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littledykeblue · 10 days ago

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(𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑/𝟒: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓)

──𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓;

(lead guitar!vi x band manager!reader): managing a punk band is the dream gig. for you, it's made all the more sweeter by the sexy guitarist you get to call yours.

wc: 8.4k | cw: guitarist!vi, dom!reader, sub!vi, oral sex (v! and r!receiving), fingering (v!receiving), strap-on usage, cowgirl, degredation, praise kink, exhibitionism (public sex), orgasm control, MINORS DNI.

note: vi time!! this fic really took me through the trenches, but i emerged victorious! omg i can't believe we're almost done, team. it's been wild.

Managing a bunch of punk rockers wasn’t part of your five-year plan. You got the big, shiny business degree, racked up honors, and stood at the precipice of a dozen possible futures. The world was your oyster and, yet, you found yourself in your parents’ guest room (previously your room) with your laptop open and your ambition flickering like a dying light.

The job market wasn’t kind and neither were your expectations. Everything sounded boring. Everything looked like it would suck your soul dry. Then Mel Medarda called.

She had joined her brother at No Kings Records, a newer label still trying to carve out a space in a saturated industry. She said there was a band she was watching—loud, messy, brilliant—and they were about to be a big deal.

What they needed was someone smart, someone tough, someone who could wrangle chaos into results. Someone like you. She didn’t sugarcoat the gig. She said it would be brutal, exhausting, loud, and probably short-lived. But if you were willing to get your hands dirty, it might just be fun.

It started out better than fun. It was electric. Your rhythm with the girls clicked instantly and it was clear they weren’t in it for just fun or quick cash. They were out to make noise, make change, and burn the whole scene down while they were at it.

You brought Caitlyn into the fold when they needed a bassist, though she was hesitant to step into the spotlight. She agreed to join on one condition: anonymity. You made it happen. You built C.K. from the ground up, constructed her persona, masked her identity, and made her the most mysterious face in the genre. No one’s cracked it yet.

You pulled Sevika out of a failing band and got her to join without too much fuss. That alone earned you serious credit. Sevika doesn’t do petty drama, doesn’t do bullshit, and definitely doesn’t like being handled. But she trusts you. They all do. And they should. You’re the spine of Hotwired. You take care of the money, the contracts, the schedule, the messes they leave behind. You make sure the machine keeps running and that the engine never burns out.

You’ve made a name for yourself in this business. People know better than to try and lowball your artists or waste your time. Other bands keep you on retainer just to negotiate their tours.

But you stay with Hotwired. This band is yours. And maybe that has something to do with Violet Lanes, lead guitarist and walking temptation. You’ve been tangled up with her for almost a year now. There’s no label, no public declaration, and no press leaks. It’s a secret, for now. One that works. Sort of.

It started at a wrap party. Just one of the many half-organized, fully unhinged celebrations the band liked to throw after a successful leg of touring or the end of a video shoot.

A handful of close friends, the crew, and the few trusted people under NDA who were allowed to look Caitlyn in the face. There was good booze, bad lighting, and music blasting from a Bluetooth speaker someone forgot to charge. It wasn’t glamorous. None of their parties ever were. But it was loud, it was fun, and you let yourself unwind a little. For once.

Vi had been watching you all night. You’d felt it in the way her gaze clung a second too long, in how her laughter got louder whenever you were nearby.

You weren’t exactly blind to her, either. She looked good. Messy pink hair, eyeliner smudged from the heat, tank top sticking to her chest. She was holding a red cup and leaning against the wall like she was trying to look casual, but it wasn’t hard to see through her. She wanted you to notice. You did.

The touches started as slow, harmless things. A hand grazing your lower back as she passed. The brief brush of fingers when she handed you a drink. It built in the spaces between words and glances until the tension stopped feeling subtle and started to feel like something alive. The two of you slipped out without much fanfare. Her car was parked around the corner, windows tinted, backseat big enough. You’d barely closed the door before her mouth was on yours.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. You were both buzzed on whiskey and adrenaline, and nobody said anything about seeing each other again. But you did. Again and again. Late nights in hotel rooms. Quickies in dressing rooms with your hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. Her name in your phone saved as something boring. A recurring thing. A routine. A secret.

And that was the problem.

It’s unprofessional. You know that. She knows that. You’re her manager, and managers don’t fuck their talent. Not if they want to keep their reputations clean. Not if they want to avoid HR disasters or bloodthirsty tabloids. But it’s not just that. Vi’s publicist—some smug asshole from her label who thinks he invented branding—made it painfully clear that her appeal is built on sex and availability. She’s not supposed to be anyone’s. That’s the fantasy. A girl like Vi Lanes doesn’t settle down. She tempts. She teases. She performs.

Which means this—whatever this is—has to stay behind closed doors. No slip-ups, no PDA, no getting caught. Not that it’s easy. Vi’s never been particularly good at doing what she’s told.

