Did you touch yourself?" 

"No," you say, surprised by the shift. "I followed your instructions. No products with scents. No underwear."

You spread your thighs to make your point. His hands hike your skirt up, over the breadth of skin to your hips and then to the curl of your belly, his breath hitching as he finds you already glossy.

It had been a bit of a gambit considering your riverside excursion but he'd allowed you a lemongrass-based repellent–the scent of which is still clinging to your bare skin as he kneels down to press a kiss to where his fingers had traced earlier.

You jerk a bit, conscientious of the workspace as he spreads you, just that light touch making your nipples harden beneath your thin shirt and bra.  

“Are we allowed to–”

“Shh. Relax and try not to spill anything,” he interrupts, breath cooling your wetness. “I just need some inspiration.”

“What?” 

"You’re so good already," he says into your sex, spreading you so he can lightly tongue at your skin. “Perfect little flower just for me.”

After waiting so long, you're torn between begging and shoving his teasing licks away, hand threading through his raven hair as the notebook slips from your hand.

"Kim Doyoung–” you gasp as he spears his tongue through your upper folds, nose nudging the sensitive bud. “–if this is another round of teasing I will murd–”  

You yelp as he hunches down to wrap your legs around his shoulders, hands re-occupied by exposing you as you try to stay upright. 

“Don’t worry. You can come like this. I want to know if you taste different after.”

You don't know what he means until his mouth closes over your clit, sucking just right. You jolt, pinched on the meat of your thigh until you can relax again, making little mewls as he rolls his thumbs alongside the point of contact.

“I want you inside of me,” you beg, feeling that fluttering sensation that heralds a build-up. “I wanted to come with you inside me.” 

“Soon. Just need to be good while I sample you.” 

“Sample?” Your hand sinks into his hair in panic, tugging, but Doyoung is too lost alternating between suckling at your sex and palpating you with a circling thumb, his beautiful hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread.

“Drip for me, first.” 

“I don't think I can–”

“You giving up already?” Doyoung scoffs, smirking up at you with reddened lips, tongue-tip darting against your clit. Every brush of soft muscle makes you spasm a bit, belly tightening unfulfilled.

You shake your head, panting. “I just . . . Doie I want you inside me.” 

“You can relax and take it,” he says, tongue wrapping around your labia, sucking slightly. Your head is buzzing, every stray thought removed by his exploration of you.

“Relax. If you don't I'll just have to try until you're begging for me to stop.” 

“No, please, Doie. I'll be good,” you plead. “Just . . . need something inside. Hurts so bad being empty.”

“Hand me a pipette.”

“What?”

“The one that looks like an eyedropper,” he says, hand open to accept like he’s performing surgery. You fight to find the right glassware with his mouth still on you, efforts more focused and intense as your legs tense with each hit. You find the rubber-stoppered glass cylinder, stomach dropping. 

“Is this safe?” You ask, gripping his mussed hair tighter when he pulls away for a moment.

“If you hold still, yes,” he taunts. You seize when you first feel the tip slip inside you. The glass is cool but warms to your body heat quickly, too slim to feel anything.

“Good girl,” he says. “You’re even pushing this out, you must be so tight.”

“I am. Too tight,” you groan. “Please don’t tease me anymore.”

He ignores you, focusing on his work, pulling the instrument free when he’s satisfied.

“Not bad,” he says, dropping it on the desk beside you before he’s back on his knees with his nose buried in your cunt. “Bet you can do better than that.”

“No, please, I need you–”

“Then drip for me,” he laughs into your leg, tracing the wetness down the crease in your thigh. You tense your hold on the desk’s edge when you feel his tongue prod at your entrance, muscle breaching your hole to lick into you. He makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat that has you plummeting just as he resumes stroking your clit through the slippery coat of your arousal. 

Finally, you think, feeling the advent of tears for how wound tight you are, how desperate you are to feel him give you just one more point of contact with the ache inside.

“Oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you repeat, the noises obscene as he drinks you in, other hand on your hip to hold you against his face. It’s not even the stimulation that makes you begin to come but the audible groan he releases as he feels you quake against his mouth, heels snagging on his shirt when the first wave breaks and those little tics inside you turn into powerful contractions around his tongue-tip taking everything you can give him. 

He keeps licking you even when you’re begging for him to stop, nose tracing down to catch a stray drop from the back of your knee with a playful dart of his tongue. 

“Was it worth it?” you ask, folding over him as he wipes his mouth clean in your drenched skirt. You know it’s just the start but you already feel wrung out and feather-light, wicking away the sweat that’s beaded on your own face despite the cool, dry air of the room. 

“Hmm?” he hums a bit, disentangling to stand up and hold your face in his hands. His pupils are blown, sweat beading on his temples, but he looks as satisfied as you hoped he would be, your arousal drying on his slender features.

“All the prep,” you say. “Isn’t that why–do I taste as good as you expected after all that?”

Doyoung looks down on you, amused. Already you feel like you’re heating up again, with how his dark eyes flit to your mouth and back up again. 

“You think I prefer you prepped?” he asks, angling his head down besides yours to whisper in your ear. “The next time I eat that perfect little pussy of yours I want it to be filthy.” 

He traces the lobe with his teeth for good measure, pulling another moan out of you. “I’ll even make sure to wait until the other two have a go at you, first.”

You feel your heartbeat stutter as he presses his lips to your pulse point, tongue darting past his lips to dab at the sweat there.

“No, precious, I wanted to make sure the perfume we make tonight matches all of you.” Doyoung’s nose brushes your ear as he breathes in your scent. “Every time I wear it I’m going to remember the way you sounded when you first came for me and me only.”

The promise of it has you feeling a different kind of heat, dizzying for how much you want it to last past this night. 

“Fuck,” you whisper explosively, eyes clenched shut to stay fixed upright, fisting the thin material of his collar as he pulls you from the countertop and against the hard planes of his body. “I need you. Now. Please.”

“I like hearing you say that,” he chuckles a bit. “But I’m going to make you earn it. You can wait a little longer. You made me wait years, after all.”

You let him guide you into his lap, in the chair, pushed into the desk as he opens the notebook to another page. And another, until you take over and explore it for yourself. In the dim golden light from the street outside you catch glimpses of colors and drawings, notes written of impressions and memories you’d all but forgotten in your haze of grief these past few years. 

There’s even photographs taped to some of the pages–ones you know well by the fact that they’d been taken on your camera. Doyoung didn’t have Jaehyun’s artistic training but he did have an eye for capturing candid moments.

November, your first year of college. You’re standing in the first snow of the season, catching flakes on your tongue. You can still feel the burn of them, hear the murmur of the city dulled in a fresh blanket of white and taste the roasted yam you’d eaten, tossing it in your mittened hands until it was cool enough to peel. 

Doyoung’s shoulder is off-kilter beside yours, unable to capture himself in the frame for all his long reach. The peek of the striped scarf you’d knitted for him in gray and blue is all that’s visible of him under his peacoat, the mismatched weave of it captured even in this poor exposure.

“Base note: cedarwood,” you read, carefully, eyes hazing a bit with emotion. Evergreen.

“I still have it, you know,” he murmurs against your temple. “I only stopped wearing it because it started unraveling.”

“I’d make you another but I quit knitting after making three scarves,” you say, wryly. “Well two and a half, actually, I ran out of yarn on Jungwoo’s and made him a hat instead.”

“I thought you were just trying to get him to hide that ridiculous military haircut,” Doyoung muses. “Keep going or we’ll be here all night.”

“Now you’re impatient?” you ask, cementing your flirtation by shifting in his lap. You can’t ignore the feeling of his erection folded against the curve of your ass, or the way he grunts when you find a better seat with it nestled between your thighs.

“Sometimes I forget you were put on this planet to vex me,” he says. You’re lifted up by the waist, a hand on your lower back the moment you’ve found the desk for support, face above the book. 

“Why don’t you try reading until I’m satisfied you know exactly what you’re getting?”

You don’t fight him, elbows bent as he rucks up your skirt. You feel your face grow warm with blood as you find yourself exposed to him again, locked in by his legs and his groping touch reaching up beneath your shirt. 

"Base notes: amber and–" you have to fight to keep your voice steady as he swats your exposed curves, hard enough to sting. 

"Ambergris,” he corrects, voice fried with delight.

“Ambergris,” you repeat. “And white musk."

"Good. And?"

"Bisabol–" you begin, corrected with another slap on your ass that hits, hard, glass jingling on the table.

"Did you jump ahead?" He asks, knowing full well your eyes are swimming with tears. 

"No sir," you say. “I didn’t think that was a real word.”

"Opoponax." He says, reaching over you to grab a bottle, dropping a thick oil on you and rubbing it into your bruising skin. "Also known as sweet myrrh. Go ahead. Keep reading."

"Source: distilled from resin from ancient groves in Somalia, bought in Mogadishu from a local orchard, all profits to fund schools and clinics for women displaced by civil war." 

"Do you believe this to be a charitable effort?" He asks, hand spreading over your buttocks. You think he might be referring more to your arrangement than whatever is written on the page.

"No," you say. Your history and political know-how might be lacking but you've seen the wrong side of kindness. "It sounds like what people write to make themselves feel better about exploitation."

"Clever girl," he answers. You feel his nose brush against your skin, testing the mingling of scent with it. "Keep going."

You turn the page, swallowing back your protests. This spread is rich with text and color, a veritable garden bursting from the page. You fix on the first entry in the upper corner, bracing yourself for another faux pas.

"Heart notes: Turkish rose," you say. "What is this, poetry?"

"Aren’t you familiar with it?"

You shake your head, lips pursed in delight at the scrawl of English. “No.”

You let out a gasp as he bites the flesh nearer your back, the sting of it surely leaving a mark by the way the pain lingers.  

"Read it," he says, dipping over you for another bottle. “You’ll remember.”

"I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows," you dictate, stumbling over every word and yet never punished for it. Instead Doyoung lets a steady drip of the bottle fall down the back of your leg to your knee, his fingers bringing up the rest to mix what he's already poured on you.

"Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine." 

You end your recitation in a whisper, leather binding and paper gripped in your fingers as he massages the oil gently into your tingling skin, careful to avoid where your legs are locked together in arousal. You're heady with scent and sensation, awaiting some reminder that this isn't just a strange dream you’ve wandered into.

"There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, lulled in these flowers with dances and delight," he finishes for you as he paints the rest up your spine beneath your shirt. You let him ministrate on your body as the words settle, as time recedes and you face a version of your youth you’re not sure isn’t just fiction. 

That book beside you, the first time he’d spoken to, long forgotten.

“Midsummer’s Night Dream,” you say, turning to face him again, settling between his thighs as he fails to meet your gaze. You lift his face with your fingers, cheeks indented by your gentle hold. “You remembered that, too?”

“It was the first time you ever looked at me,” he says. “And it felt like you saw right through me.”

No, you’re not dreaming. You’re the architect of this moment just as much as he’ll claim to be a cursory observer if confronted on it. 

You take in his mismatched eyes–one folding a little more than the other when he smiles at you ruefully. Those freckles you’d never really spent time examining, a happy accident of the time he’d spent with you in the sun. His fingers catching yours for a moment when you weren’t paying attention.

But most of all, the haunted cast where he’d lost sleep managing someone else’s problems. When he’d still been worrying about yours.

“You’re always thinking of how to take care of the people around you, I think you’ve forgotten how to relax and let other people take care of you.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t think I ever really saw you until now.”

“What didn’t you see?” he asks, expectantly.

Six years of his careful distance from you, that coldness and disinterest just another mask for someone who was as raw and vulnerable and real as you if you managed to pry open their shell. His tendency towards control, towards the knife’s slice of cutting you so cleanly from his life no one would know your name unless he spoke it aloud.

There wasn’t another human being in their right mind who’d last that test, your only grace being that he’d thought you were untouchable. His best friend’s girlfriend, of course. But beyond that, one of his best friends. 

No, one of his only friends.

“What didn’t you see?”

It wouldn’t require money or taste or a family name to bring Saint Kim down to earth. Just time and small acts of resistance, like the beautiful shell remnants you’d spilled into his hands on that last trip to Maui together, when it had still been the five of you. Each ground down to a small disc with a perfect spiral at its center, a reminder of the beauty remaining in broken things.

You place the notebook in his hands, curling your fingers around his. The pages it’s opened to are sparsely constructed, besides the photographs nestled between. Only you two know what’s there, buried in black sands and blue waters. You can see his handwriting falter where he’s written the notes for this moment in your shared history, sketches of those shells, and flowers.

A single photograph of you watching the others playing in the surf, his shadow cutting across the stretch of your legs.

Top notes: Jasmine for sensuality. 

Orange Blossom for innocence. 

Plumeria, for admiration. a new beginning . . .

You recognize the creamy yellow-white flower he’d tucked behind your left ear when you’d fallen asleep beside him. A non-native plant to the island, you’d learned, worn to indicate one was taken. A weed, like you, now prized as a treasure.

“What didn’t you see?”

You pull back to look at him, giving him yourself without reservation. 

“That I think you love me . . .” you say. “. . . Like I think I love you, too.” 

He looks up at you, astounded, the chair beneath him creaking as he collapses. 

For once you regret being beside him when you’d heard the same words spoken to him by other people, pulled into their lives without you ever remembering their names. The difference between you, you once believed, was that they didn’t mean it. 

Now, you understand, they just never knew the true cost of losing him. 

You watch him collect himself, running a hand back through his hair and curling into his seat, memories forgotten in his lap, bedamned. You’re sure the engines of Hell are running hot for the way he can’t even look at you right now. 

He needs a way out, you think. You’d rather be drowned in other women’s wine poured over your head than be on the receiving end of his disregard again, the script already constructed in your mind before you’d found you had the nerve to sleep with him.

"You can be honest with me,” you say. “Tell me it's been fun but you're not interested in a relationship.”

“What?” Doyoung is just as confused as when you’d told him you loved him, as honest as you’ve been in both sentiments. 

“Your family will never approve of me. I’m just another fling you happened to take a more lasting interest in. It’s better this way. Cut me off, forget about me and move on.”

It's his turn to balk. You expect his pre-programmed response. Saint Kim's gospel for turning down the interested but uninteresting party: deflect, dissuade, detach. 

“No,” he says, face draining of color.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I can handle it. Really. We can still be friends.” 

“No,” he repeats, more forcefully.

“What do you mean, no?” you ask. “Isn’t that how this always ends?”

“You stupid girl,” he says, grabbing your face in his hands so you can’t escape, making you look into his warm gaze. 

"Don’t you get it? This was always about feelings.”

When his lips crush against yours you don't have to speak to respond, catching his head so you’re not suffocated by the raw emotion you can feel in every movement. You return each kiss until the breath is out of your lungs, until you're drowning in his scent as he forces you back onto the desk.

You’re impatient to feel him, everywhere, aware you’re ripping buttons as you open his shirt to gain access to his smooth chest, trailing kisses as far down as you can go, still unable to escape his tongue sliding over yours.  

“I wasn’t going to do this here, like this, but fuck it,” he says once he’s free, fumbling with his belt as he holds you to pepper your face and neck in a steady reminder of his affection. “I need you.”

“I need you, too,” you echo wholeheartedly, helping free him out of his clothing, pulling his length to where you’re still slick with oils and cum and ready for him. God, you think you’ve never been more ready to break around him, to show him what he’s brought out of you with this game.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore,” you whisper. 

You watch his face, breath held and heart stuttering as he sinks into you slowly, both of you gasping at the way your heat resists each measure of his continuous thrust. It feels like he’s barely in you when he stops, making you moan in dismay.

“Doie, please,” you say, trying and failing to wrap your legs around his slender hips to capture him deeper. You’re half out of your mind with that burning weight inside you remaining still.

“Say it,” he says, taking off your shirt to have access to your skin. He pulls down your bra, nipples tugged between his fingers as he assaults your neck with his tongue and teeth.

“It’s special,” you choke out. “Thank you, please–”

“Say it,” he corrects, twitching inside you but not moving an inch more. He curls down to nip at your breast above the lace, sucking a mark into the softest part. “Without the ‘I think’.” 

“No,” you resist, realizing what he’s asking too late. Your nails sink into his half-bared shoulder, head rolling against his. “You don’t get to torture me for that.”

“Don’t chicken out on me now.” Doyoung laughs against your cheek, hand splaying around your hip to still your squirming. “I can do this as long as it takes.”

He thrusts, just a little more, making you cry out in desperation as the contents of the desk tinkle behind you. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. “You think I love you?”

“So, so close.” He pulls out, rocking into you again to feel the seize of your entire body when you anticipate just how far he’ll go before denying you. A little more, at least, and you can feel how much it’s taking for him, see the strain in his body as he holds back.

“You love me,” you tease, this time not a question, no you think. “Saint Kim loves me.”

He sheathes himself in you fully, gripping your nape to kiss you as you clench involuntarily around him, protests in the back of your throat muffled by his tongue sliding across yours. He tugs at your bottom lip when he breaks free, fully smiling now like he isn’t buried completely in your cunt just warming himself instead of chasing his own bliss.

“What did you call me?” he asks, leaning over you to retrieve something. 

You take advantage of his distraction to snake a hand between you, slipping beneath your skirt before it’s grabbed, tight, and brought up to his lips. 

“Don’t cheat,” he says, wrapping your fingers around the cap of a bottle. 

“You never heard anyone call you that?” you murmur, opening it. 

You smell spring flowers and delicate citrus before it’s taken away, set aside when you nibble and suck at his sensitive ear to make him twitch, hands drifting across his ticklish belly down to his hipbones. He reads your intent again, stopping whatever silly task he’s doing beside you to lift your wrists to his shoulders. 

“The name is a little ironic, isn’t it?” you say, squeezing him experimentally with your thighs as you stroke his nape with your nails. You flex other muscles too–earning the grunt he makes as he feels you squeeze around his girth. 

He angles your head, pressing something wet and soft to where your pulse flutters in your neck. You’re immediately permeated with a light, airy, sweetness, the different scents revealed like a melody that ends in that richer, warmer scent from earlier. 

“Is that my perfume?” you ask. 

“An anointment,” he says, blowing across your skin to dry it and sending a shiver down your spine to where your bodies are locked together, that fullness and muted pleasure of him radiating down to your toes.

“I do seem to have a demon inside of me,” you sigh into his neck as you rest your head against his shoulder. “Do they do that in exorcisms?”

“Blessings,” he corrects, adjusting with another grunt. “We’ll find out if it worked in about an hour.”

“An hour?” you grumble. “You think you can keep torturing me that long?”

“I think I gave you the key to your own cage,” he says, checking his watch. “About five minutes ago. Does it feel like longer?”

You mumble something into his rumpled collar, making him laugh beneath you. Even just that tiny movement has you involuntarily gripping him, abdomen clenched. 

“What’s that?”

“I’llsayitifyoumakemecome,” you repeat, embarrassed enough to hide your face in the crook of his neck again. 

“You think this is a negotiation, Y/N?” Doyoung’s hands are back on your breasts, thumbing the areola in slow circles that are very much a reminder of his touch earlier on your throbbing clit. You whimper, trying to stay still so he doesn’t figure out that if he continues to do that you might have a chance–

“You trying to make me come squeezing me like that?” he asks, breath ragged. “That seems like a quick way to end this.”

“You . . . you could just fuck me,” you wheeze, feeling the way he teases your pebbled, hard nipple with lighter brushes, his mouth quirked where it’s pressed to your forehead. 

“What if I want to make love to you, instead?” he asks. He inhales sharply at your body’s response. 

“Fuck, you liked me saying that, didn’t you?”

You nod, unable to speak, holding onto him in desperation as the combination of his words and soft strokes make you melt into the pleasure of every small motion of him inside you. You realize he’s unconsciously pushing into you, too, unable to keep his hips from pressing into yours. 

Overstimulation is making you hyperaware of the scratch of his unzipped jeans against your burning thighs, the random brush of his open belt against your belly. Time seems to disappear as he holds you quietly, letting you soak up the fragrant, radiating warm reality of him.

“I can wait all night for it,” he threatens, even just his lower register making you quiver a little around him. “Count every time you twitch and moan on me until you break.”

You’d felt him flag a little while he worked but now he’s fuller inside you, stretching you wide as he twitches to life. It’s even hotter than all of this build-up, you think, knowing he can act a menace but that the idea of you surrendering to him is what’s really getting him off.

Of course, you think, mentally steeling yourself like you’re preparing for war. In a way this is something like it, up against as formidable a foe as he is. 

“Doie,” you whisper, threading your hands in his hair as you nuzzle for his lips, kissing him softly and intimately, like it’s your first time. “When did you know?”

“What?” He goes a little rigid against you, unable to hide his rapid heartbeat with how close you’re pressed to him. You blink up at him, expectantly. 

“When did you first know you loved me? Really?”

He smiles, shyly, but you see the hint of anxiety on his features beneath his arousal. There it is, you think, having to hide your own satisfaction. 

“Is this a trick question?” he asks, warily, eyelashes half-lowered.

“Not if I know the answer,” you say, smoothing his kiss-swollen lips with a touch. “I don’t think it’s in that book, either.”

“Really?” He’s intrigued, a tentative rock of his hips against you making you dizzy. “Tell me.”

You shake your head, just as playful. 

“I’ll tell you later,” you say. “After.”

He sighs explosively, nose wrinkling. “You don’t know.”

“Want to bet?” you ask. It’s always a little thrilling seeing Doyoung presented with an opportunity he can’t resist. He fumbles for the notebook beside you, almost slipping out of you when he has to reach even farther for a pen.

“Write it down,” he says, smug as a cat who’s caught something small and easily toyed with. 

“Only if you do, too,” you say.

His answer is a pained sound of agreement, adjusting himself against the desk. 

“No peeking,” you say, flipping to a page in the back. 

“Wait,” he says, grabbing the book before the nib of the nice pen touches the creamy paper. “What are the terms?”

You ponder for a moment, feeling a grin slide onto your lips. “Doesn’t our perfume need a name? Whoever is right, gets to name it.”

You can practically taste his delight as he leans in to kiss you, forcing you to pull your page closer to you. You make him wait, filling the blank space as best you can with detail as he fidgets between your legs, sending small shocks of pleasure through you both. 

“Thank you,” he says in earnest once you’ve handed him it open to a new leaf, his hand and the notebook shaking a little as he tries to write mid-air, finally resting it awkwardly atop your head in order to scrawl out his own answer.

“My eyes are closed, Kim Doyoung.” 

“You’re a cheat,” he says, shushing you with an added thrust of his hips. 

You settle back on your elbows, already enjoying your victory as you feel the tiny pressure of his handwriting, hear the scratches of his sketch. You're more emboldened than ever when the leather binding snaps shut.

“Now tell me,” you say, looking up at him coyly. 

“Can’t I just show you–”

You snatch the book from him, turning to your entry. Then, to his horror, you rip your page free and fold it shut, tucking it into the pocket of his open shirt.

“Tomorrow morning,” you say. “You had 24 hours, right? I’ll give you my answer tomorrow morning.”

Doyoung looks as if he’s tasted something sour. “You won’t tell me.”

“I’ll tell you that you won,” you say, looking down at his page. You trace the fresh ink with care, admiring his tight script and explanation. “February to April? How could I have guessed an entire season?” 

“Did you at least guess the year?” he asks, looking a little better for your affirmation of his win. 

You nod, finally feeling the discomfort of your position and resting your head against his warm chest. There’s nothing awkward about being wrapped around him like this, the late hour and strange, still space making it easier to forget the world outside.

“Hard to forget,” you say. “I thought for sure I’d never see you again after that winter holiday.”

Another break with Johnny, of course–but this one had been your choice. You’d finally felt the crushing weight of two years of contempt from the people around him, the Suh family matriarch at the center of it all, doing everything in her power to crush not only you but the people you loved. 

And then, when you’d needed him the most, Kim Doyoung had walked away from you, too. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you, either,” he sighs. “It was the first time in a long time you weren’t with us. With me. And it was my fault for pushing you away when you were just trying to–”

“It’s in the past now,” you cut him short with a finger pressed to his lips. 

The memory is painful, still–and you don’t want to sully this moment with it. You appreciate that even in his roundabout admission there’s a clear understanding for all you’d been through. You’d hoped he remembered that time from the past, when you’d first peered between the cracks in his carefully-manufactured facade.

Now you could be sure of what it meant to him. You feel like your own walls are crumbling, the light shining through. 

“So you chose the period of time when we didn’t speak to one another, at all?” you muse. “Not just one day?”

“You know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he says. “You were on my mind every minute and every hour of those three and a half months.”

He pauses, sigh warm against your brow. “I couldn’t tell you when I knew, for sure. I certainly couldn’t admit it, then, even to myself. But sometime then, I realized I cared more about you than a friend.”

You’d never doubted he was capable of it, never doubted it might be true. But hearing him admit it, now you know why he wants to hear it from you, too.

“Say it,” you say.

He finally looks at you again, tired but alight with amusement.

“You first,” he says.

“Who knew three simple words would be so difficult for Saint Kim?” you tease him.

“Alright. Come here,” he motions, slipping out of you with a shared groan. He pulls you to a couch under the shuttered window, settling down and forcing you to straddle him. In this position he can’t stop you from immediately taking all of him, his eyelids fluttering when you bottom out.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmurs. 

“You’re not going to last,” you laugh, delighted by the way his nose scrunches when you clench around him. 

“Says the girl who’s sucking me in like you never want me to leave.” He grabs on to your hips to roll them against his own, fingers tightening when you wriggle against him. “You’re gonna say it first even if I have to fuck it out of you.”

“Whoever comes first, then?” you offer.

“I can live with that,” he sighs, head resting back on the couch. 

You rock on your knees slowly, satisfaction warming you throughout as you force him all the way inside you. You let him hear how he makes you feel, pleading sounds and whispers every time he hits that place in your upper walls, curved inside of you perfectly. It doesn’t matter if you're in control you can’t help but hunt down that lovely rush of pleasure in your belly, twining your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself. 

“Good girl,” Doyoung praises, watching you in awe through half-lidded eyes. “You’re so beautiful. I always wanted to know what it would look like when you lost yourself with me.”

His words make you shiver, brushing his lips until he holds you against his mouth to show you how he likes it, less exploratory and more confident. It’s maddening how good he is at this, making you feel every single sweep of his tongue across yours, hand on your neck keeping you from escaping. 

“Don’t you want to–” you protest as he helps you to lay flat on your back across the length of the wide loveseat, settling between your thighs. 

“Oh god, Doie,” you whimper when he takes over, finally, finally, beginning to fuck you. It’s just as slow but at least he penetrates you fully before pulling out almost all the way, shoulders quaking as he holds himself up. 

“Promise me you'll let me dote on you for the rest of your life,” he says, not waiting for your response before driving into you again. His movements are barely controlled, grunts escaping the back of his throat when his hips snap into yours again.  

“I promise,” you hold onto him, back arching off the cushion to meet him, blissed out in the relief of each, careful stroke against your fluttering walls. That crescendo is happening whether you want it to or not, every overworked knot of muscle threatening to snap loose. 

“Promise me that no matter who you fuck you’ll always let me treat you right,” he says, voice breaking. “You’ll let me show you how I feel even when I can’t say it.”

“Yes, Doie. Yes.” You pull down on his shoulders, trying to move for you both, kissing his jaw and throat.

“Stop fighting me and take it,” he says, moving more easily with the thick coat of your cum, establishing a gentle rhythm. 

His voice has always made it hard for you to pay attention to anything else but he abuses that power now, murmuring guidance into your neck that has you tightening around him as he fucks you deep and slow. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises. “You’re taking me so well. Take all of me.”

You feel shivers up and down your body, nipples hardening tight as they brush against his chest, his hair tickling your forehead as he blindly kisses and licks at your mouth and chin. 

You’d thought he’d be concentrating on something else in his head to keep from losing himself but instead it’s you who's floating, breath captured in your lungs when he adjusts on top of you to pin your hips down, pressing your leg wide to bury himself to the hilt.

“You feel so perfect. I could really do this all night, you know,” he smirks down at you from where he’s supported on his elbow. “Is that what you want?”

“No, fuck, please,” you whine. There’s no thoughts in your head besides just how much you want that ache inside of your cunt to melt into real pleasure. 

“You want me to stop?” he asks, feeling how you begin to pulse around him as he swirls his hips up into that most sensitive part of you, his flat belly grinding into your clit. You gasp, leg locking around his, helping him work you apart.

“No no no,” you beg, face hot. “Just . . . just kiss me through it, please.”

Doyoung’s smile grows wider. “Say what you already told me.”

You twist your head against the cushion, earning his hand on your jaw as he makes you look at him while you break, kissing you between panting breaths. His confidence is written in the cocksure grin remaining on his mouth, more cruel when he bites at your bottom lip, hard, before licking the pain away. 

“Say it,” he breathes, slowing down on purpose. 

“I . . . ah,” you cry out, “I love . . . please don’t stop.” 

“What’s that?” he asks, pace punishingly slow. Your legs lose feeling, vibrations starting in the back of your thighs and tremoring down to your feet. 

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you repeat, nearly tipping off the edge, “I’m coming, I’m finally–”

He slows down right as you hit that crest, making you cry out in frustration. 

“Doie, I’ll kill you–”

“Say it,” he says into your lips, pulling out–too far–

“Iloveyou,” you exhale, seizing around him in time to your wildly beating heart.

“Louder.” He slams into you again, merciless.

“I love you, you stupid bastard,” you say, hanging on to his shoulders. “I love you!”

“Good enough,” he says, drilling into you until he can feel you break, orgasm sustained through the painful pressure of him losing himself in your throbbing heat, finding your mouth again, finally, to silence the repeated mantra on your tongue.

You kiss him fiercely, unloading everything words aren’t enough for, legs tied around his waist to keep him locked inside you until he’s fighting back, fucking you so hard the sound of it fills the quiet room. 

“I love you,” you repeat a final time for him, just to watch the way it makes him break, jaw slackening when he loses control, finally. 

He stutters into his own orgasm, teeth scraping against your locked lips, forehead pressed into yours as he empties inside you for what feels like forever, finally collapsing on top of you with a whimper when his arms give out and he’s as limp as his cock inside you. 

You scrape your nails across his scalp, soothing him. You don’t mind his weight, or the way you’re still pressed together with sweat and your combined spend. 

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he rasps, eyes dazed as he looks up at you. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head tightly. “Not for me, at least.”

“You’re not mad?” 

You know he means his inability to say the magic words but you crack a smile, just as pleased with yourself. 

“About the bet?” you ask. “No.”

Oh, it’s delicious seeing realization dawn on his face, little glimmers of surprise and horror bubbling up from his afterglow. 

“Fuck,” he says. You’re grateful he doesn’t deny it, rolling to the side in defeat. 

“Who told you? ‘Woo?”

You laugh softly, rolling over to pin him down with your leg, trapping him against the back of the couch. 

“You did, right now,” you say, relishing having him where you want him. “I had a hunch. And I know you, you’d never beg for someone to say something during sex–”

“I didn’t beg,” he corrects, grimacing.

“What was it? The first one to get me to say it? Bonus points if it’s on your cock?”

“Ah, well,” he says, perking up despite the fist pressed to his forehead in embarrassment. “Then you don’t know.”

“I’ll find out soon enough, Jaehyun wouldn’t–”

“You’re really not mad?” he asks, painfully reticent as you pull his hand away from his face and twine your fingers together.

“Not if it means I can use it as leverage,” you say, kissing his knuckles.

That doesn’t seem to surprise him, at all. 

“Good girl,” he says. “What do you want?”

A few years ago, give or take 

You’re a little too happy, an awful fact considering how much he'd missed seeing you this way.

Lately you’ve been sleepwalking through your life, all those tiny fractures and bruises finally having the time to mend–but healing is a painful process in itself. Doyoung had returned from his family’s formal Chuseok gathering in Singapore, eager to check in on you after receiving sparing responses from you via text.

You didn’t have a friend he could check in with instead any longer–not after that one girl had fled the country, the other ghosting you after their father was mysteriously laid off from a company he well knew did business with Suh International. 

He’s worried about you long before that, terrified that one last straw would break you even if by all indications you were strong enough to take it. After you’d had Johnny arrested and solicited a no-contact order you’d cut your ex off completely, moving to a tiny apartment far from where you’d grown up, changing your number. 

Only Jungwoo knew about it, and it was he who’d reluctantly offered your whereabouts to him after a few glasses of whiskey in their usual club. 

“She asked me to keep her info on lockdown. Got that hacker kid, what’s his name–Haechan? Wiped her socials off the map, so he can’t find her. He did good but you know Suh.”

Doyoung nods. They hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, probably because the idiot was combing through every civic office and apartment building in the city. Hell, he’d probably driven around until he found her by sight alone, knowing that animal wouldn’t rest until he knew her whereabouts, as stubborn about chasing her down as he was about refusing the F4’s help. 

“His mother called me to ask if the place he bought in cash was for her,” Doyoung says, knocking back his drink as he receives a text, heart sinking that it's not you. “Did you help him buy it for her?”

Jungwoo sighs. “No. I just got her rent halved with some coercion, you know? But then he goes and buys a unit in the same building with whatever stash he thought the Old Tiger didn’t know about.” 