Your phone buzzes against the glass table beside your laptop. You glance over, already knowing who it is from the contact photo alone—a blurry picture of Vi flipping off the camera while mid-laugh, pink hair catching the sunlight, middle finger painted black. You answer it without thinking.

"Hey, Boss."

Her voice has that usual lilt to it, all lazy mischief and unspoken suggestion. It grates on your nerves in the way only she can manage. You lean back in your chair, clicking your pen shut and tossing it onto a notepad full of half-legible scribbles. "You only call me that when you want something."

"That’s not true," she says, but it absolutely is. "Sometimes I call you that when I’m thinking about you. Which is, like, all the time."

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with a twitch. “What do you want, Vi?”

“Dinner. With me. Tonight.” There’s the brief sound of a lighter clicking, a slow exhale on the other end. She smokes too much when she’s bored. “I’m making that thing you like. With the spicy oil and the noodles.”

“You hate cooking.”

“Yeah, well, I hate a lot of things. But I like you. So.” Another puff. “Come over.”

You glance at the time. It’s barely past three. “You’re back in town already? Vegas not offer enough stimulation for you?”

Vi laughs, low and warm and just a little rough. “Vegas was a blur. Got proposed to a bunch I’m pretty sure I gambled away a small fortune. That was the highlight. No offense to the city of sin, but I missed you.”

Your stomach does that stupid little flip it always does when she says shit like that. “Is that right?”

“Dead serious,” she says. “You’re the only stimulation I need, baby.”

You exhale through your nose, already standing to grab your keys off the counter. “You’re disgusting.”

“And yet, you’re coming over.”

You don’t bother denying it. “Yeah. I’m coming over.”

Vi hums her approval. “Knew I could count on you. I’ll have wine ready.”

“Don’t drink it all before I get there,” you warn.

“No promises,” she says, laughing.

—

You pull into Vi’s driveway just as the sky starts its descent into gold. You know the way by heart. The sensor lights flick on before your foot even hits the step, and you don’t bother with the doorbell. Vi gave up on coming to greet you at the front door every time a while ago.

You kick your shoes off in the foyer, leaving them in the haphazard pile already there. The house smells like garlic and something rich, spicy. You hear the low hiss of a pan and follow the sound, feet padding over hardwood and past the framed gold records and chaotic art she’s nailed directly into the walls.

She’s in the kitchen, standing at the stove in a loose black tank and those threadbare sweatpants she frequents at home. There’s a towel slung over her shoulder and her hair’s half up, slightly damp like she showered not long ago. The sleeves of tattoos peeking out under the hem of her shirt look darker than usual, saturated in the evening light and soft sweat.

Vi turns when she hears you enter. That easy grin stretches across her face, sharp and crooked. “Hey, you.”

“Hey yourself.” You cross the kitchen slowly, with clear intent.

You slide your hands around her waist without hesitation, palms settling low on her hips. She’s warm and solid under your touch. Your lips find the space just beneath her jaw, pressing in gently, breathing her in. She tilts her head for you, and you kiss her mouth next, slow and familiar.

Vi smiles against your lips, then pulls away with one last peck. “I already poured your wine,” she says, jerking her head toward the counter. “Go on, sit. Let me cook for you, will you?”

You take her in for a beat longer before moving to grab the glass, leaning against the island to watch her work. You know better than to argue when she’s like this. Comfortable in her home, in her skin, in the rhythm of a domestic moment she’d once sworn wasn’t her thing.

And maybe it still isn’t. But she lets it be with you.

Vi moves easily around the kitchen, shifting a pan with practiced flicks of her wrist, tossing in a handful of basil like she’s done this a hundred times before. You sip at the wine she poured for you, content to let the soft sounds of sizzling garlic and her low hum fill the space.

“You cook like this for all your hookups?” you ask lightly, tracing the rim of your glass with one finger.

Vi smirks without looking up. “Only the ones who handle my tour schedule and have full access to my financials.”

You huff a laugh. “Careful, Lanes. You’re starting to sound a little clingy..”

She tosses you a look over her shoulder, eyes bright and teasing. “You’re the one who came all this way just to see me. Don’t act like I’m the clingy one.”

“Mm. You called me.”

“Touché.”

She sets the sauce to simmer and wipes her hands on the towel slung over her shoulder. Then she’s crossing the space between you, slow and deliberate, until she’s standing between your knees. Her hands slide up your thighs and rest just beneath the hem of your shirt.

“I missed you,” she says, the teasing edge gone from her voice. “More than I probably should have.”

You look up at her, searching her face for the sincerity you already know is there. “Yeah?”

Vi nods and leans in to kiss you again, mouth warm and familiar. She takes her time with it, lips parting just enough to pull a small sound from you. When she pulls back, her voice is low. “Thought about you every damn day.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Prove it.”

Vi’s smile shifts into something eager, almost conspiratorial. Her hands are already at your waistband, fingers deftly unbuttoning your pants. You lift your hips without hesitation, letting her ease them down just enough to expose the tops of your thighs and the line of your underwear.