The Devil Kim leans back, long legs akimbo as he gestures towards the server for a refill. “He’s waiting for her to go back to Chicago before he moves in. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“I did not,” Doyoung affirms, turning away from the group of women at the bar sending looks towards their private table. “Let’s plan for when Madam Suh leaves. I can have her pull him into the London offices, considering he’s failing his courses.”

“Stone cold,” Jungwoo says, smirking. “Glad I’m not on your shit list.”

“Just don’t fuck with her,” Doyoung says. “Or fuck her.”

Jungwoo laughs into his glass. “Even I’m not that stupid.”

He’d thought he wasn’t, either. 

Not until you’d called a few days later, your speech a little slurred. He couldn’t have told you if what he was doing was important even if he was in a meeting, showing up to find you picking at a bowl of bar snacks in what he thought might be one of the nicer bars in your shitty part of town. Not as shitty as your old neighborhood, but it wasn’t a competition.

“Saint Kim,” you’d heralded him, raising an empty glass still smelling of watermelon and hibiscus. 

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone, here,” he’d said. 

You were dressed in one of your few nice outfits, a little on the revealing side for his tastes, but those had been Johnny’s you’d conformed to–animal print and thin straps, tastefully tasteless.

“I wasn’t,” you say, hiccuping. “Alone.”

For the first time in a long time fear spikes his blood pressure into overgear. Were you drugged? Was he going to have to fend off another predator who'd found you vulnerable?

You deserved the chance to move on but there was a real threat in what would happen to anyone who approached you without their permission. Johnny’s, yes, always, but the F4 had also agreed to look out for you well before your last incident at a club. 

“Who?”

“She left,” you say. He feels instant relief, reaching out to adjust the thin coverup slipping off your bare shoulder. 

“You make a new friend?”

You shake your head. “She’s nice. Met her in one of the ikebana classes work is paying for. Thought we were hitting it off but I must have said something dumb because she ran out of here, fast.”

You look up at him cautiously, too inebriated to realize he can recognize a set-up before it begins.

“You didn’t just talk about your ex, did you?” he asks, settling beside you at the bar. He orders something less ridiculous than whatever you'd been drinking, while you scroll through an Instagram feed, finger trembling over the screen. 

You look up at him, color-stained lips curving in an easy smile. “You want to see what we’re working on?”

Doyoung finds himself looking through a grid that is immediately obvious is not yours. His mouth goes dry, seeing rows of beautifully-staged floral centerpieces, the backgrounds as familiar as the back of his hand. You don’t seem to notice, going to the user’s story and tapping in vain to find the picture she’d posted.

“She deleted it already. Huh. Well, she texted me the picture–”

“Stop.” Doyoung places his hand over yours, his palm damp from the immediate flood of adrenaline. 

“So you do know Mona,” you say. You look up at him, expectantly, eyes glassy with the brand of hopefulness and naked curiosity he’s seen you charm everyone else around you with before. 

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Doyoung pulls cash from his pocket, not caring how much he puts down except that he’s sure it’s enough to cover the amount he’d like to drown himself in right now. Enough to go blind and burn out the phantom of that face he’d put behind him years ago. 

“Put your coat on,” he says. “I’m driving you home.”

“But I’m not–”

“Now,” Doyoung says, grabbing your wrist. He’s barely ever touched you in the years that you’ve been friends, and it sickens him when he feels you freeze in fear and confusion, that trauma response buried so deeply it's in your bones.

He wants to be kind, he wants to be patient with you. He just doesn’t have it in him to be anything to you right now.

“What’s wrong, Do–?”

“We’re leaving,” he says, dragging you out into the bitter cold evening, the streets slick with sleet, your heels catching on the pavement as you stumble in his wake.

“Stop,” you yell at his back, trying to yank your arm free from where he’s bruising your skin with whitened knuckles. “You’re hurting me–”

“You’ll live,” he says, pulling you to where he’s parked his car, the engine roaring to life the moment you manage to close your door. He can barely look at you, realizing too late that your crestfallen expression is making him more upset than the lightning strike of seeing her name again.

“You didn’t ask my address,” you say, quietly, met with his silence as he drives much more dangerously than the weather permits. He's forced to speak with you once he's slammed the brakes at an intersection, red light shading you through the windshield.

“Tell me one thing,” he says. “Did you try to set us up by having me come there?”

You’re petulantly silent now, an answer in itself.

“Answer me,” he orders, hands gripping the wheel.

“I thought you’d want to–”

“Do you think we have the kind of relationship where you can just do whatever you want and get away with it?” Doyoung’s voice is calm but he sees you flinch at his words and tone, your shoulders moving under your jacket as you begin to quietly cry. 

It drives him deeper into anger, hitting the gas with a roar of the engine the instant the light turns green. 

“You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself for this one, Y/N,” he says, already regretting every word tumbling out of his mouth. “You fucked up.”

“I just thought you could both have some closure after that–”

The car jerks as he brakes in the side lane of the service road, cars roaring past them honking their horns. Your sobs are barely audible over the idling engine and the blink of the hazards he turns on while he tries to find calm, your face turned away from him. 

“You thought that interfering in other people’s personal lives would make you feel better,” he says. “No wonder you don’t have any real friends.”

Out of the corner of his eye he can see your full body shakes still, can feel as that armor encasement you’d put together piece-by-piece over years of dealing with loveless reality falls back into place. And, years later–no, even hours later–he’ll remember how at the time he was stupid enough to think it was the right thing to say. 

You needed a reality check, he’d thought. A reminder that all the wishes and hopes in the world wouldn’t change the bleak architecture of it, uncaring by design and much easier to navigate without them. That moving on was the only path to this idiot’s dream of closure, something you knew nothing about for how often you’d let them pull you back into their world, blinded by sunk-cost and loneliness. 

All the things he wished he believed for himself, but without the benefit of your optimism.

“Fuck you, Kim Doyoung,” you say, opening the car door and slamming it shut without so much as a glance behind you. He’d waited to make sure you reached the nearest bus stop before driving off, calling Jungwoo to let him know you were here–crying in the cold. 

He'd seen you in passing.

His best friend knew a lie when he’d heard it, most especially from him. 

He wouldn't hear from you again until spring.

Kim Doyoung can’t sleep. 

He’s not allowed to. 

He can’t move either, arm going numb beneath your curled body, your breathing finally easing for the dozenth time since his trial began. You have horrible sleep habits–kicking off the covers, stealing the pillows–but tonight you’ve passed out with that same bone-deep tiredness he’d felt earlier, face beatific in the slivers of light piercing through the slatted shades. 

It’s close to dawn, he thinks, the cacophony of insects and birds outside transitioning from a quiet chorus to a full orchestral suite. Soon it will be too loud to sleep deeply. 

“Y/N?” he whispers, tentatively, not daring to move.

You don’t respond, relief rushing through him. It’s not that he’s desperate to join you in slumber but that he’s waited for you to finally surrender to REM. He needed you down. 

And you needed it, too. 

He’d negotiated with Jaehyun when you’d been in the shower, earlier, sacrificing precious moments of shared time exploring your skin and the new taste of you under the water to supplicate himself to his best friend and worst enemy in this moment.

“It’s a charter,” Jaehyun said, blinking sleep from his eyes but awake enough to be angry. “You’re not finding another one short term.”

“I emailed you the tickets. Cattle car but first class, at least,” he says. “Jungwoo agreed to give you his day, he doesn’t want to take her out until after dark, anyway. You can sleep in tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Jaehyun had slammed the door shut in his face, but he hadn’t missed the budding smile on his friend’s face. At least one person was rooting for him.

That’s how he’d earned another morning with you. As always, making up for lost time.

You’re half out of the covers, one leg sprawled over the duvet as you sleep. You’d put on one of his softer button-downs, inhaling the smell of it after he tried to steal it back. 

“Please let me wear you,” you said. “I want to dream about you.”

Being around you like this is more comfortable than he imagined, as if you’re being slotted into a position he didn’t even know there was an existing space for. He’s woken up to women in his bed but you’re the first who’s ever asked him for this, particular experience.

“I used to have this fantasy, you know, whenever we crashed at your apartment.” He’d watched you go sheepish recalling, dates omitted for a reason. “Sometimes I’d lie there and touch myself thinking about you crawling into that guest bed–maybe a little drunk or you’d forget which room. Or maybe, you just wanted me to think that. I’d be awake but I’d pretend to be asleep while you . . . used me.” 

He experiments by tracing his fingertips up your bare leg, the peek of your lace underwear beneath the hem of his shirt maddening for how it curves into the crest of your ass, presented for him. A treat dangled before him, the command to partake only that you wanted him to make it slow–you wanted to wake to it.

He sucks a breath in, erection in his sweatpants hard against the band already from just watching his sleeping beauty. He finds every mark on your leg, every fine hair, thanking Heaven above you aren’t overly sensitive or ticklish like he is when his hand slips beneath his shirt to your belly. 

He slots himself against you, carefully, as if adjusting in his sleep. He has to wait for your breathing to even out again, slipping his free hand up to your breasts. 

“Used you? Did you not get off in this scenario?”

“I mean, yes. But it’s mostly about you. You wouldn’t say anything at all, you’d just fuck me full of your cum and then you’d leave me leaking it on your sheets and go back to your room. Or sometimes I’d crawl in your bed, if you were alone, and you’d cover my mouth so the others couldn’t hear it. And the next day it would be like nothing happened, you wouldn’t even bother to ask how I’d slept.” 

He loved how much of a slut you were, when you felt comfortable enough to share that side with someone. Johnny had certainly never appreciated the subtleties of your nature–too blinded by adoration to even consider degrading you on purpose. 

No, Doyoung had known for awhile you pushed the boundaries with him to see if he’d break.

Your nipples harden even though he’s barely handling them, discovering what shape your breasts make in repose as he tries desperately not to rut into the swell of your ass. Warming himself in you earlier had been one of the hardest challenges he’d faced but it had been worth it to learn you inside and out, to know how to make you grip his cock with that delicious little cunt of yours with just a kiss or a word that pleased you.  

You don’t wake but he knows he’s gotten through to that little lizard brain of yours when your legs rub together unconsciously, pushing back into him so his cock is settled between your buttocks. The friction from the lace is like the proverbial pea under a mattress–rubbing against his cock through the layers, catching on the veins and scraping the underside of his cockhead. 

It’s already a nice ache, one he ignores as he adjusts to better continue plucking and teasing at your body beneath your shirt, until you’re used to his touch enough to truly fall back under, once more.

You're so vulnerable, completely at his mercy as he brings his hand down to test the patch of moisture growing in the fabric, that lace sticky with your dreams of him. 

Use you, he thinks. You have no idea what he wants. 

Doyoung can play with the fantasy of you crawling into your boyfriend’s best friend’s bed while he’s passed out in the other room, determined to be punished for waking a sleeping monster . . . but it’s not what he's fantasizing about now. 

He takes time in stroking you, a single finger digging in between your lips through the fabric, listening intently for your breathing to change. You sigh, one of those full exhales one does in their deep sleep, but you arc back a little, into his touch, leg falling forward crooked so you’re a little more spread. 

Doyoung wishes he could move down there and use his nose to push you apart instead of his hand but that’s not your fantasy–not this time. You didn’t want him to spoil you anymore, completely underestimating his love for it. True, he didn’t often eat other girls out, too personal or just too much of a chore to figure out what they liked, but you weren’t ever going to be with him and not come from that first. 

Just the thought of tying you up so he can spend hours fucking you on his tongue is making his cock pulse, too hard to be ignored. He quietly pulls down the drawstring of his sleepwear, freeing himself so he can replace his finger with the much wider tip of his cock, biting back a groan as he rubs into that damp, soft lace he’d known would suit you the moment he’d touched it in the display box brought to his private buying room. 

You'd never know he’d already fucked himself with it before ever giving it to you, that errant fantasy of touching you finally realized as you whimper a little in your sleep at the soft push of him between your legs. He finds where your clit is getting just as swollen as the rest of you, bouncing against warmth and the promise of unspooling that need with his help, again.

Just his precious little cocksleeve, spoiled and worshiped, showing your gratitude by begging for it even when you’re unconscious. He tests the waters of the scenario by slowly pulling the seat of your underwear to the side, easing in between the fabric and your folds. 

You twitch against him, sheets rustling. He holds still, cock jumping and balls tightening with a little anxiety. 

He only has this one chance. 

Outside in the dark and quiet of the house sleeps the man everyone knows you’re really with, the one who doesn’t have to fight for an I love you to pass your lips. You’d never understood what it felt like watching you climb into Jaehyun’s lap whenever the whim took you, pretending you didn’t know what it did to him or the other two of them watching you.

Your breathing is shallow and your hand flexes a bit, against the pillow, but that’s it. Within a minute he’s grown more confident that you’re still asleep.

He reaches over you, pressing the pads of two fingers against the front of your underwear while he slips a little deeper between your legs, eyes almost rolling back in his head at the contrast between the satiny slide of you and the rougher cling of your panties. It’s a relief as he loses himself to it, rutting from the back while he applies constant pressure to your bud.

“Mmm.” You make a soft noise, but he doesn’t pull free, choosing instead to keep a hypnotizingly steady pace fucking against you. Your hips twitch against him, seeking out more contact, but he doesn’t rush–pressing his head against the back of yours and melding with you in the softness of the pillows and sheets. 

You’re so wet you’re soaking his pants, everything he collects tickling down to his balls pressed into your ass. He’s going to stuff your mouth with his fingers, when you finally open it, make you gag on them while he fills you full from behind. 

You moan now, voice syrupy with sleep. He doesn’t care if you’re still down, not with you gently pushing back, trying to get release.  

Not yet, you little harlot, he thinks, hips going still again. He’s burning at the wait, your cunt continuing to glide against him as you act out whatever is going on in your dreams, the movement making him insane for how closely it adheres to his desire to have taken you back when you were innocent, his little virgin weed learning what her body wanted, seeking it out in his bed.

“Treat me like one of the girls you don’t really like. Use me.”

Such an unending fantasy of yours that he never wanted you, almost sweet for how dumb you are–or just willfully ignorant. He’s always liked the second one better–your little game played out that you were one of them. Dressed in that school uniform, kicking your skinned knees, sucking on a piece of candy while four college-age idiots hid their bathing-suited boners under their robes, fighting or fucking around in front of you so you could keep up that precious little illusion of immunity. 

“Johnny,” you murmur in your sleep. 

It should make his blood run cold but as with all twisted-up and tangled desires it only makes him feel ignited, pulse pounding in his head. You’re still asleep and thinking of someone else, someone not even in this house, the guilt of it passing over him faster than a cloud on a breezy day. 

He rocks back into you, this time pulling out enough that he can find your soft hole, already tight again–the only part of your body not relaxed as he forces his way past the flutter of your opening, cockhead sensitive enough to sense the more textured g-spot where he knows you’ll come fast and easy if he fucks into it. 

“Shh,” he says, finally trailing his mouth against your jaw, pushing into you softly. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

“Mmhmm,”  you reply, nuzzling into the pillow, curling into him. He pushes a knee between your legs, folding you into the bed beneath him as he begins to fuck you, finally taking you for himself and himself alone. 

You’re so warm inside, body adjusting to take him easily for how boneless you are, kitten-like mewls muffled by the pillow. It turns him on hearing the edge of pain there, the way you struggle when he pulls your underwear up so tight it sticks between your folds, clit rubbing against it the way he’d stroked himself to completion with it tied tight around his cock.

“Stay quiet or I’ll stuff your mouth full instead,” he whispers against your shoulder, feeling as always a little stupid but losing that internal cringe when you choke on a moan.

“Is that what my little slut was dreaming about? Gagging to tears on another man’s cock?”

He feels you tense at a bit at the suggestion, letting him use you in spite of the rougher handling. 

“That’s right. You said another man’s name in your sleep. Do you think that's acceptable?”

You shake your head, whimpering. 

“Such a whore you can't keep track of who's dick is inside of you. Tell me, who's fucking you right now?” 

“Doie,” you say, music to his ears. He'd always hated the nickname until you started using it. You were the only one–you were always the only one who made his chest burn with unsated desire when you said his name.

“Who owns this tight little pussy?” 

“You do,” you gasp out. 

“Are you going to forget me? Maybe I need to fuck you so hard you only think of me when you spread your legs for another man.” 

Doyoung feels electric at how easily you begin to crumble with just a few words, squeezing his dick so tight when he says something you like, even more when he makes it hurt. 

“Sleepy baby going to let me stuff every one of your holes until I’ve had enough? Use you like my own little doll?”

You nod, no longer capable of speaking except in a plaintive moan when he leaves you to shuck off his pants and pull down your ruined panties, pillow pulled beneath your belly to force your ass up. In this position he can drill into you deeper, burying you into the mattress with each thrust. 