She sinks to her knees, hands running up and down your bare skin with a reverence that borders on obscene. She drags your pants the rest of the way down as she goes. “You wanna know how I got through those long nights in Vegas?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the words catch when she leans in and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the inside of your thigh. Then another, closer to where you’re already aching for her. Her hands settle on your hips, firm and grounding.

“Thought about this,” she murmurs against your skin. “The way you taste, the way you sound when I get you worked up, how fuckin’ mean you get. Drove myself crazy.”

Another kiss lands over the damp heat of your underwear, sloppy and lingering. She noses along the seam, breathing you in with a low, satisfied hum that vibrates right through your core. You thread your fingers into her hair, heart pounding against your ribs.

Vi doesn’t wait for permission. She never does. She slips your panties to the side with two fingers and dives in with a moan that vibrates through your core.

Her mouth is hot, sloppy, ravenous. She licks you like she missed you more than she can admit, like she needs this to live. Her tongue slides through your folds, her nose bumping against your clit as she moans into you.

You lean back on your elbows, watching her work, your fingers already tangling in her hair. She’s making a mess of you, wet sounds filling the kitchen as she devours you with single-minded focus.

"Is that really your best?" you ask, voice cool. You yank her head back by the hair just enough to look into her eyes. "Because right now? It feels lazy."

Vi pants against you, cheeks flushed, lips wet. "Fuck you."

"Not until you earn it."

You push her head back down and grind against her mouth. She whines, but she doesn’t resist. Your fingers tighten in her hair, holding her exactly where you want her. You set the pace, fucking her mouth until she starts doing better, until those moans turn broken and bleed into helpless whimpers.

She tries to tease you again, tongue slowing just a little, testing your patience. That earns her a sharp pull to the scalp and a withering look from you. It clearly only serves to turn her on more. "You want to be difficult? Fine. I'll finish without you."

Vi whimpers.

"Then stop fucking around."

She snaps back to it, tongue moving fast and purposeful, sucking your clit between her lips like she finally remembers what you like. Her hands grip your thighs tighter now, grounding herself as you pull her even closer. Her mouth is filthy, her moans desperate. You're right there, and she knows it. You feel her murmuring against you, hot, broken pleas that only make your release come faster.

When you come, it’s with your head thrown back and a hand fisted tight in Vi's hair. She keeps her mouth on you the whole time, letting you ride out every last wave, only stopping when your thighs start to tremble from overstimulation.

You pull her back by the hair, slowly. She’s flushed, mouth shiny, eyes hazy. You rub your thumb over her spit-slick bottom lip.

"Now that," you say, breathless, "was better."

Vi looks wrecked. She grins anyway. "Told you I missed you."

You lean down and kiss her hard, tasting yourself on her lips, claiming her in every sense of the word.

Vi stands on trembling legs as you instruct her to get back to dinner; you slip your underwear back into place and pull your pants up without bothering to button them. They’ll be right back off in a few minutes anyway, so there’s really no need.

And that’s how it is between the two of you sometimes: sex, a nice dinner and the time simply melting away.

Sometimes, though, it’s much riskier.

—

It’s been a long shoot day. You’ve been managing half a dozen people, answering too many questions, reviewing footage, and trying to make sure everything runs on schedule. And then there’s Vi.

Vi, who keeps casting you smug little smirks between takes. Who "accidentally" misses her marks. Who saunters up to you every time the cameras stop rolling just to press a kiss to your cheek when she knows damn well she shouldn’t be touching you in public.

Vi, who’s sitting in the makeup chair now and spinning slowly, round and round, kicking her boots against the wood like a kid who’s just discovered what being annoying can get her. You’re doing your best to ignore her antics, you easily bury yourself in the countless emails you’ve got.

"You know, Boss," she says, real casual, like she hasn’t been grating your last nerve since lunch. “You look real tense. Want me to rub your shoulders? Or ride your face? I’m generous like that.”

You level a look at her. Vi grins.

She’s testing you. She’s been testing you all damn day. And you’ve been good. You’ve been so good. Because there are cameras. There are stylists and lighting techs and assistants. Because you’ve got to be the responsible one. But now you’re alone in the dressing room while everyone’s setting up the next scene, and she’s still talking.

“I mean, I’m just saying,” Vi adds, standing from the chair and stretching in that deliberately slow way she does, arms above her head, tank top riding up just enough to show off the waistband of her boxers. “If you’re so stressed, I could help.”

You cross the room slowly, watching her eyes light up when she realizes she’s finally pushed you far enough.

“Hands on the dresser,” you say quietly, firmly. “Bend over.”

For a moment, she doesn’t move. But you can see it: the way her throat bobs when she swallows. The slight shift in her stance like her body’s already heating up, anticipating what’s coming.

Then Vi obeys. And it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

She plants her hands against the vanity, arching her back just slightly. She looks at you in the mirror, eyes wide and a little smug. “This better not fuck up my makeup,” she says, but it’s breathless. You take a slow step behind her and press a hand between her shoulder blades, making her fold more fully over the dresser.

“You should’ve thought about your makeup,” you murmur, voice low and sharp, “before you spent the last four hours acting like a spoiled little brat.”

Vi shivers. Her smirk falters just a little, and you catch the way her fingers tighten against the wood.

“I wasn’t that bad.”

You lean down, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Don’t lie to me now. You begged for this.”

You curl your fingers into the waistband of Vi’s sweats and yank them down to mid-thigh, her boxers caught in the same tug. She gasps softly, biting down on the inside of her cheek as the cold air licks at her skin. Her ass is already pink from the spanking, a delicious contrast to the black ink of her thigh tattoos and the tension in her frame.

“Hands flat, feet planted,” you murmur, close to her ear. “And stay quiet.”

“Not really my forte,” she says, voice shaking just enough to betray her anticipation.

Your fingers skim the crease where her thigh meets her pelvis, careful not to give her what she wants. Not yet. Vi’s hips twitch. She’s always like this: bratty, stubborn, aching to be broken down and remade in your hands. You trail one hand over the curve of her ass, squeeze, then slap hard enough to make her jolt and groan.

“This what you’ve been acting up for?” you ask.

“No,” she says, the word tinged in amusement.

You slap her again, harder this time. She gasps, but holds her place.

“You sure? Because I can keep going like this until your knees give out.”

She moans quietly, pressing her forehead to the mirror. “Yes, fuck, fine. You’re just too put together all the time. Somebody’s gotta loosen you up.”

You hum, finally letting your fingers drift between her thighs. She’s soaked. You drag two fingers through it, not slipping inside—just letting the slickness coat your fingertips. Her thighs quiver as you bump her clit and just as quickly retreat.

“Of course you’re dripping. All it takes is a little discipline, huh?”

Vi whimpers, turning her head so she can see you over her shoulder. “Please.”

“Please what?”

She tries to grind her hips back into your touch, but you quickly correct the behavior with another hard swat at her ass. Her hips still and she makes a small, desperate sound. She knows, just like you do, that you don’t have a lot of time.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Vi says, voice bordering on petulant. “You know what I want. Pretty sure you want it, too.”

“Is that how we ask for things?” You lean in to whisper it in her ear and revel in the way they go a little pink at the tips. You circle her clit in slow, lazy circles and watch as she fights not to keep her hips still. “I don’t know how long you plan to keep playing this little game, but we don’t have forever.”

“Oh my god, fuck off,” she says instantly. Like reflex. Then, she seems to think better of it. “...Fuck me with your fingers…please. I’ll be on my best fuckin’ behavior.”

Normally, you would drag it out considerably more. It’s a true joy to reduce a woman so frequently larger than life to a crying, begging mess. But, simply put, there isn't time. “I’ll remember your poor manners for later,” you promise.

You press two fingers inside her without another word. Her head falls forward, a raw moan escaping her lips. You curl your fingers just right and start working her over with steady, relentless precision. Vi clings to the dresser like it’s the only thing keeping her upright, panting and trying so hard to stay quiet like you told her to.

“That’s it,” you mutter. “That’s what you get when you behave.”

She nods, breathless, hips rocking back to meet every thrust. You reach around with your other hand, thumb circling her clit in slow, tight strokes. Vi’s legs shake under her and her voice starts to slip past her lips in soft, gasped whimpers.

“Such a mess for me,” you murmur. “You like when I fuck the attitude out of you, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” she breathes, so close. “I love it.”

You’re well and truly fucking your fingers into her, basking in every little punched out moan you pull from her . Vi is so close she’s shaking, her knees barely holding her up, hips rolling back into your touch with frantic rhythm. Her breaths are short and ragged, her hands pressed flat to the dresser just like you told her.

“Please,” she whispers, voice cracking. “Please, baby, I’m right there.”

“I know,” you murmur, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re doing so well.”

She shudders under your praise, body tightening like a bowstring.

Then—

A knock. Sharp. Followed by a voice from the other side of the dressing room door.

“Vi? We need you on set in five. Are you almost ready?”

You freeze, fingers still snug inside her, the pad of your thumb barely hovering over her clit. Vi lets out a strangled sound, somewhere between a whine and a sob, her forehead dropping against the mirror.

You push your fingers in slow, letting Vi feel the stretch. It’s clear she’s letting herself get lost in it, completely ignoring the person just on the other side of the door. And you can’t have anyone getting suspicious.

“She asked you a question,” you say, quiet and cold.

Vi grits her teeth, her hips stuttering against the building pressure. “Be—” Her voice cracks and she tries again, shakier this time. “Be right there!”

“Good girl.” Your fingers curl inside her, your thumb making tight, fast circles across her clit. You watch the way she arches into the touch, the pants falling free from her lips. She jerks forward, biting down on her own forearm to muffle the scream building in her throat.

She comes like that, trembling and desperate and completely at your mercy, her entire body contracting around your fingers as she lets the orgasm crash over her in trembling silence.