“That’s what you get for crawling in here,” he says, fingers digging bruises into your hips to hold you down. “Keep your mouth shut and take it.”

The pleading, almost scared noises you're making have him hard and pulsing, two steps away from coming himself but in no hurry to. He pulls your hair to bring your head back, shoving his fingers in your mouth. 

“You like that?” Your cunt can't hide it, sucking him in. “Get them wet for me.” 

You drool over his knuckles, gagging as he fucks your mouth with them in an awkward rhythm to his merciless rutting. He spits into his hand when he's satisfied, fingers swirling around the tight rim of your ass so quickly it makes you buck. 

“Don't scream,” he murmurs, giving you two fingers at once. You make a noise through the pillow you're biting, gripping him tight. He's gentler with this, slowing, letting you adjust to take him.

“This is my favorite, right here,” he groans. “Feeling my cock inside you with my fingers. I'd fuck this tight little ass again but I want to feel you come like this.” 

He begins to stroke you harder, deeper, wet and sticky when his balls slap against your abused cunt. He keeps his fingers buried in you, scissoring you open as you take it.

“Come for me, Y/N, grip me good so I can fill that pretty mouth of yours.” 

It's a beautiful feeling when you begin to throb, contractions in your ring of muscle letting him know when you hit your peak. He fights the tingling in his balls, the urge to come with you painful for how long he's been holding it back. 

He talks you through it, instead.

“Such a good little hole,” he says. “You're coming so hard, baby, can feel it so well.” 

You moan, loud, as you break, loosening almost immediately, flooding him with sweet, hot warmth. He makes sure the last of those tics is gone before pulling out.

“Roll over,” he says, straddling you with a hand on the headboard, delighted by the sight of your flushed face and starry eyes. You already know what to do, tongue lolling and uvula exposed as he guides himself into your mouth, soft tongue swirling around his tip. 

God help him he's been thinking about this since yesterday, pushing deep enough to gag but not choke, fucking your mouth and the hot tightness of your throat when he hits it. It’s the sight more than anything that drives him to spill hot white ropes of cum into your mouth, pulling out to milk the last few splashes on your parted lips and delighting at the sight of you licking them with your spend-covered tongue.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, dropping down and kissing you, finally, tongues stroking each other until you finally pull free to breathe, blinking up sleepily at him. 

“You do taste different,” you tease.

“I taste like you,” he says, pressing soft kisses all over your face. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

“Did you like that?” you murmur. 

“I loved–” he pauses, watching the smile spread on your wet lips. 

“I love you, you know,” he finishes. You reach around his neck, comforting him out of instinct, but he doesn’t need it. 

“I love you,” he repeats, testing the words on his tongue now that they've flown out so easily, the tightness in his chest easing as you rise up to kiss him. 

“It's beautiful to hear you say it,” you say. “But you're right, I know.”

“I think I even know the exact time and date,” you say, reaching between you into the pocket of your shirt to pull out that torn and folded art paper scrawled with your words and an amateurish sketch.

Tomorrow morning . . .

[Unknown number] [Tomorrow morning April 13th dawn is at 6:17] [I have something to show you. Meet me on the roof of the East Wind Hotel]

Doyoung looks at the text message again, hand hanging over the railing of a dance floor, conversation with the woman by his side forgotten. With the blur of a late night and a trip to a different hotel room, with a different woman, he'd almost missed it.

Probably one of the innumerable flings he's had, Jungwoo recruiting him to get every last lick of enjoyment out of Seoul before he enlisted. His friend snatches the phone from his hand.

“No business,” Jungwoo slurs, eyes bloodshot as he focuses on the text. “I thought you weren't working hospitality anymore.” 

“It's not . . .” There's something nagging at him, like a bird pecking at his skull in time to the drone of the EM, the buzz of conversation. A sense of deja vu so strong he's forced to cycle on it. 

“Pfft. I know you don't bring girls back to your kingdom,” Jungwoo says. “Stop working and party.”

Doyoung doesn't know why he feels compelled to see the cryptic message through, doesn't know why he races across town at 5 am, reeking of whiskey and another woman’s perfume, doing his best to sober up as the designated driver talks about the change in weather, the cherry blossoms in full bloom outside the window.

The morning commute is already surging and the destination central to the city so by the time he makes it he's out of breath from running two blocks away from a jam, head pounding.

“ . . . restricted for non-guests,” someone is saying, voice recognizable as an intern he knows from his leadership program, still stuck on night front desk duty. 

“I just need a few minutes, please. I need to take a picture–” He'd recognize that voice in a hundred years if he hadn't heard it, not just a hundred days.

“What's going on here?” 

You freeze, shoulders stiffening as you turn to face him. Not much has changed–a new haircut, same ratty old sneakers–but you look different. No longer a ghost, but just as untouchable for the skittish way you hold when he approaches, only the barest relief on your beautiful features.

You don't smile, don't even say hello.

You're scared of him, again, just that thought making him spiral.

“You came,” you say, exhaling. “We need to hurry. We need to get to the roof.”

Doyoung turns to the staff. “Is the roof access still shut down?”

“Stair access only, sir.” 

Your eyes go wide at the interchange, something like embarrassment passing over your features as you begin to laugh. 

“Of course this is your hotel,” you state, smacking yourself on the forehead. “Of course, why didn't I think to check that. God, I'm an idiot.” 

“We didn’t change the name when we acquired the chain so it would be unlikely for you to have guessed that,” he says. “What are you doing here?” 

“There's no time and it's easier just to show you. We need to get to the roof, now,” you say, grabbing his wrist and tugging on it towards the stairs. 

“Y/N,” he says, holding you fixed and pointing at the elevator. “We can take it up as far as we need to.” 

You're still laughing maniacally twenty floors up. “I was going to cry if I had to go up another flight of stairs.” 

“Are you really taking pictures?” He asks, gesturing at your camera.

“No, but I started carrying it the first time someone called the police on me thinking I was going to jump,” you giggle, wiping away tears. He feels delirious from lack of sleep, so maybe you are, too, but it doesn't seem to be the case as you spring out the doors, forcing him to guide you when you're lost in the executive suite hallways.

“I managed to sneak in last time, otherwise I wouldn't have gotten this far. I'm glad you came just in time, I think they were going to kick me out.”

He's surprised at how easily things have snapped back into place between you, no mention of anything that's happened as you race up the stairwell to the roof access. 

“Will you tell me–”

“Oh thank god,” you say once your through the heavy doors and collapsed on the green helipad, growing impatient when he props the door open out of habit. He's been up here many times, nothing remarkable about the space besides the legacy sign on top, view crowded by other buildings at varying levels. 

“Stand here,” you say, pushing him into place, turning him by the arms. “Do you see it?”

“I don't even know what I'm looking for,” he says, beginning to grow annoyed. 

“Look over there, at the People's Bank. Relax your eyes, it will only take a minute.”

He feels increasingly foolish but he does what you ask, cool morning breeze clearing his muddled head. The sky is washed in a pink and blue haze, the sun cresting the more mountainous region of the city behind you to bathe the city in solid gold.

“There,” you breathe, letting out a little sigh.

“What?” All he can see is a few birds passing over the vista of crowded advertisements and neon. 

“Do you see the light?” you ask. 

“There's tons of lights–” he begins, cut short by the blinding catch of the sun's reflection on one of the characters, then another. He spells it out slowly, guided by your hand holding his to each one. 

The bank: Sa. 

The next building over, also burning brighter with the touch of the sun: Rang. 

Then an advertisement that has been up long enough most of the original message is lost. Hae.

“How did you find this?” he asks, knowing it would be impossible for him to have ever seen this without knowing the trick of the light. 

“I didn't find it. Well I did–I had to search some buildings for it.” 

Later he'll find out you climbed close to fifty flights of stairs in the last two months, had spent every waking moment not working or in school breaking into buildings before sunrise to find that exact spot, forever amused at the thought you hadn’t checked his family's flagship hotel first.

“You don't remember getting the same message from someone else?” you ask. “I was worried you wouldn't come, again.”

Again. Something tugs the memory up from the oubliette he'd locked it into, Mona teasing him about sleeping in and missing their appointment.

Mona. 

His stomach falls, checking back behind him at the door as if that particular ghost will return to haunt him.

“She's not here. I wasn't trying to set you up,” you say, recognizing the dismay he can't hide. “Honestly. And I know whatever closure you find is yours and yours alone. You were right about that, too, I'm sorry.”

You twist your hands in front of you, suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety. “I did this for me. Because I wanted to know what she tried to tell you, even if she couldn't say it aloud.”

You don't look at him, can't in order to continue. Doyoung feels like a live wire, exposed, two months of painful loneliness and a lifetime's worth of avoidance of this fact all surging through him in this moment. 

As much as he would prefer to leave he's not going to run like he did back then, when he'd ignored the hard parts to pretend like a friendship wasn't something more. Not with the stakes of losing this one.

“You once told me you were just friends, even if you couldn't be one anymore for her after you realized you loved her. How it broke you to be with someone you couldn't be with, who wanted something different.”

“Now you know. She didn't want to stay one, either,” you say. You look up at him nervously, regaining your confidence.

“I just wanted you to know that you were loved, Kim Doyoung. You still are.” 

You turn away towards the door, pretending not to have seen the tears dripping down his face under his glasses. He ignores them, too, not knowing what to say or do to make sure you never leave him again.

The spot never mattered to him, the word and it's confession forgotten in time. What changed that day was having you in front of him after so long, the way you were a reflection of him so many years ago, fighting to be by the side of someone who didn't know how to love you back, the right way.

He'd promised himself than that even if he couldn't say it, he'd show you.

“Thank you for coming. I'm sorry for interfering with your life, but that’s what friends do.”

You'd almost made it to the stairs when he'd wrapped around you from behind, the first ever time he'd held you in an embrace, unsurprised to find you shaking like a leaf as he rested a wet cheek against your hair. 

“I'm sorry,” he says. “Thank you.” 

You relax a little, squeezing his hand. In that small gesture everything is reset, everything is okay again. They won't talk about this for the next few years, even when Jungwoo asks how you'd come back into their lives so suddenly and without any indication that things had changed.

But they had. Deeply. 

“You can make it up to me by buying me breakfast,” you say, smiling up at him, wiping his cheek with your sleeve. “We have a lot to catch up on.” 

“Did I win?” you ask. 

Doyoung can only laugh, giddy, as you burrow into his side to smother him in kisses and teasing. You were put on this earth to challenge him, after all–always right there to match him in stubbornness and competition.

He presses his nose to your neck, inhaling the remnants of the scent you'd made together, one bottle for each, though you didn't have to know his formula was just a bit different.

“‘Tomorrow Morning’ has a nice ring to it, I suppose. It lingers well.”

“It was my answer, actually. I needed to see if I could break Saint Kim's vow of romantic abstinence before I made up my mind,” you say, smug as you move to get up. “Glad you were able to find out before your time was–”

You shriek as he pulls you down again, pinning you to the bed. 

“I still have a few hours,” he says, voice dangerous. “I'd like to hear you say it again.”

[chimini3]

Acouasm

Acouasm (n.) a ringing noise in your head

Synopsis: When your relationship with Kim Taehyung goes public, a walk down the red carpet turns south when you are attacked.

Notes: I had so much to write in this fic but it ended up being sub par and I wanna release it on V’s birthday, so I’ll probably work on another one similar to this situation. I even had another draft but I thought it was too gorey and violent 🥲 Anyways HAPPY BIRTHDAY V! Enjoy reading and thank you so much for liking my past oneshot Saudade.

Word Count: 11.9k

Your relationship with BTS’ Kim Taehyung had a long story.

You came from the same highschool and had been acquainted before, though you hadn’t interacted apart from a few glances in the halls. He was a few years older than you and Korean Arts High School was populated with soon to be popular faces, so you didn’t expect him to remember much about you. However, that didn’t stop you from having a massive crush on him as he seemed to be way different from his fellow BigHit trainee, Jimin.

Taehyung was more reserved and usually kept to a close knit of friends during school hours, though everyone seemed to know him and he knew everyone. He didn’t have any official relationships with anyone during highschool, yet it wasn’t like he was coined a loser. He was oh so much your type, though your crush on him didn’t last long after he graduated.

You knew he debuted in a boy group with his friend Jimin, and that was as far as you knew about his whereabouts. You didn’t have time to worry about him when you were already facing some difficulties in your own life at that time.

You were picked up by a more trustable agency in your third year of highschool. They were adamant on debuting a girl group and you were determined to be a part of that, so you trained harder than you have ever trained, worked harder than you’ve ever worked, and you finally got your pay off when you debuted three years after.

It was 2017 and your debut went smoothly. You weren’t an instant flop, though you weren’t an instant pop either. However, with enough work in producing three albums for your first year, you managed to come through and win the Mama 2017 Best New Artist Award.

Winning an award and enjoying your time performing songs and watching the other idol groups perform in the 2017 Mnet Asian Music Awards also meant that you would make a few new friends during the event. Your group had to switch seats often during the first half, so you had a lot of interactions with other groups. Coincidentally, landing seats right in front of a particularly cheery idol group for the rest of the night.

“Bangtan Sonyeondan! Congratulations!” The woman speaks onto the microphone as the group of boys behind you cheered and gathered into a group hug before they all started making their way out to the stage, and a specific pair of bright eyes catches yours as he passes by. Kim Taehyung.

You didn’t hold back a smile when you realized it was his group who had won a daesang. You clapped your hands even louder to congratulate him as he bows to you and your group and fixes his blonde hair that was held back by a cloth headband.

Later that night when a message from him surprised you. It turns out a director had forwarded your KakaoTalk to him after he asked, and he had made the time to message you despite the fact that they should be celebrating after their win by now.

A few messages at night had turned into friendly calls when no one was around. It was damn obvious that he was interested in you and you couldn’t say that your highschool crush on him had gone away after all these years. He was charming and he understood the struggles of being an idol.

When you and your bandmates would fight then he would drop anything to message or call you to listen to you vent. When he was having a particularly rough time with his schedules, he made sure that you would know and yet still made time to check up on you. Both of you would even be preparing for a comeback at the same time, and yet both of you supported each other through all of it. He was a rock you could lean on and you were an ear for him to rant to.

Soon after, you started hanging out with each other in your free time. It wasn’t a date or anything of the sorts. He just so happens to want to buy something when you would go on errands. He would joke that a popular idol like you shouldn’t be grocery shopping alone despite the fact that he was in fact more popular than you, though you never held jealousy over that fact. You were actually proud of him and his group after you learned of their earlier hardships, and you were even prouder when he would vent to you about their contract problems early 2018.

You two would try new coffee spots together and even watch the new Marvel movies together. Taehyung was certain that Doctor Strange was his favorite Marvel superhero because of his amazing cape, and didn’t hide that fact when he went on an interview in LA that asked him about it. You two even commented on each other’s interviews from time to time since you were both learning English and you two found it helpful to learn from each other.

And don’t start about how you couldn’t take your eyes off of him during Mama 2018, not when you two were on a call the night before he got his hair colored and you sent him a picture of the brightest pink you could see on Google to dare him into changing his hair that same hue. It was a funny joke, yet he called you the night after with the same hue on his hair. You would watch the American movie Trolls together through the call that night and his nickname on KakaoTalk would be changed for the very first time to ‘Poppy Imposter’ alluding to the pink haired Troll in the movie.

After a year of steadily getting closer and calling each other friends, he finally confessed to you. You knew he liked you and he knew that you knew he liked you, yet it still seemed like your heart was palpitating out of your chest. He didn’t kiss you. He simply stated a fact and said that he wanted to court you, and God did you fall for him even harder.

When he asked you out on a first date, he also asked for your parents’ permission. He made sure to make it known that he was serious about you and you were sure that this man couldn’t do anything more to make you fall for him more.

He was such a romantic. He made sure everything was done how it should be. He made sure to pick you up for your date with a bouquet of flowers for you and your mother. He made sure to greet your parents by the front door. He assured your father that he would keep you safe and take you home by your curfew. Despite the fact that you were a full-grown adult and had your own apartment to go home to. He opened the door of his car for you and he pulled the chair of the fancy restaurant for you. He was a true gentleman, and it didn’t take more than five months for you to answer him.

Both your companies knew of your affairs. Taehyung wasn’t exactly quiet about you and you can’t say no to him when he would ask you to go on a late night walk with him whenever you were in the same city. Your companies would help payout any media networks that saw you two in your public dates, though that didn’t stop other idols from gossiping about your relationship. It was getting harder for them to contain you two especially when he went on longer promotion stints outside Korea, and your appearance near his apartment anytime BTS arrived in Korea didn’t go unnoticed. You were two lovers deeply in love, and it got worse during Mama 2019.