“Now get back to work,” you say, pulling her pants back up over her ass. “Swing by my place when you’re done.”

Vi turns and wraps her arms around your waist. “You’re leaving?” She asks, voice soft around the edges. And she’s looking into your eyes like a lost puppy. It really is unbearably cute.

“Yep. I’m gonna lay across my bed, fully naked and fuck myself open until you get there,” you answer. You watch as her face flushes, a grin breaking out across her lips. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll have forgiven you by then.” It’s a lie and you both know it.

“Can’t wait,” Vi says, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss.

—

It’s not often that Vi asks for anything plainly. She’s all suggestive comments and lazy assumptions, convinced she doesn’t need to beg because you’ll always end up giving her what she wants anyway. But a few days before the show, she calls you directly and there’s something in her voice that sets her apart from every other interaction you’ve had.

“I want you to come,” she says. No slyness, no teasing. Just raw honesty. “It’s a big night. I want you there.”

It isn’t even a choice. You say yes before she’s even done talking.

Now you’re backstage, leaning against the cool cement wall just a few feet off the wings of the stage. The house lights are dimming, the crowd of fans beyond the curtains an endless sea of bodies, their buzz already palpable, vibrating in your teeth and your chest. You can hear them shouting, stamping, calling for the band to come out like they’ve all been waiting a lifetime.

Your arms are crossed loosely, but your attention is razor-sharp, zeroed in on the movement near the far side of the stage. Vi appears first, guitar already strapped over her shoulder, the stage lights catching the glint of her chains, the shocking pink of her tousled hair. She’s dressed like she always is for these moments: low-slung jeans with the waistband of her boxers proudly on display, a tank top that clings to her frame, showing off her tattoos, the view entirely indecent.

The applause hits as soon as she steps into the light, deafening and almost aggressive. Your pulse responds accordingly, as if your body is feeding off the crowd's energy by proxy.

Sevika saunters out next, twirling a drumstick between her fingers. C.K. emerges from the opposite side, mask already in place, head down, shoulders set in that quiet intensity she carries like a second skin. And then Jinx, of course, skipping out like a bomb with a pulled pin, grinning from ear to ear, hands raised like she’s blessing her congregation.

Vi’s the last to approach the mic, the rest of the band already in position. She doesn’t speak right away. Just stands there, letting the frenzy of the audience wash over her. She looks out into the darkness like she can see the faces of every single person that got them here, that packed this place wall to wall just for them.

When she finally speaks, her voice is a low purr that still carries through the mic, dripping with casual charm. “Happy fucking anniversary, huh?”

The crowd screams back their approval, a wall of sound.

“You know full well who the fuck we are,” Jinx says, riding the wave Vi’s started. “It’s been a long journey to get this here. If you would’ve told baby Jinx and Vi that one day they’d be playing sold out shows, I would’ve laughed in your face. Hard.” There’s a ripple of cheers and laughter; Jinx always lights up under the attention. “But here we are! And, boy, have we got a show for you!”

“Wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else, sis,” Vi says, yanking Jinx into a hug that seems to take her totally by surprise. You see a million cameras flash to capture the moment.

Vi releases her sister and hustles back to her spot.

You watch her in profile as she slings her guitar into place. She looks good under the lights, the lean cut of her arms, the practiced ease of her hands on the strings. You know those hands in other contexts, on your body, in your mouth, curled tight in your hair. You think about the way her voice sounds when she’s right against your ear, the way she begs and whines. You think about how tonight, after the show, she’ll be buzzing from the high of the stage, desperate to blow off steam, and you’ll be more than happy to give her that outlet. You’ll remind her who keeps her grounded.

The music kicks in, hard and fast, a thrumming bassline that reverberates straight through the soles of your feet. Vi tears into the first riff, her body moving with the rhythm like it’s muscle memory, like her guitar is just another extension of herself. She’s in her element here, head tilted back, eyes hooded, hair falling wild around her face.

And she knows exactly where you are. She steals glances between verses, finds you in the dark, mouth curling into a smirk when your eyes meet. It’s a look you’ve seen a hundred times before in hotel rooms and greenrooms and the backseat of her car. It says tonight’s yours, boss, just you wait.

Jinx is spinning across the stage, climbing on amps, nearly eating it twice but catching herself with the same chaotic grace that keeps the crowd glued to her every erratic movement. Sevika’s arms are steady and brutal on the kit, her gaze flicking to C.K. now and then to keep the unspoken communication alive between drummer and bassist. The whole band moves like one organism, electric and loud and so goddamn alive.

You lean against the wall and let yourself enjoy it. The show. The music. The certainty that later, when the lights come down and the last encore is played, Vi will find you, still flushed with adrenaline, and drag you somewhere dark and private.

You think about the things she’ll beg for, the things she’ll call you when she forgets herself completely.