“You’re up in ten minutes ladies!” A stage director yells to the hallway over the chaos of staff around us. You and your group were about to enter the dark backstage to prepare for the penultimate performance of the evening, right before BTS.

You had seen your boyfriend and his group leave the artist area earlier, though it seemed like they weren’t going to the waiting rooms directly. You just hoped he could watch your performance on his phone. Despite already seeing each other’s performances during rehearsals.

“Wait! Don’t go up yet! The backstage is still not ready!” Another staff member yelled as an older member tried to make a move to get inside the backstage.

You sigh as the crowded and loud surroundings begin to make you nervous. You could feel sweat gathering on your forehead as a makeup artist tried to dry it down. How long were they going to announce the awards?

The makeup artist by your side leaves to fix up your other members and you take the opportunity to find something in the hallway to keep your attention on. The more you could distract yourself from the chaotic environment the better, so you looked down both sides of the hallway and watched props and staff pass by.

There in the busy and harshly lit hallway was your messy haired boyfriend with a bright red cardigan, that he specifically wore for you to notice him in the crowd of idols, push past the crowd to look for you. His bandmates seemed to get inside their own waiting room to prepare whilst Jimin and Jungkook waited by the door to watch him find his way to you. His overgrown and curled hair was doing nothing to help him find you, though once his eyes met yours at the end of the hallway, you could feel a smile creep onto your cheeks.

“Hey!” Taehyung greets as he walks a few more steps to stand in front of you. He brushes his hair aside and shows you his warm brown eyes, void of any colored contact lenses. His smile was bright as you notice sweat on his forehead.

“Good luck out there. You’re going to kill it, I swear.” Taehyung cheers as you smile at him and nod. He reaches to hold both your hands as you only realize that they were shaking when his gentle and steady ones encapsulates them.

“I should be the one calming you down. You have five songs to do!” You say with a chuckle as he chuckles with you and brings your hands to kiss its knuckles. His lips hover a little longer over your left ring finger, though you don’t notice.

“I perform five songs, but I’m not the popular worldstar that South Korea votes as number one on the most beautiful female artists.” Taehyung says with a shrug as a more boisterous laugh comes out of you.

“Okay, and you talk as if you aren’t internationally known for a handsome face.” You throw back as Taehyung rolls his eye and lets go of one of your hands to throw his hair out his face and show you one nasty pimple that had been growing on his forehead. He had actually been pulling back his dermatologist and facial appointment, so that he could do both of them with you. He wanted to keep your dates ‘unique’ he says.

“Don’t show that around here Tae! You’re going to get exposed!” You scolded as he laughed and shook his head to glance at the even more incriminating position you both were in. Closely standing next to each other with your hands held together and both your eyes shimmering with that profound love. If someone was to take a picture to expose you two then could they send it to him too because he wants to take this moment and make it his phone’s lock screen.

“Taehyung! You have to get ready!”

“Y/N! We can enter the backstage already!”

Both your bandmates say at the same time, though neither of your eyes fall to look away from each other.

“I love you. Be careful in performing and don’t be nervous. You’re amazing and always will be.” Taehyung says as his soft hands grab hold of your jaw to direct your lips to his. The kiss was soft and ended quickly, though the energy and ease it gave you was a pill that made you feel like you could do everything you put your mind to.

“I love you too. Be careful in your performance too. I know you’ll do great already. I might miss the first part of it though, since they won’t let us out immediately after.” You pouted as Taehyung chuckled and pecked a kiss on your forehead whilst rubbing your shoulder to assure you that he didn’t mind.

“I can’t even watch yours live. I have to watch it in the waiting room, but I’ll make sure to cheer for you just as much. We’ll watch the replay later on the TV anyways. My place and some good takeout?” Taehyung proposes as you were always welcome to a night at his place.

“We’ll see if you aren’t blackout drunk from the celebrations.” You chuckled as you were slowly inching away from your lover. You can hear your leader call out to you multiple times already and your manager was coming down the hall, so you really had to close this off.

Thankfully, Taehyung only laughed and let you go. He even waved to you as you disappeared backstage. He wasn’t going to get drunk tonight, perhaps tipsy, but he would much rather remember a night with you than drink. He wasn’t much of an alcohol fan anyways. A glass of wine with you seemed much more his taste.

And that was what ended up happening. The two of you sprawled out on his sofa at six in the morning. Takeout food littered the coffee table along with glasses of wine and a replay of your MMA performances.

After the event, the two of you parted ways to go to separate afterparties for a few hours before you both excused yourselves and got to Taehyung’s apartment. You two had laughed over some funny playbacks that you missed during the event, and you celebrated on your own two ways.

Taehyung had brought you out to his balcony when he saw the sun rising. He felt like a true winner as he watched you bury yourself in his hoodie under a thick blanket on his balcony’s couch. The silence engulfing you two as sleep ate away at your high. Events like the Mnet Asian Music Awards and Melon Music Awards always had your sleeping schedules messed up, though he didn’t mind. How could he mind when the award shows were the reason why he had seen your beauty in the first place.

He thinks that even if you weren’t there in MAMA 2017 then he would have still fallen in love with you some other way. He believes that in different dimensions he still finds a way to find you and love you. He always will, and there was no universe out there that Kim Taehyung existed without you.

“Hey… look at me.” Taehyung breaks the silence as you turn to face him. The sky was only beginning to get lighter, though you were both still enclosed in darkness and the warm lights he had around his balcony.

“I would have never thought that the sophomore I saw in the hallways during break would have me wrapped around their finger in five years time. I would have never thought that the all-rounder of the girl group who won best new artist in MAMA 2017 would have me asking multiple staff members for her number. But what I now know is that I love this sophomore and I love this all-rounder. I love you. I love you so much, and I know for a fact that there is no one else I could love this much. Kim Taehyung in other realities always falls in love with Y/L/N Y/N and I don’t need to be Doctor Strange to know that. So…” Taehyung pauses as he stands up and grabs a box from his sweatpant’s pocket.

You were staring at him in shock and awe as you processed his words whilst trying to process his movements. You two were too young to get married. He knew that and you two had jokingly discussed that, so what the hell was he doing?!

“I’m not proposing. Don’t worry.” Taehyung chuckles as he bends both his knees to crouch on the floor and presents you with a cream box. He opens it to reveal two gorgeous Bvlgari Couple Rings. Both were of the color silver, though one was littered with gems and the other was plain.

Taehyung places the box on the table in front of the couch as he takes the ring littered with gems and softly reaches for your hand just like earlier. He takes your left hand and kisses the knuckle right above your ring finger as he looks up at you with doe eyes. The sun’s rays appeared higher up the horizon now and its soft hues colored his face perfectly.

“I want you to take this promise ring because with this you hold the promise of my heart forever loving yours. All my beauty and imperfections. My tight schedule and long rants. My overly romantic and cringey actions and my eyes that look for you in every crowd.” Taehyung says and a stinging sensation catches up to your eye.

“It will also keep your finger warm until the time I propose to you and marry you, so… will you—“ Taehyung’s slight joking and following question was cut off by your voice cracking. He looked back up to you after eyeing your bare finger and you had tears in your eyes. His eyes immediately fogging as it copies yours.

“Yes. Yes, Tae.” You nod your head to help rid your eyes of tears as Taehyung slips the silver ring through your ring finger and a happy tear slides down his cheek.

“And you, Taehyung. I want you to keep this promise ring until the time I marry you because God knows I’ll save up for a really expensive ring.” You joke as Taehyung laughs boisterously. You reach out for his left hand and take the remaining silver ring.

“I love you so much, baby. I’ve always loved you.” You say as you slid the ring through his fingers and something in your heart locks with security. It was as if life was completed with a simple ring even if it was just a promise ring.

You two had tear stains on your cheeks from happiness and Taehyung immediately stood up, farring you along with him, and brought you in for a deep and passionate kiss on the lips. His lips soft against yours as it held so much love for one another.

When you two parted you simply rested each other’s foreheads against one another as the sun fully rose from slumber. The sun’s light encapsulates the two of you in its beauty and peace. If only someone could take a picture of this moment right now…

Everything changed after these leaks. Both your management team had reached the agreement to put some space between the two of you to avoid any more evidence that could support the strong claim of your relationship. This meant lesser visits to Taehyung’s compromised apartment and lesser events where your group and BTS could have any interactions.

You barely saw Taehyung now and it felt like you had been thrusted back in time to when you were both getting to know each other and only calling and texting each other at night. Back then it felt like the right amount of time to spend with him, but now it felt too little. You missed him and not being able to see each other for months even when you were both in the same city hurts. You felt so close, yet so far.

BTS had also started growing internationally and Taehyung was spending more time abroad. Especially with their Map of The Soul world tour. You had your world tour too, but you two always made the effort to see each other once a month at most. Now, you barely saw each other in three months.

You didn’t understand why they needed you two to be separated after the rumors. There were always rumors in the Kpop world and they had always managed to payout news outlets, so why this ridiculous rule now? It was making you more and more frustrated by each meeting that you asked them to stop.

It all came to a breaking point in late September 2020. It had been ten months and the BTS world tour had ended in September, yet Taehyung and you hadn’t even seen each other since the summer. You were sick and tired of it and your latest comeback failing to reach the charts had stressed you out immensely.

“You know the question I’m about to ask.” You said coldly as your management team didn’t spare you a glance. Your general meeting had ended and though the other members and staff were still in the same room you didn’t stop yourself from speaking your mind.

“And you know what the answer is to it always.” Your lead manager says as you close your eyes to stop any tears from falling down your cheeks.

You were exhausted. You were exhausted from not making it to the charts and feeling as though all your hard work had turned out to be a failure, and you knew that perhaps a small break to be with Taehyung could fix you up nicely. A cuddle and a kiss could boot you right up to start producing and writing songs again. His touch could ease all your sore muscles and his voice humming songs to you could free your ears from the annoying buzz in your ear. A buzz that you think came from the amount of time you spent sampling beats in the studio, and then listening to the same beats during dance practice. Your head was a mess and you could only hear music through a broken filter.

“It’s been ten months…” You say quietly, though the founder of the company abruptly stands up and slaps his hand on the table.

“We can’t risk it!” He sounded angry as his loud voice shushes everyone.

“All of you! We can’t risk it, and you better listen before I put all of you on a dating ban!” He threatens as collective anger boils between all of you girls. You knew that each and every one of you had committed relationships, so there was no way in any universe would you agree to a dating ban.

“What the hell?! You can’t do that so abruptly! What’s really going on? Why is everyone so tense?!” Your leader speaks up as all staff members quiet down and the room is filled with silence. The clock on the wall could be heard ticking and if you really listened in, you would hear your own patience decreasing with each click.

“We’re nearing bankruptcy, okay?! Your album flopped, we’re losing sponsors, and I can’t afford paying out the media for your issue, okay?!” Your boss snaps as he seems to be on the verge of breaking down.

All your group members were at the same amount of shock as you were, though every

“How much time do we have?” Your leader asks as your boss breathes in a heavy sigh.

“6 months at most. We’re reducing staff and we can push for one more studio album. If it doesn’t chart then we’re done. I’m sorry.”

You left the meeting that evening with tears in your eyes and your head feeling agitated. How could they keep this very important news from you and the girls?! This was your job and your future. You had the right to know what was internally happening. Now, all of you had to give your best for the new comeback or else you would be left jobless.

This fury of emotions in you was getting overwhelming and as soon as you arrived in your apartment you called Taehyung for some comfort. Perhaps you could even see each other tonight. A good takeout dinner and a few kisses and cuddles could fix you right up for the new comeback.

“Hey babe, I’m at a shoot right now.” Taehyung answers the phone as you nodded and mentally noted that he would probably be called to hang up on you at any moment.

“Hey…What time do you end?” You asked meekly before you cleared your throat and leaned on your kitchen counter with a glass of water on your other hand.

“Ten or eleven. Why?” Taehyung seemed to be moving on the other side as you sigh. Late dinner would be fine, as long as you were with him, right?

“I was wondering if we could have some dinner at either of our places. I’ve had a bad day and I miss you.” You say truthfully as you closed your eyes and hold the tears that want to push past your eyelids.

“I’m sorry to hear that baby, but I don’t think it would be good for us to see each other right now. Management—“

“Please Tae. I need you.” You interrupted him as a sob coursed through your throat. You felt pathetic for asking for your boyfriend’s attention when you knew how busy the industry is during this time of the year, but you just heard your dreams are in danger and you needed someone you could vent to.

“Baby… I think it would be better if we follow our mana—“

“God! Do you not want to see me?!” This unexpected rage filled you as you began to see red behind the tears that dripped down your cheeks. Your apartment felt too hot. The heat made you agitated. You wanted one thing and the world couldn’t even give you that.

“You know it’s not like that.” Taehyung’s small voice sounded hurt from behind the phone’s speaker, but it enraged you more knowing your hurt was hurting him. You couldn’t do one thing right, couldn’t you? No. How dare he act hurt when you doubt he even fights for you in their meetings. It was always you asking to see him and he would remind you of both your management team’s warnings.

“Really?! Because I’m starting to think that you don’t even want to see me anymore. We haven’t even seen each other since summer! God knows where you’ve been during your tours.” Your last statement was uncalled for. You knew that. Your anger shouldn’t start accusations especially when you know that the man on the other side of the phone was deeply in love with you, but rage makes you do unexplainable things.

You were angry at everything and everyone, and the words that spilled out of your mouth had no further value but the vile that it carries. Taehyung knew that, but he was in the middle of his fifth shoot of the week. He was trying to be as patient as he could be with you, but a nerve had been touched when you questioned his loyalty. How could you question his loyalty when he has done everything in his power to show you how much he was in love with you? He had asked countless times when he could see you, but rejection was always the answer of his managers.

He hated this year just as much as he hated himself for bringing you out to the balcony that night. Not because he regretted giving you his promise ring, but because he wasn’t thinking properly. He should’ve known that neighboring people could see him with you. He should’ve thought about it clearer. He shouldn’t have placed you in that vulnerable situation, and that idea manifested itself to why he was so willing to follow the rules of his managers. He didn’t want to put you in that place again. He didn’t want both your names to go under fire on Twitter again.

“I don’t want to fight with you right now.” Taehyung says dejectedly as the glass on your hand slips to land on the floor. The sound of the glass shattering on the floor and the water spilling on tiles reached Taehyung’s ears as a shock filled him.

“Baby?! What was that sound? Are you okay?” Taehyung sits up straighter from where he was seated in the waiting room with the rest of his band members. All their eyes went to him as he looked panicked whilst on his phone call.

“Yeah, just a glass of water. I’ll talk to you later, V.” Your voice was monotone and the usage of his stage name had caused a frown to rest on Taehyung’s face. It felt strange. It felt as though you were placing a barrier between you and him when you used his stage name. The same barrier an idol had with their fans, but your relationship wasn’t like that. You were the love of his life and the keeper of his promise. Getting called his stage name by you felt cold.

Taehyung turns his phone off after you hang up on him and he leans back on the sofa he sat on. Yoongi sat asleep on his right whilst Jungkook was nearing sleep on his left, though Jimin sat across the room on another sofa with his eyebrow furrowed as if asking the younger for what that was about. However, Jimin was beaten to ask Taehyung about his call as Namjoon pipes in from sitting beside Jimin.

“What was that about?” Namjoon asks as Taehyung sighs. He didn’t want to answer, but now five pairs of eyes were on him and the ears of their makeup artists were pressuring him to answer with something.

“You already know.” Taehyung says in a low voice, though his hyungs nod in understanding.

“I don’t get why you don’t just go see her. You know, I break Sejin’s rules all the time.” Jimin says as he earns a warning shove from Namjoon and a laugh from Hoseok. They all eventually break Sejin’s rules and Taehyung himself even broke his rules earlier into courting you, but he shouldn’t risk it now. Not when your names were out there and any signs that you were dating would be taken as the truth.

“We’ll help you sneak out later, Taehyung ah.” Jin offers as he flashes the younger a playful grin and a wink from his seat in front of the mirror surrounded by makeup artists.

“Sejin will pay you out of everything.”

“You have to be careful though. Our company could buy you out, but hers might not have the funds for it.” Hoseok pipes in as his sudden negative input has everyone turning to him with questioning looks.

“Don’t you guys look at their stocks? It’s been getting lower since last year. It might be the reason why you weren’t protected from the balcony incident.” Hoseok says as he flashes the boys his screen that is filled with stocks.

“No, the balcony incident was because the people who caught us immediately posted it without the help of media outlets. Our management can only protect us to an extent.” Taehyung now speaks as he shakes his head and massages his forehead. They all knew that. If fans capture them then it would pose a larger threat because they were willing to release any media without sending an email and deal to companies.