The lights go up and the crowd is still roaring, but backstage the energy has already begun to settle into that warm, post-show haze. The band filters off one by one, each of them slick with sweat, drunk on adrenaline but grinning ear to ear. You’re waiting just inside the hallway, the pulse of the venue still thudding faintly through the walls, your body practically humming from proximity alone.

Jinx finds you first, bounding over and throwing her arms around your shoulders, still vibrating like she’s got electricity running under her skin. “We fuckin’ killed that, huh?”

You chuckle, steadying her before she can knock you both over. “You killed it, Jinx. Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

“Too late!” She’s already peeling off toward the rest of the crew, tossing waves and blowing kisses, basking in the last dregs of applause.

Sevika brushes past next, towel slung over her shoulder, the collar of her shirt stretched from yanking it off during the encore. She pauses just long enough to nudge your arm with a fist. “You sticking around for the after-party?”

“Doubt it,” you reply, already anticipating the real reason you’re not staying. “I’ve got other plans.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Sevika snorts, but there’s no malice in it. She moves on, calling after Jinx.

Caitlyn walks by with her mask already off, face flushed from the heat but collected as always. She offers a small smile and a quiet, “Good to see you,” before following the others.

You’re scanning the crowd for Vi when your phone buzzes in your pocket. One look and your stomach flips.

Vi: wanna get outta here? wait by my car. Vi: wanna put my mouth on you already

You huff out a breath and pocket your phone, weaving your way toward the back exit. No one pays you much attention. That’s the point. You leave first, like you always do, and wait in the shadow of Vi’s black muscle car parked just outside the artist entrance.

It only takes a couple of minutes before you hear her boots on the pavement. She rounds the corner, jacket slung over her shoulder, damp hair pushed back, still flushed from the show. She sees you waiting and grins wide and cocky, like she’s already won.

Then she’s on you.

Vi crowds you against the car without hesitation, her mouth slanting over yours before you can get a word out. She kisses like she plays—hungry, all teeth and tongue, hands bracketing your hips before sliding lower, her fingers skimming beneath the hem of your shirt like she’s already claiming the skin beneath.

You make the mistake of moaning into her mouth, which only encourages her. Her hands go bolder, squeezing your ass, grinding her hips forward like she can’t even be bothered to wait until you’re somewhere private.

You break the kiss with a gasp, lips wet, still panting into her mouth. “Vi—”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Get in the fucking car,” you order, voice low and tight. “Get us home. I’m sick of waiting.”

Vi grins, cocky and unrepentant. “Yes, ma’am.”

She presses one last kiss to your jaw, all mock sweetness, before finally pulling back to open the door. You’re already sliding into the passenger seat, pulse racing, thighs pressed tight together.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, Vi's on you again—grabbing at your hips, trying to crowd you against the wall. But you’re quicker, stronger when she’s all pliant for you. You spin her, pressing her back to the door with a heavy thud, one hand wrapping around her throat, the other braced above her head.

Her breath catches, pupils blown wide already, that signature grin starting to creep back. She loves when you catch her like this—when you remind her who she belongs to. She tests your grip anyway, dragging her hands under your shirt, cool fingers skating up your sides.

You tighten your grip just slightly, enough to get your point across. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Vi swallows hard, her hands freezing. “Yes, ma’am.”

You lean in close, just enough for her to feel the heat of your breath on her lips without the satisfaction of a kiss. Then you step back and nod toward the stairs. “Upstairs. Now.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. She practically jogs up the stairs, the sound of her boots thudding against each step, and you follow at a more deliberate pace. You want her flustered. You want her desperate.

When you reach the bedroom, she’s already standing there waiting, practically vibrating. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide, and tilt your chin up at her.

“Undress,” you tell her, voice level, commanding. “Here.”

She steps between your legs without hesitation, standing right where you want her. Her eyes don’t leave yours as she peels off her jacket and tosses it aside. Then she grips the hem of her shirt, pulling it off slow, all the while rolling her hips just a little—like she’s still on stage performing for a crowd.

It’s all for you.

She shimmies out of her jeans next, dragging them down with a little wiggle of her hips, bare legs flexing as she steps out of them. She kicks them away carelessly, left only in her boxers and the sports bra clinging to her chest. The ink of her tattoos stands out stark against her flushed skin.

She hooks her thumbs in her waistband, pausing, watching your face like she’s waiting to see if you’ll crack.

You don’t. You keep your face steady, unimpressed, though your pulse is already hammering in your throat.

“Don’t stop on my account,” you murmur.

Vi grins as she peels her boxers down her thighs, slow enough to tease, dragging the soft fabric over the curve of her ass and the muscles of her legs. She kicks them aside and stands fully naked between your legs, shoulders back like she’s showing off. She is.

Her body’s already warm with color, her skin flushed with anticipation. She knows she’s gorgeous like this—cocky and unashamed—but still, her eyes flick to yours, looking for that flicker of approval.

You don’t give it to her yet. You keep your face even, one eyebrow ticking up like you’re still deciding if she’s done well enough. She squirms just a little under your gaze, her hands twitching at her sides, like she doesn’t know where to put them.

“Like what you see?” she asks, voice breathy and rougher than she probably intended. There’s a wobble under the playfulness, like she can’t quite keep herself steady under your attention.

You hum, eyes dragging over every inch of her, slow and deliberate. You take your bottom lip between your teeth, letting it catch there as you admire her. “You know I do, baby,” you tell her, voice soft and warm, full of the kind of honesty that always gets under her skin. “You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

That earns you a flush that creeps from her chest to her cheeks. She looks away, fussing with her hair, trying to act like it’s no big deal, but the nervous habit betrays her. She always does this when she doesn’t know what to do with your sincerity. You smile, fond, as you stand and gesture to the bed. “C’mere and lay down for me.”

Vi obeys without argument, grinning like she’s still got the upper hand, like she thinks she knows exactly where this is headed. She drops onto the bed with a satisfying bounce, stretching out like she’s expecting to be pampered. She props herself up on her elbows to keep you in view, her eyes hungry as they follow your every movement.

You strip slowly, letting her watch the reveal of your skin piece by piece, each discarded item joining the pile she left behind. The room feels thick with it now. Anticipation, tension, want that neither of you have bothered to hide.

By the time you’re climbing onto the mattress, her eyes have darkened considerably. That smirk she wears, the one that always promises trouble, starts to waver when you settle between her thighs and start dragging your palms up the length of her legs, parting them just enough to make her breath catch.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night. Having you under me like this,” you murmur, lips brushing over the jut of her hip. Your teeth scrape lightly against her skin, just enough to sting. “You gonna be good?”

She shivers beneath you, muscles twitching. “Yeah,” she whispers, throat bobbing on the swallow.

You close your mouth around her, finding her already so wet from just the anticipation of what you’re going to do for her. You start out with long, deliberate licks, unhurried, savoring her. It barely takes anything rile Vi up. You mouth at her clit until she’s moaning, hips lifting to chase your mouth.

The sounds she makes are soft at first, the occasional gasp, a breathy curse, but the longer you tease, the more she squirms. You feel it, every little tremble in her thighs, every sharp inhale when you get too close to the spot she wants most.

Just when her breathing picks up, when her body starts to shake in that telltale way that means she’s close, you pull back. She lets out a broken, frustrated groan, her head dropping back onto the bed, fists curling tight in the sheets.

“You’re fucking evil,” she huffs, panting, her voice ragged.

You smirk, nails dragging lightly down the inside of her thighs, leaving trails of flushed skin in your wake. “You know what to do if you want it.”

Vi whines, twisting beneath you, eyes pleading. You watch in vague amusement as she bites the inside of her cheek; she always pretends to hate this part but you can see the shift in her. The way her breathing speeds up, the way her fingers twitch to touch you. “Please,” she gasps, finally. “With sugar on top,” she can’t help but add. Anything to lessen the suffocating pleasure.

You lap lazily at her again, slow enough to make her sob. “No. Be patient or I stop,” you warn, voice low and firm, even as you keep her right there, straddling the edge.

By the time you work her up again, she’s shaking so hard it’s a wonder she hasn’t snapped already. Her hips stutter, trying to fuck your mouth on instinct, and her hands fly to her hair, tugging, like she can ground herself with the pain.

“Hold it,” you repeat, firmer now, when you feel that pulse under your tongue.

“I can’t,” she whimpers, nearly crying with it. “Please, I can’t—I’m so close.”

“Ask me nicely.”

Her breathing stutters, and her hands clench tighter in her hair. When she looks down at you, her eyes are wet, shining with need. “Please, please let me come. I’ll be good, I’ll be so fucking good for you. Just let me have it, I need you so bad, please.”

That does it. You grin against her, finally satisfied. “Good job,” you say, entirely patronizing and smug. “You can come.”

She allows herself to grind her cunt against your eager tongue with reckless abandon, her mouth falling open to mutter and whine words that slur together.

Her whole body goes taut, back arching high off the bed before collapsing again. She shudders through it, loud and filthy, her hips jerking helplessly with every flick of your tongue until she’s boneless, gasping, thoroughly spent.

You press a kiss to Vi’s thigh, then another higher up, lips dragging over sweat-slick skin. She’s still trembling, still catching her breath, but the look she gives you is nothing short of starved.

You hum, pleased with her wrecked state, and crawl up the length of her body until you’re nose to nose. She’s flushed and sweaty, lips kiss-bitten, eyes heavy-lidded but still burning for more.

“You earned yourself a reward,” you murmur, brushing your mouth against hers, not quite kissing yet. “You want it, baby?”

Vi nods without hesitation, swallowing thickly. “'Course I do.”

You cock your head, smiling faintly. “You wanna fuck me? Or do you want me to fuck you?”

She grabs weakly at your waist like she’d drag you down right now if she could. “Need you to fuck me,” she whispers, voice hoarse. “I wanna be full. Need it rough, boss.”