But what Taehyung did take note from what his hyung said was how your company’s stocks were lowering. You never told him that problem so he thinks it isn’t a major problem, though if his hyung knew about it then the changes must be drastic.

And they were drastic. After you hang up on Taehyung, you have turned your tears into a driving power to get working on some lyrics in your notebook. You didn’t even realize the amount of time that had passed as you spent it hunched over the coffee table writing away. The glass shards still littered the tiles of the kitchen and your mascara still darkened your eyes.

It was already one in the morning and Taehyung carefully got into your apartment building as both his hands held your favorite takeout paper bags with drinks. The boys had in fact helped him sneak out of the dorm that night, and it took him a few minutes and taxi rides to finally get everything he wanted to buy for the night.

He was going to apologize tonight. He was going to tell you the truth of everything on his mind and he would listen to everything you had to say. He wanted to make things right and it starts with giving you a kiss as soon as he enters the door.

The knock from your apartment’s door was the first sound you’d heard in the past few hours. It brought you to consciousness from your endless writing, and when you looked down to see your work everything was only an incomprehensible mess. Dried tear stains littered the pages and the callus on your finger grew thicker from friction.

You pushed yourself up from your spot on the carpet and walked carefully towards your front door. Another soft knock followed after some silence and you wanted to tell the person on the other side that you were coming, though your throat was raw from lack of usage.

“Hey baby.” Taehyung’s figure greets you as you open the door. His freshly trimmed dark hair covered his forehead as his mask was discarded under his chin. His figure was engulfed in a black jacket with its hood unused. A soft smile played on his lips, though it fell as soon as he saw your figure. The smile instead was replaced with a look of worry as you can only imagine what state you looked like.

“I— I’m so sorry I didn’t come any sooner…” Taehyung immediately sets down the paper bags of food by the doorway before approaching you to engulf in a big warm hug. The hug that you had wished for earlier, and finally your emotions were put to ease.

The little droplets of rain left on his jacket and his steady heartbeat got rid of every pain and anger you had in your body and you finally let your eyes close as you hugged him back. His breath on top of your head slowly brings you back to the love and warmth you always knew would come to you.

“Tae, my— my company…”

You both had let everything out through dinner. In the early hours of the day, you both cried and laughed. You catched up with the happenings of each other's lives and you forgave each other.

“You know what would be great right now?” You spoke as Taehyung looked up to you from his place on your lap. His head rested on the valley of your thighs as his Hwarang drama played on the TV in your living room. His eyes bright and a soft smile permanently plastered to his lips.

“What?”

“A cone of ice cream.” You say as you watch his eyes brighten at the idea. So what if he just got his teeth cleaned and they were sensitive to cold food? If you wanted ice cream then he wants it too.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s get some ice cream!” He says as he sits up and turns off the TV.

“Tae, we can’t go out.” You remind him though the brow he raises and smug look on his face just makes a smile break your lips.

“I don’t care. No payouts, no worries. If they know then they’ll know. I’ll get my girl her ice cream!”

You giggle as Taehyung goes into your bedroom and comes out with a large black puffer jacket, a pair of warm socks, and a scarf. He ordered you to stand up as he wrapped the warm jacket over your figure and wrapped your neck up with a scarf. He pulls out a wet wipe to gently wipe your face with any dried tears or mascara before he pulls you towards the front door.

He doesn’t even let you crouch down to tie your own shoes or put your own socks on because he does it for you before he does his own. And soon you were already walking out your apartment building with his hand playing with yours.

You ended up grabbing a cone of your favorite ice cream from an ice cream place that was open 24/7. It was roughly a fifteen minute walk from your place and when he sensed your pace slowing, he took a detour and took you to a riverside road that had benches looking out onto the river.

Light bulbs tied into strings hung from trees and the gentle flow of the river made the place serene. You two sat on a bench and ate your ice cream by the river as silence engulfed you two. A comforting peace hugging you tightly as time seemed nonexistent when you were with him. You leaned your head on his shoulder and basked in the moment. A buzz of restlessness ringing in your ear, though it didn’t matter whenever he was near.

If someone took a picture of you now then you wouldn’t care anymore. As long as you were with him then you would be fine.

Everyone was convinced that the two of you were dating and ever since then you were a bit more shameless to post pictures on your instagram with a few too many similarities to deny that you two weren’t in the same place at the same time.

With the news of your unconfirmed relationship reaching new lengths with more leaked content, you two became somewhat old news. Everyone knew there was something undeniable between you two, though nothing had been confirmed. Your two companies stayed out of it after their first statement that only clarified that both of you weren’t engaged, though it also said that your companies had no rights in your personal engagements.

A month after, your latest comeback had been released and it was a massive pop. It had landed the charts and stayed on the Top 5 even with rising competition and BTS’s unstoppable Dynamite single. And Maybe, just maybe, it could save your company’s decline.

The end of November was the season of awardings and your latest comeback just manages to squeeze into the eligibility period of the criteria. Which meant your hit comeback had actually landed you multiple nominations, and perhaps your first ever Daesang? If that was possible against BTS’s unstoppable year.

It felt as though your struggles through the year were getting set to rest, and whatever happens now was up to the world’s hands.

Arriving in the 2020 Mnet Asian Music Awards felt like a reward. You could finally relax and enjoy the event of your year’s work. In these events you would always remember how it changed your life by letting you and Taehyung meet gazes. How it made you meet your closest friends and interact with fans from different fandoms. It was a celebration whether you left as a winner or not.

Taehyung took his first step out to walk the red carpet as cameras flash all around him. The crowd of fans behind the media outlets raised their phone cameras as cheers roared. His bandmates smiled and waved as they took a spot right in front of the banner backdrop.

They were missing Yoongi that night. The rapper was absent to recover from his long due shoulder surgery that he got in an accident years ago. This small change in their usual order had all the staff and management team on edge. They already had to relearn their choreography and positions for the performance tonight, and the staff were busy all week to find ways on how they would spend Yoongi’s rap parts of the song without him, so it was an understatement to say that everyone was a little tired and on edge for tonight.

The six remaining members all arranged themselves into their familiar order, with Taehyung leading the line and leaving a space for Yoongi before Jin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Jimin, and Hoseok followed in order.

They all stopped at the first spot where semi-popular outlets took pictures of them and their different colored suits. They all had a mix of muted navy, white, and some accents of maroon, a color scheme that stood out from the classic black suit. Taehyung wore navy trousers and a matching suit jacket whilst his undershirt was a satin white. His suit jacket was buttoned up to his chest and had a maroon colored handkerchief in its pocket.

After a few seconds, a director had signed for Taehyung to continue walking along the carpet as the boy group Seventeen, that was ahead of them in the queue, moved towards the part of the carpet where the event hosts would interview them.

Taehyung glanced behind him to make sure his bandmates were following him as he moved further up the queue. They stopped once again with their line still intact and they posed for the more known media outlets.

At the same time, their junior’s Tomorrow X Together arrived and followed them in the queue by taking their previous spot. Their hoobaes dressed in fitting black suits as they arranged themselves in a line and posed for the cameras. The crowd also cheered for them, before they reverted their attention to the short interview held on the members of Seventeen.

Another cue of a director made Taehyung turn to watch the Seventeen walk inside the building. He waited patiently for all members to enter before he followed to occupy the spot they had left. The host, Song Joong Ki, greeted the members as Taehyung was handed two microphones that he passed to his bandmates. He would let his hyung’s take care of the interview answers, though he still smiled to the cameras that flashed and broadcasted the carpet.

“Welcome! Bangtan Sonyeondan!” Song Joong Ki announces as classic questions fall from his lips, though he has lost all of Taehyung’s attention when he saw you enter to lead your group on the queue of the carpet.

Your body clad in a white angelic like satin material dress. It had thick bows as spaghetti straps on your shoulders, though it kept the skin of your collarbone and shoulders exposed. It hugged your torso tightly almost like a corset before it loosened below your waists and made you seem like a doll. Hemline details on your skirt had separated the silky fabric of the bodice and majority of the skirt to the more flowy and scrunched material that gave your dress an airy aura. Your white heels polished to shine as bright as the cameras, and your angel-like makeup made Taehyung feel like he was actually seeing an angel.

He didn’t care if people saw how his mouth stood agape and how his gaze stayed on you for a moment too long. It was the only appropriate reaction to your outfit. Your bandmates also had varying white dresses on, yet you seemed like the star of the show. A true beauty that he was blessed to witness in his lifetime.

“Taehyung ah, stop staring at your girlfriend and move.” Jin had whispered to Taehyung. The space for Yoongi in between them had disappeared as Taehyung snapped his gaze back to his hyung. He could see you posing for pictures on his peripheral vision, though the slight nudge of Jin pushing him along to enter the venue was enough for him to stop watching you.

He could even see Jimin flashing him a smirk as it was quite obvious who had stolen all his attention. Taehyung was shameless as he only smiled and calmly walked towards the small steps leading to the venue.

He wondered how he would celebrate tonight. The Mnet Asian Music Awards always have been an indicator to him that it had been another year since he met the most beautiful angel on Earth. He would always replay the moment he caught your eyes when he received an award, and sometimes, if he was lucky, your eyes would meet and he falls for you deeper than he had the first time you met. Gosh, he hoped one of the cameras had gotten a good picture of you because he can’t wait to make it his homesc—

Bang.

And screaming was all he heard as his head snapped to find out what the commotion was about. Everyone’s handheld cameras had turned to the start of the queue, and the cameras that were on fixed stands to face the carpet in front were left unattended by the camera directors. All their eyes widening at a sight that Taehyung couldn’t see.

Security guards that stood near the venue entrance had run past Taehyung to get to the commotion, though Taehyung couldn’t see through a combination of his hyung’s heads and the bodies of managers and staff that filled the red carpet.

Taehyung was more curious than worried about the commotion. All he knew was that the commotion had taken place at the start of the queue where he stood just a few moments ago. Taehyung watched as all his members tried to raise their necks to see past the crowd.

Namjoon had tapped a staff member to ask what happened, and Taehyung would have intently eavesdropped the conversation if not for the face Jimin had flashed Taehyung as he turned with a worried look. It was a look that knew something.

How did Jimin see through the crowd? They didn’t know.

“What is it?” Taehyung asked as Jimin stopped stretching his neck and stared at him with wide eyes whilst licking his lips as if he was finding the right words to describe the situation he saw.

But Taehyung didn’t need to hear it from him as Jin soon found a gap to see what happened, and the loud ‘woah’ that involuntarily left his throat was enough for all members present to look at him.

However, just like Jimin did after seeing the commotion, their eldest member flashed Taehyung worried eyes before grabbing Taehyung’s wrist as if he could bolt at any moment. These glances and actions were starting to worry Taehyung now. He would understand if the members who saw something happened wouldn’t want the other members to know, but why did it look as if they didn’t want him specifically to know or react.

“What?” Taehyung’s Daegu accent came out as he was getting worried at what was happening.

Then a few gasps came from the crowd that watched and Taehyung finally found a gap to see someone on top of another person at the start of the queue. Right where your group was standing mere seconds ago.

Taehyung tugged at Jin’s grip as he finally saw someone pull the erratically moving person off the floor and the person she had pinned to the floor.

Who was getting attacked? Taehyung didn’t know yet, but something in his stomach told him that his hyungs knew.

The crazy woman was pulled off the floor by a security guard. Taehyung's gaze went from the woman fighting the guard to one of the barriers that separated the general crowd of fans from the photographers, carpet, and artists. The barrier was on the floor as other fans didn’t dare cross it, though he had figured that the loud bang was from the barrier falling to the floor.

Taehyung then let his gaze wander to whoever the woman had pinned to the floor and lo and behold… it was you.

Seeing your messy hair and disoriented figure had blood surging through Taehyung’s body. A different type of adrenaline flowed through him unlike the ones he experiences at concerts. No, this one made him want to fight and flight at the same time.

Taehyung easily pulled away from Jin’s grip as he walked past Jimin before he could block his way. The call of his name from Hoseok and Jungkook fell on deaf ears as he continued his fast strides towards you. His eyes fixed on your figure before it was lost behind a crowd of people.

Taehyung pushed past TXT with little to no problems. He simply murmured an apology and an ‘excuse me’ as he passed through.

A ring of people had circled where you were supposed to be as Taehyung pushed past people in his goal to reach you. It felt as though his body was walking through quicksand at how he had to forcibly get his body past the crowd.

He can feel his suit get wrinkled and his shoes get stepped on. His hair must be ruffled by now and perhaps one of his prop rings had already slipped past a finger, but it didn’t matter. As long as the silver band he had as your promise was fine and he gets to you in the least amount of time then anything else could be replaceable.

With one more push he finally got to the middle of the crowd. The air felt less dense, though Taehyung couldn’t get a proper breath in until he could see that you were okay.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to meet each other though. Your wide blown out eyes reach peace as your eyes meet his, and he would be lying if your eyes didn’t give him just a small bit of ease running through his body.

He immediately took a step towards you as a few gasps were heard followed by a louder bang rang and silenced his surroundings. A disorienting buzz ran through his ears as he turned towards the woman to see her get tackled to the floor by multiple security guards and a gun slipping past her grip.

The bang wasn’t another barrier falling…

She shot a bullet

And he didn’t know where it landed.

Taehyung reached for you to engulf with his body and shield you from the direction the woman was. You immediately collapsed into his grip as you brought your hands to cover your face and bury yourself in Taehyung’s suit.

“Baby, are you okay? Are you hurt? D—did you…” Taehyung couldn’t finish what he wanted to ask you as he opted to skim your body for any obvious injuries.

He wasn't going to admit it but he was looking for a bullet wound under the fabric of your dress, though all he saw was the ruffled satin material as you cried onto his chest. His grip on you tightened as he turned his head back to see proper police men restrain the woman in handcuffs.

“You’re okay now. You’re fine. You’re safe, baby. She’s gone.” Taehyung repeats his words over your hair. A kiss landing on your messy hair. His whispers of comfort placed ease into both your bodies, though you could still hear his heart pumping heavily.

“Tae…” You were breathless as tears uncontrollably dripped down your cheeks. You were just thankful that Taehyung was blocking you from the media. Now that the woman was gone, the media was bound to get an aftermath photo of you so you were just glad they couldn’t see you in the middle of a breakdown.

“Yes baby? Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?” Taehyung asked as he rubbed a hand on the top of your hair to soothe down some loose strands, though the action was more to comfort you than fix up your appearance. He was well aware of the cameras and whispers around you.

“Are— are you hurt? The g-gun…” Your voice shakes as you wipe your tears and look up at him.

The sounds of cameras flashing, managers and staff speaking loudly, and police, was the loud buzzing of your ear. It started right as you were tackled to the ground with a twist of your ankle and your head hitting the not so soft red carpet. It still heavily buzzes in your ear over any other noise, excluding Taehyung’s calming voice which you can hear just as clear as the vibrations of your heart pumping.

“No. No, I’m not hurt, baby. Please answer me now. Are you okay?” Taehyung repeats himself whilst placing emphasis on the word ‘you’. He brings a gentle hand to wipe tears sliding down your cheek as you take in the condition of your body.

“My— my ankle… I think I twisted it when I fell, but I think I’m fine.” You say as the adrenaline wears off and an uncomfortable sting comes to your left ankle. You still stood on your heels effortlessly, though a growing tingle had started to spread from where the heel’s strap held onto your ankle.

“Okay. Thank you for answering.” Taehyung kisses your lips swiftly before he raises a hand to call for attention, and looks towards the direction of the venue. Paramedics and staff that were on standby were already walking down the carpet as your eyes even catch Jimin’s worried eyes skimming over both you and Taehyung. The medics were by your side in no time as the crowd around you disperse.

“She said that she might’ve twisted her ankle.” Taehyung says to the paramedics who nodded, though they didn’t signal him to let go just yet.

“Let’s go to the back to check for further injuries. The media is out of control.” A manager suggested to the paramedics who agreed.

“Can you walk?” Taehyung asks as you merely nodded before you were led to a private space behind the wall of the red carpet. Taehyung continued to support you as you took heavy steps in your heels.

The small space behind the backdrop wasn’t too spacious though it was enough to shield you as the paramedics opened a kit and let you sit down on a small plastic stool. Taehyung stood right beside you. Your fingers intertwine as your fingers meet the cold material of his promise ring, and that’s when it hits you.

“Sh-shit.” Your once dried cheeks had now turned wet again as you looked down to your hand and found all your fingers were bare from any jewelry.

“Shh… You’re fine, baby. You’re getting treated.” Taehyung rubs your head to help soothe you though your sobs start to grow as the paramedics ask you what’s wrong, though you only shook your head to dismiss them.

“Tae… I lost the— the ring. It— It must have fell when I—“

“It’s fine, baby. I can buy you a new one.” Taehyung reassures you, though you were inconsolable.

“Please, say something if this hurts Miss.” The medic speaks as she caresses the skin of your ankle. A yelp leaving your lips as the medics nodded and continued to assess your shin.

From the way your chest heaved with each sob and the way tears fell from your eyes, the medics couldn’t assess you properly though they made the best of the situation and made the decision to take you to the hospital.

“Taehyung, you need to get into the venue. The event is going to be delayed, but groups need to be inside the venue for security checks and safety.” His manager speaks as his head pops from the other side of the backdrop. A wheelchair strolling behind him as the medics explain to you that they were taking you to the hospital.

“What? I can’t leave her right now. Did you see what happened?!” Taehyung didn’t mean to raise his voice, though he couldn’t leave you right now. Perhaps you were physically okay, but that must have been mentally shocking and he wants to be there just to comfort you even if it doesn’t make a big difference.

“Yes, I did see. Everyone saw. And we don't know if there’s another sasaeng out there, so we need you to get in the venue now.” The manager said sternly, though Taehyung continued to ignore the orders.

He instead opted to help guide you to sit comfortably on the wheelchair. His finger grazing over red scratch marks on the skin of your forearm. He hadn’t seen those earlier, though he doubts the paramedics had missed it.

When they exited from behind the backdrop they were met with security guards escorting them to the road where the ambulance was parked. Taehyung walked alongside the wheelchair as the paramedic wheeled you to the ambulance. His manager followed a few paces behind.

You writhed with shame as you thought about all the news that could be written on this night alone and you hadn’t even entered the venue yet. You weren’t sure you could.

Taehyung was held back by his manager before he could enter the ambulance with you. His gaze in question and slight irritation as he was met by the face of their manager once more, though this time his members were walking out the venue in search of him.

“Kim Taehyung don’t go. For her sake. You can see her after, but right now we need you inside for the media's sake.” Their manager says more desperate now as he turns to meet your eyes that were inside the ambulance.

He was all too aware of the eyes watching both of you and he could tell that you were too. You gave him a slight nod as a sign that you’d be fine as he nodded more to himself and took a step back to be with his manager. For your sake, he wasn’t going to be with you right now. Not when the media would be having a frenzy already. For you, your company, and your reputation.

“Come on, get inside.” The manager nudged Taehyung to follow behind him as he kept his gaze down on the floor when a few cameras took pictures of him walking to the entrance.

A shiny piece of jewelry caught his attention as he bent down and found the promise ring he had given you last year. A promise ring that had caused you more tears than he wanted you to have.

“Come on, V.” Jimin says as he reaches out for Taehyung to accompany him in walking to the venue behind the rest of the members that flashed him pitiful looks.

“You did the right thing. She needed you, and you’ll see each other after this.” Jimin reassured, as Taehyung’s eyes began to sting from behind, though he tried to stop the emotions from showing in his eyes.

“They said it was a sasaeng?” Taehyung asked as the security guards opened the door for them and they entered the dark and cold doors of the big venue that the 21st Mnet Asian Music Awards would take place in.

“Apparently. I tried my best to eavesdrop and they said that the motive might’ve been because of your relationship. She was ARMY.” Jimin summarized everything he had heard as they both stopped in a dim hallway to wait for staff to open a door that led to the artist area.

“I still don’t get how she managed to walk past security, staff, and camera directors. How did she even have a gun?!” Taehyung was exasperated as the two ‘95 liners leaned against the padded walls. Taehyung leaned his head on Jimin’s shoulder as Jungkook came up to squeeze his shoulder.

“Is she okay? We heard guns were involved.” Jungkook asked as it was obvious that the rest of his bandmates were listening from behind the maknae.

“Yeah. She’s shaken up. Maybe even have a twisted ankle and a few scratches.” Taehyung says as his eyes zone out on the pattern of the carpet and his fingers play on the ring he held on his finger.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon shows himself from behind Jungkook as Taehyung simply nods.

The night had gone by like a blur. It was obvious to everyone watching that he was not as present as he should have been, though nobody blames him. The views of the event had skyrocketed after news broke out that an artist was attacked and yet the event continued on. Hashtags about the event and incident even went viral prior to the awards finishing because clips of Taehyung running towards you and escorting you to the ambulance had gone viral. It practically happened in front of everybody so it was bound to get posted, and technically no blood or gore had been shown so the content wasn’t blocked as quickly as both your companies and the event organizers wanted them to be.

Taehyung walks through the hospital hallways with paper bags of your favorite takeout food, your favorite drink, some spare clothes of his that you could change to in case your personal assistant didn’t bring good comfy clothes, and a small cake of your favorite flavor. He had made do with how late it was and how your favorite bakery was already closed.

It felt like deja vu once again. However, this time he wasn’t riding the elevator to your apartment but rather riding it to your hospital room.

Your absence from the event was so painstakingly obvious for him and everyone. He was jittery all night, and your group seemed so small when they occupied the stage for their performance. It was obvious that they had done last minute blocking, and the bactrack had been used for your solo parts. They seemed so small when they walked down the artist area and got to the stage to receive the Best Female Group award and the Best Female Group Dance Performance award. Your group wasn’t small in the sense that they had little members, though it felt like something was missing. Your big bubbly smile and your funny yet carefully worded speech was missing, and Taehyung could speak for everyone that your presence was greatly missed.

He had received a text from you as soon as the event ended and when he got his phone back. Your text contained your congratulations for him and his wins and performances. Jimin even showed Taehyung a message you sent that congratulated Jimin and the rest of BTS. It was certainly a good year for them, and you had grown closer towards your boyfriend’s close friend despite only interacting a few times.

You told him that he should probably visit later into the evening since your group would be visiting you after the event, though Taehyung didn’t listen and still went as fast as he could when ordering food.

He arrived at your hospital room at almost two in the morning and from what he could hear, your bandmates were still in your hospital room talking to you.

He knocked on the door and heard the girls quiet down as one of the members opened the door to see Taehyung standing in the middle of the hallway with his PA behind him holding the bag of clothes and box of cake.

“Hey, sorry to intrude on your celebrations but can I come see my girlfriend?” Taehyung says as a smile couldn’t help but creep up his face as his heart swells with pride with how he openly says that you were his girlfriend.

“Yah Y/Nah, your boyfriend is here.” The member smiled brightly as she opened the door wider to show you laying in the hospital bed with wide eyes from Taehyung’s early arrival. Your other bandmates had visibly smiled brighter when Taehyung entered the room.

“Good evening.” Taehyung greets as he places all of the paper bags on a nearby table and bows deeply to your bandmates.

“Congratulations on your wins and performance!”

All of your bandmates greet the same words as they bow just as deep to their sunbaenim.

“You should have told us Kim Taehyung sunbaenim was coming. We should’ve ordered more food for him—“ You leader speaks as you stay silent yet a small smiles lingers on your lips when Taehyung doesn’t let his eyes leave you.

“It’s okay. I brought some takeout to eat, and a cake to celebrate your wins.” Taehyung opens the small cake he had brought as his PA takes his leave and walks out the door.

“Oh V sunbaenim, thank you! We already had some cake, but I’m sure Y/N would love that. She barely ate anything tonight.” One of your members discloses as you send her a warning gaze as her face contorts into a look of apology.

Taehyung’s brown doe eyes met yours once more and this time it held the same worry it had earlier in the evening. You hated that. You hated seeing him worried over you, though at the same time it made you feel so cared for.

“We should probably get going. We need some rest and we can celebrate properly when you’re feeling better Y/N.” Your group’s leader says as they all excused themselves after they bid you well and congratulated Taehyung once more.

You were left in the silence of your hospital room with Taehyung at last. It felt like a decade just to get some time alone ever since the incident, and it felt like a reward to finally be alone together after the stressful night.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Taehyung asks as he comes towards the side of the bed to give you a kiss on your cheek.

“Not in the mood for it.” You say honestly because you really didn’t feel hungry, though Taehyung’s brow raised to doubt your answer.

“Come on, don’t let me eat all of this alone.” He says as your favorite food reaches your nose. The aroma turns the wheel of your appetite as Taehyung moves the table closer to the side of your bed.

“Seriously, Tae…”

“Please baby? Let me food you a few spoonfuls at least? It would help me feel better.” Taehyung asks as you nod willingly.

He opens up a container and grabs a wooden spoon to fill with the right amount of everything before guiding the spoon to your open mouth. The warmth of the food immediately landing in your stomach as a satisfied hum left you. Taehyung smiled at that and took his own bite with a smile.

“How’s your ankle?” He asks.

“It’s twisted, but it should heal well. I’ll be walking around with a brace, but it's not like we have a comeback coming.” You say as you move your leg from under the white blanket and show him the brace that keeps your ankle straight.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be here though. They said that I’m showing symptoms of an acute concussion, so it would be better to keep me under observation. That’s why I’m not really eating food right now. I don’t want to throw it up in case this does happen to be a concussion. ” You shrug as you eye the movie that showed on the TV.

Taehyung took your left hand in his and raised it to meet his lips. His breath grazing over your ring finger as you feel him slide a familiar metal back to its place.

“What— Woah! You found it!” You smile as you check the ring to truly see if it was the same ring he had given you a year ago. The same small dent that you had accidentally struck against the wall had grazed the design and you knew for a fact that it was the same ring you had worn as a promise.

“It’s kinda hard to miss. No wonder everyone saw it when we wore it.” Taehyung chuckles as he kisses your hand again before you pull him closer to you to kiss on the lips.

His usually soft lips still had some remnants of lipstick from the makeup of their performance. However, the surface wasn’t the soft flesh you’ve come to be familiar with. It was bitten and cracked in some places. Some skin was freshly peeled and others were dry and waiting for the time to be peeled. It was a sign that he had bitten them off prematurely as a coping mechanism from anxiety.

“I’m sorry, baby. I— I heard the fan was a sasaeng and I didn’t even try that hard to join you in the ambulance, but I— I didn’t want the media following and— and our companies… It’s not an excuse—“

“Tae, it’s not your fault.” You state sternly with your expression straight. You didn’t know where this reaction was coming from, but you had to shut down all those thoughts.

“She was a sasaeng— an ARMY…” Taehyung was teary eyed as he sat on the side of the bed with his hands wrapped around your waist as your arms rested on his shoulders.

“You can’t control them and you can’t control what our agencies tell us to do. Just like how they told us to keep some distance when we told them about our relationship. We can break what they say sometimes, but eventually we know we have to follow them. Like how we still kept on seeing each other and how you still had to join the event.” You explained as he nodded.

He was tongue tied or perhaps he didn’t have anything more to say. He just wanted to hold you and tell himself he did everything he could to prevent what happened and that at the end of the day you are fine with injuries that could be fixed. He wanted to kiss you and feel your skin against his. He wanted to breathe in your scent and feel your chest move with every inhale and exhale.

So he did just that. He laid beside you and brought your body down with him to embrace. Your skin against his as you both settle in a comfortable position.

“What if we weren’t idols?”

“Don’t say that Tae. We met because we were idols. We met because we wanted to study being idols and you saw me because you are a damn good idol.” You say as Taehyung laughs and kisses your cheeks.

“I know, but like what if we went away for a while. Just the two of us and some place we don’t know.” Taehyung proposes as you tilt your head to think over the idea as you signal him to continue his brewing thought.

“Just for a few days or a week. We deserve it after a long year. Besides, it’s my birthday soon.” Taehyung smiles brighter when he mentions his birthday as if you hadn’t been saving up for his birthday gift already.

“That does sound nice…”

“So it’s settled! New Year’s and my birthday in some place we don’t know! I’ll start planning it tomorrow.” Taehyung smiles as you laugh with him, but really he was planning on replacing your dented ring with a new one.

“Also I brought some clothes. I was wondering if I could sleep here tonight.” Taehyung asks as you smile and land a kiss on his lips.

“I was waiting for you to say that. My parents are visiting early in the morning though, so you better be up by then.” You both chuckle as he kisses you once more.

“Are you comfy in your clothes? I have your favorite sweater in the bag, and a coat in case you ever feel like having ice cream again.”

You chuckle as you slightly nudge his shoulder. This man truly was something else.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY V!

And

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

[heretherebedork]

soo mon's actor said this https://x.com/aston_lv/status/1936857705534394645

what do you think

That what he wanted to do and tried to do didn't come through in the show. That's what I think.

Because, frankly, the show didn't give us that. What it gave us was a very specific flavor of biphobic Kim and yet another episode where Mon just has to accept everything about Kim and continue the relationship despite him having very good points.

Look, the idea is great. I respect the idea entirely.

But I think the way it was expressed in the actual show does not live up to the idea. At all. I think the show itself did not actually address those issues, it sort of skirted around the issues and then did a little PSA Direct Statements bit that didn't actually... do anything. It was shallow and shallow at the cost of the message they wanted.

This is not the actor's fault, he's just doing his best. This is a combination of a failure of the director and the scriptwriter who saw an idea and did not develop it fully and instead simply shoehorned in what they thought was a Good Lesson without considering what it actually could have meant.

And a huge part of the problem is having this happen in episode 10 after multiple episodes placing Mon in the wrong for many, many things he should not have been in the wrong about and then having this instant forgiveness without any real upset happen which just felt like another 'well, Mon can't be upset, Kim is just insecure!'

It's a wonderful idea. I wish it had been executed as well as he thinks it was.

Because they did not overcome anything. Nothing felt like it was solved. It just felt like a magical bandaid that Kim's issues were instantly solved because Mon reassured him again and again and that Mon was only worried and jealous about girls adds a layer to the biphobia that was not addressed AT ALL.

I am not bi. I cannot speak for bi people. But I will speak what I saw and what I was a good intention that was done so shallowly that it turned in on itself.

[inkedwithcharm]

Almost Yours | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 4

The night it happened still lingered like a cold breath on the back of your neck.

You could still see it sometimes—

The way the streetlight hit the curve of your sister’s smile when she said yes.

The way Seokjin’s voice cracked just a little, asking her if they could try.

You remembered how the cookie box slipped from your hands before you even realized you were trembling.

And how the two of them turned—startled—and how Jin said your name like it meant something.

But it didn’t.

Not anymore.

Not in the way you needed it to.

You never got to say what you wanted.

You never told him that for years, you had loved him quietly. That you memorized his favorite gum flavor, and the way his laughter faded when he was deep in thought. That you had stayed up nights, wondering how to let go of a love that never belonged to you.

Instead, you ran.

And you stayed gone.

You left him standing in the snow with your broken heart at his feet.

10 Years Later

The hallway smelled like antiseptic and hand soap.

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above you, flickering at the far end of the corridor. A nurse passed you with a nod, a clipboard tucked under her arm. You gave a small, tired smile in return.

“Dr. L/N, the family in 2C is ready for post-evaluation,” a staff member called out.

You adjusted the lanyard around your neck, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I’m on my way.”

Your ID badge caught the light:

Y/N L/N, PhD, Clinical Psychologist – Seoul National Hospital

The weight of the title still felt surreal some days.

You had built this—every hour, every paper, every night spent studying instead of sleeping. You had chosen healing as your profession, long before you fully knew how to do it for yourself.

And now you were here.

Helping people piece themselves back together—

even as your own pieces had long since shifted into new shapes.

The case in Room 2C was a young boy—ten years old, post-trauma. His parents sat stiffly beside him, answering your questions as gently as they could.

You didn’t push.

You learned early that healing wasn’t coaxed through force—but patience. Through offering safety, not solutions.

The session ended quietly. The child drew a picture of a tree. You knelt beside him, asking about the branches. He smiled. It was enough for today.

You stepped out of the room and into the nurses’ break lounge, finally letting your body sag into the couch.

Taehyung was already there, stirring a ridiculous amount of sugar into his coffee.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” he said without looking up.

“That’s because I haven’t,” you muttered, kicking off your flats.

Jimin poked his head in moments later, balancing a sandwich on a clipboard. “Is it true you made a six-year-old stop crying using nothing but crayons and soft eye contact?”

“I have my moments,” you smirked.

Taehyung tossed you a snack bar. “Seriously though, how are you holding up?”

You shrugged. “Work’s been heavy this month. I haven’t had time to… breathe.”

“You do know it’s allowed to be proud of yourself, right?” Jimin said. “Graduated top of your class. Licensed psychologist. Actual job. Not living off instant noodles. You’re killing it.”

You smiled—genuine this time. “Thanks, guys.”

They had been your constants.

Jimin, with his never-ending emotional support and aggressively cheerful texts.

Taehyung, with his chaotic wisdom and terrible art metaphors.

They stayed.

Even when others didn’t.

Later that evening, you were on call for the overnight rotation—covering emergency psych evaluations for ER patients flagged as high-risk.

You leaned back in your chair between cases, eyes flickering to your phone.

A message sat unopened from your mother:

“Are you coming for my birthday this year? It would mean a lot.”

You exhaled slowly.

The last time you’d been home, Soojin had been there.

Still dating Jin. Still smiling.

Still unaware of what she’d taken without meaning to.

You had forgiven her—quietly.

But you hadn’t yet found the strength to see them together again.

And so, you hadn’t gone back.

Your phone buzzed again. This time, a different notification:

New Patient Intake – 5th Floor Lobby. Adult. Male. 28. Referred for anxiety, recurring sleep disturbances.

You opened the file, blinking at the name.

Jeon Jeongguk.

Huh.

Something about the name settled in your chest—not in a sharp way, but curiously warm.

You glanced at the intake notes: artist, recently moved back from abroad, emotionally closed-off, quiet.

You grabbed your clipboard and headed to the fifth floor.

You had long accepted that some things break and never come back.

Some silences last forever.

But maybe—

just maybe—

new stories begin when you’re finally no longer waiting for the old one to change.

The fifth floor was quiet when you arrived.

It always was this late—only the occasional beep of monitors or the soft voice of a nurse walking a patient down the hallway.

You scanned the intake form again as you entered the consultation wing.

Name: Jeon Jeongguk

Age: 28

Referred by: Dr. Min (ER attending)

Reason for referral: Insomnia. Anxiety symptoms. Adjustment issues post-relocation.

History: None reported. No known prior therapy.

You’d seen it before—patients like him.

Talented. Independent. Quiet.

People who held so much in their chest they forgot how to breathe properly.

It wasn’t rare. But something about this one made you pause.

You knocked softly on the small evaluation room door. The observation window was slightly fogged from the air conditioning.

A quiet voice inside responded, “Come in.”

He was sitting on the couch, back straight, elbows resting on his knees. Dressed in black from head to toe, with silver hoops in both ears and an oversized hoodie that somehow made him look smaller than his height allowed.

He looked up, and for a brief moment, you both just… regarded each other.

His eyes were deep brown, almost unreadable. But not cold. More like—tired. Controlled. Someone used to being observed, but rarely understood.

You stepped in gently, closing the door behind you.

“Hi, Jeongguk,” you said, voice even and soft. “I’m Dr. Y/N L/N, the clinical psychologist on rotation tonight.”

He nodded once. “Nice to meet you.”

“May I sit?”

“Sure.”

You sat across from him, not too close. Not too far.

No clipboard yet. No questions right away.

Just presence.

“I saw in your notes that this is your first time speaking to someone professionally,” you began.

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t really think I needed to. Until I couldn’t sleep for four days.”

You gave a small smile. “That’ll do it.”

He let out a faint exhale. It wasn’t a laugh, but it wasn’t silence either.

You spoke slowly. No pressure. No push.

You asked about sleep first. Then work. Then why he came home.

“I was living in Tokyo,” he said. “Worked in visual design. Freelance mostly. Then… I guess I started feeling… off. Like I was floating. But heavy at the same time.”

“And coming back to Seoul—did you hope that would help?”

He nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. But it didn’t. Everything’s too loud now. I don’t go out unless I need to. I hate mornings. And people asking what I’m doing next.”

You leaned forward a little. “You don’t need to know what’s next.”

He blinked, surprised by your lack of advice.

“I just need to know where you are now,” you added.

He was quiet for a beat. Then, softly:

“I’m tired.”

You met his gaze. “Then let’s start with that.”

The session went longer than expected.

He didn’t spill everything. But enough.

Enough to know he’d been carrying the weight of perfectionism. That he was creative but trapped inside his own standards. That he missed someone he never got closure with. That art, for a while, had become a burden. And that being back home made him feel like he didn’t belong anywhere.

You didn’t give him solutions.

Just a space to breathe.

And when you told him he could return if he wanted—no pressure—he nodded.

“I think I will,” he said quietly.

⸻

After he left, you stayed in the room for a moment longer, staring at the empty seat he’d occupied.

There was something about him that lingered. Not in a romantic way—not yet.

Just… a gravity. Like something inside him was still unfolding.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt a quiet pull toward something new.

Back in the staff lounge, you bumped into Jung Hoseok, another psychologist on your team—bright-eyed, slightly overdressed for a hospital shift, and carrying two cans of coffee.

“There you are,” he said, tossing you one. “You missed lunch.”

“Thanks,” you said, catching it mid-air.

Hoseok tilted his head, reading your face. “You okay?”

You gave a half-smile. “New patient. Just a lot of weight in the room today.”

He nodded. “Ah. The ones that make you want to sit on the roof after.”

You chuckled. “Exactly that.”

He sat beside you. “You know… people like him, the quiet ones—they stay with you. Not because they’re more broken. But because they’re the ones who try the hardest to look fine.”

You looked at him. “How do you not get attached?”

“I do,” he said. “But I let it be. Empathy isn’t a weakness, Y/N. Just make sure you leave room for yourself, too.”

You nodded, grateful.

The hospital, your job, the ache that once lived in your chest—

It all felt quieter now.

And somewhere, in that stillness, something unfamiliar was starting to stir.

“You changed something.”

Jeongguk’s voice was soft, but certain.

You looked up from your notes and blinked at him, confused for a second.

He clarified, with a faint motion of his hand, “Your hair. It’s tied up today.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Ah. Observation skills improving already.”

He didn’t smile back, but something about his posture loosened. He looked less like a man balancing on a thread.

It was his second session.

Still no formal diagnosis.

But you could already tell he wasn’t here just to talk.

He was here to figure himself out.

Which meant letting his defenses down would take time.

You leaned forward gently. “You seem a little more settled today.”

He exhaled, slowly. “Slept for five hours straight last night.”

“That’s a win.”

“I dreamt though. Which felt worse, actually.”

Your pen paused mid-word. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He tapped his fingers against the fabric of his sleeve. “I was back in Tokyo. Alone in the studio apartment I used to live in. But I could hear someone knocking. I never opened the door. I think I knew who it was, but I didn’t move.”

“What do you think it meant?”

Jeongguk looked out the window beside him. The sky had dimmed to a soft indigo.

“I think I’m avoiding something. Or someone.”

You didn’t press.

“I haven’t drawn in six months,” he admitted. “I used to draw every day since I was thirteen.”

“Why did you stop?”

He glanced at you briefly, then looked down at his hands. “Because I realized I was drawing the same person in different shapes. Different bodies. Same eyes. Over and over.”

You stayed quiet, letting the silence expand.

When he didn’t continue, you gently asked, “Someone important to you?”

“I thought so,” he said. “But… she left. And I didn’t stop drawing her until I saw her again by accident. She was with someone else. Happy.”

He chuckled, humorless. “It pissed me off that I still recognized the curve of her shoulder. The way she tilted her head when she laughed. Like my memory refused to forget.”

You met his gaze.

“It’s not about not moving on,” you said quietly. “It’s about the part of you that still remembers how deeply you felt.”

Jeongguk looked at you then. There was no flirtation in it. No searching.

Just… understanding.

The way two people do when they’ve both been hurt without having to explain.

After the session, you walked back to your office to finish reports. The hallway buzzed faintly with chatter, the usual rhythm of a hospital preparing to switch to night staff.

Your phone vibrated in your coat pocket.

A name lit up on screen:

엄마 (Mom):

“Y/N-ah, please don’t ignore your mother. My birthday’s coming up next week. Maybe you could come home for the weekend? Even just a night.”

You stared at it.

It wasn’t unexpected—she always asked.

And you always gave a different excuse.

Not because you were angry.

But because the thought of sitting across from your sister again—seeing the casual ease in her face, or worse, guilt she tried to mask as kindness—made your chest tighten.

You hadn’t seen Soojin in years. Not since the winter your world quietly collapsed.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen. You typed.

“I’ll check my schedule. I might be on call.”

You didn’t send it. You deleted it.

Then sighed and turned your phone face down.

You headed to the break room, hoping for something to reset your thoughts.

Jung Hoseok was there, standing near the window, sipping a canned coffee.

He glanced over. “Rough session?”

You shook your head. “Actually, no. He opened up.”

“Jeongguk?”

You nodded. “He’s not… fragile. But something about him feels like it’s barely held together. He doesn’t spill, but when he does, it’s specific. Purposeful.”

“That’s the thing with quiet pain,” Hoseok said, walking over. “It doesn’t scream. It just sinks. Until one day it’s the only thing keeping them underwater.”

You looked out the window beside him.

“Mom asked me to come home for her birthday.”

He glanced at you.

“You haven’t been back in a while, right?”

“Not really. Only quick visits when Soojin wasn’t around.”

“Still complicated?”

You exhaled. “We haven’t fought. We just… don’t talk. There’s too much unspoken between us. And honestly? I don’t think I want to hear her say she’s sorry. Or that she didn’t mean to hurt me. Because she did. Even if she didn’t mean to.”

Hoseok nodded slowly. “You don’t owe anyone a reunion. But maybe you owe yourself peace.”

You stared at your reflection in the window.

Peace.

Not closure.

Not answers.

Just… peace.

You whispered, “What if I don’t know how to forgive her without falling apart?”

Hoseok turned to face you. “Then fall apart somewhere safe. Then rebuild.”

You didn’t answer.

But you felt it—that something inside you was loosening. The idea of going home didn’t feel like punishment. It just felt like a quiet room you hadn’t opened in years.

Maybe it was time.

You returned to your desk, flipped open your planner, and stared at next week’s calendar.

Then, without thinking too much, you picked up your phone and typed:

“Okay, Mom. I’ll come.”

You hit send.

Then you closed your eyes and let the silence settle.

Chapter 5

[scarlet-cookie]

Doksoo short angst fic (51!KDJ and “HSY”)

Based on the third part of this post by @lialox

[Kim Dok ja]

The fourth wall’s voice came in and out randomly, as if it was also running out of things to converse about.

Which regression turn was it, now?

I couldn’t remember.

I closed my eyes. A blurry vision of Yoo Joonghyuk sleeping soundly on a quiet night with his companions surrounding him came to mind.

He was asleep, huh..

My sight returned back to the empty subway. 

I thought about Yoo Joonghyuk’s companions around him again.

…

Deep down, did I wish my companions were here, as well?

It would hurt them.

My stories were still slowly floating out the window. Perhaps, by the end of this turn, I would truly forget all of my memories.

A tingling sensation began to creep up my chest. It was a thought.

[N ot a go od ide a]

The fourth wall spoke, as if knowing in an instant what I was going to do.

I let out a faint chuckle.

“But if I don’t do it now, will I ever be able to say those words again?”

The comments I wanted to make on the Ways of Survival one last time.

I slowly drew in a deep breath.

[Bookmark “Director of the False Last Act” has been activated!]

The memories I recalled about Han Sooyoung. Both of the one I knew, and the one who saved me. Tls123. The memories I had of them began to slowly float up to the surface of my consciousness.

“Who do you think…”

“A very big baby..” 

“You, you…”

“You better read it…”

“Even if it’s over three thousand chapters…”

Some memories I recalled vividly, some I weren’t sure if it was just my imagination. Nonetheless, all those moments began to converge into one single avatar.

A figure slowly materialized in front of me. A tiny portion of my stories sank into that figure.

A young woman of short stature, her dark hair flowing down to just about her shoulders. A beauty mark beneath her right eye. The white coat that fitted over her body. 

I stared up at that figure’s dark eyes.

[Due to the “Most Ancient Dream”’s blessing, the skill’s application period has been changed to infinite.]

I wished this moment could last forever, too.

“Hey, why are you crying!?”

The avatar behaved exactly like how I expected Han Sooyoung would. She removed the lemon candy sticking out of her mouth and shoved it hurriedly down her pocket. She then picked out another one from somewhere.

“Hey..”

That lemon candy wasn’t forcefully stuffed in my mouth. Instead, she simply bent down and handed it to me.

One of my hands was still holding onto the phone, and the other was covering my face. Han Sooyoung’s concerned expression deepened.

“Tch.. guess I’ll have to do it myself.”

She carefully unwrapped the candy and waved it over my mouth.

“Say ahh.”

Was it because I looked like a child now? I couldn’t help but get slightly annoyed. Nonetheless, I decided to play along.

I opened my mouth as she placed the candy on my tongue.

The lemon candy had no flavor.

Han Sooyoung threw herself onto the seat next to me with a thud, patting my hunched over back softly.

[The fourth wall is shaking!]

[The fourth wall is shaking..]

[The fourth wall…]

After a while, the messages slowly disappeared. Maybe that guy decided to go away for a while.

“What’s wrong, huh?” Han Sooyoung asked, snapping me out of my short trance. She looked down at the phone in my hand.

“You’re reading it again?”

This time, instead of sounding annoyed, she sounded rather gleeful.

I nodded softly. “Yeah.”

Han Sooyoung smirked.

“It was a really great story, isn’t that right?”

The phone I held fell onto the cold floor with a soft thud. Tiny pieces of glass broke off from the screen, but I couldn’t care less.

I’d said something like that before, didn’t I..?

I nodded again, biting down on my dry lips.

“Yeah.”

“What do you think about it?” 

I couldn’t stop myself now. The words began to flow out of my mouth like water bursting out of a broken dam. The words I’d always wanted to tell her, the author. The comments I could no longer write. 

As I kept rambling on and on, her expression shifted along with my energy. She laughed when I got upset, and sarcastically consoled me at the parts that saddened me. 

One thing was consistent, though.

She would smile whenever I mentioned I loved this story more than anything.

I couldn’t tell how much time had gone by. I kept talking as my stories kept floating away. Is this what they mean when they say “time flies by when you’re having fun”?

I’d stop at certain points to catch my breath. Whenever that happened, I’d notice our reflection on the subway window. A young woman with a child whose clothes are too large for his body, both wearing the same white coat like a bring-your-parent-to-school day silly getup. Han Sooyoung would notice what I was seeing, too.

“You look horrible in that.”

But in my eyes, all I saw was a child talking away happily to his guardian.

I smiled.

“I know.”

As the time kept going by, I began to grow tired.

Of talking.

Even though I still had a million more words to say to her.

Han Sooyoung’s soft hand rested on my head, hastily brushing away my loose hair. Without another word, she pulled my small head down to rest on her lap.

There was no familiarity in this feeling. It was strange.

“Sleep, Kim Dokja.” She muttered, slowly removing her hand. My legs were still folded up on the seat awkwardly. She shook her head, as if disappointed. “Stretch your legs!”

I did as she told, letting my legs stretch along the seats. I remember counting the seats each time I was in this position. Originally, it was roughly five seats. Now, it was barely three.

Her dark eyes glanced at me again.

“Seriously…” she grumbled. “Do you need a lullaby or something to sleep? Why am I asking this.. but you’re a child, after all.”

She seemed to direct that last line as a joke.

I shook my head.

Han Sooyoung chuckled to herself, resting her chin on the hand that wasn’t caressing my head.

“Of course you don’t. You’d listen to stories. And only one, for that matter. How stubborn..”

Then, she began recounting the tales of Ways of Survival.

Did Han Sooyoung used to do this?

I had asked myself that question numerous times over since the moment I began talking to “Han Sooyoung”.

If the avatar was truly generated from my memories, then..

Then…

Then how could she be doing things I don’t even expect her to do.

My thoughts came to a halt when she began to recount my favorite part.

Whatever it was, I’d rather relish this moment, even if it’s just for a second more.

I slowly fell asleep listening along to her voice.

…….

When I woke up, the subway was empty again.

I must’ve unknowingly deactivated the skill when I was asleep.

In the dream, I continued to watch Yoo Joonghyuk’s regression turn.

But this time, “Han Sooyoung”’s voice accompanied me.

The author that originally breathed life into this world.

Just to keep a single person alive.

I stared down at my hands, the ends of it still breaking away into the distance.

My stories were leaking out at a much faster pace than before.

[Sl e pt we ll?]

The fourth wall’s voice returned. 

I couldn’t answer it.

In a way, it must’ve been one of the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had in my life.

I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out.

The fourth wall sighed.

[St i ll c ry ing]

…….

Han Sooyoung, who was now in the 1865th turn, was standing guard for the other companions as they slept out of exhaustion. She stared up at the night sky, trying to find the star that shone the brightest.

Just now, she had a rather silly thought, that perhaps that guy would’ve created another avatar to accompany himself in that train. Maybe that avatar would look like her. Maybe that avatar would be patient enough to listen to his ramblings about the story he loved the most. Maybe that avatar would’ve taken care of him in her stead, at least for now.

She felt a small tear forming at the corner of her eye.

“What am I thinking…” 

She shook those thoughts off.

“But that guy would definitely do such a thing.”