There’s something sweet in the way she asks, even when she’s desperate for it. You kiss her, slow but heavy, your tongue sweeping into her mouth until she’s gasping into it. “Good girl,” you praise, just before you pull back. “Hold tight.”

You slide off the bed, naked and still flushed from everything that’s come before. Vi watches you, gaze tracking your every movement as you cross the room to where you keep the harness stashed.

She licks her lips when you pull it on, adjusting the straps snugly against your hips. She can’t tear her eyes away once you’re fully strapped in, her chest rising and falling faster just at the sight.

Once you’re back in bed, you stretch out on your back and gesture her closer with a crook of your finger. “C’mere. On top.”

Vi wastes no time shifting on the bed, straddling your waist with that crooked grin you love so much. But there’s something softer beneath the bravado—a tremble in her thighs, the way her breath hitches as she lowers herself until her cunt brushes against the silicone. You let your hands roam up the backs of her thighs, slow and easy, feeling the way her muscles twitch under your palms.

“Wanna make sure you’re ready,” you tell her, your voice a low rumble meant just for her. You slip a hand between her legs, fingers gliding easily through the wet mess she’s already made. She’s soaked, your name practically written between her legs, but you slide two fingers in anyway, curling them just right, feeling the way she clamps down instantly.

Vi lets out a guttural moan, bracing her hands on your chest, hips rolling in little needy circles. “More,” she pants. “Fuck, I want more.”

You oblige her, working her open with your fingers, slow but firm, making sure she feels every inch of it. She whines, hips canting down, desperate for more friction, more stretch, more of anything you’ll give her.

“You sure you’re ready?” you ask, though your cock is already slicked with her, lined up and pulsing with anticipation.

“Yes,” she growls, practically shaking, “fuck me.” She pauses for a moment and then, remembering her manners, adds, "Please."

You grin and guide her hips, holding steady as she sinks down, slow at first. She lets out a strangled sound, breath stuttering, eyes fluttering shut as she takes you deeper.

Vi tries to take control, riding you with all that bratty confidence still clinging to her, her hands braced on your stomach for leverage. She bounces on your cock with a sharp rhythm, panting hard, her face scrunched up in concentration like she’s determined to make a show of it.

But it doesn’t last. She starts to falter, hips shaking, pace stuttering every time she sinks too deep. The slick drag of her pussy around you gets messier, louder, and her thighs are already trembling like she’s barely holding herself up.

You grin, watching her struggle, hands resting lazily on her hips. “What’s the matter, baby? That all you’ve got? Thought you were gonna show me how bad you needed it.”

She lets out a whimper, trying to keep moving, but she’s uncoordinated and desperate, eyes squeezed shut. You let her flail for a few more seconds before you’ve had enough.

Your hands clamp down on her hips, hard enough to bruise, and you start fucking up into her, heavy, punishing thrusts that drive her right back into the mattress with every bounce.

Vi cries out, head dropping back, mouth open and sloppy sounds pouring out without shame. Every sharp snap of your hips has her yelping, her whole body rocking with the force of it.

“That’s better,” you murmur, voice thick with hunger. “This is the Vi no one else gets to see, huh? Everybody out there thinks you’re so dangerous. Hotwired’s wild little guitarist. But here you are—my pretty little pet.”

She moans high and breathy, nails digging into your ribs, but she doesn’t deny it. Can’t.

“You beg to come for me. Make those pretty fucking noises for me. You’re lucky I’m the only one who knows what a mess you really are.”

Vi’s hips are jerking, erratic, like she’s caught between trying to meet your thrusts and just taking it, letting you use her how you want. She’s babbling now, gasped little pleas, your name in a shaky loop, spit pooling in the corners of her mouth.

“You look so fucking pretty like this, baby. Like you’re made to take it. That right?”

“Yeah,” she gasps, barely audible. “Fuck, yeah—please, I can’t—”

“Oh, you can,” you croon, fucking her harder, deeper, the wet sound of her pussy getting louder with each thrust. “You’re gonna take every fucking inch until I say you’re done.”

Vi shatters then, body locking up with a wrecked sob as she clamps down around you, her climax ripping through her so violently it sends her whole body shaking. You don’t stop. You fuck her through it, driving her higher until she’s gone glassy-eyed, until every cry from her mouth is half-formed and breathless.

The rest of the night barely feels real. You don’t let up on her, not for a second, keeping Vi pinned under you or in your lap, tangled in the sheets and each other until the sky outside the window starts to pale with the earliest morning light.

At some point, bodies sore and spent, you both finally crash in the mess of the bed, limbs locked together, your breath still mingling. She whispers something sweet to you, something warm and quiet and meant just for this private space between you, but you’re too far gone, too comfortable to hold onto the exact words. You just know it felt good to hear.

It's morning now, the both of you in the tub, the heat of the water doing its best to soothe the ache deep in your muscles. Vi’s pressed to your side, thigh over yours, idly toying with the wet ends of your hair while you lazily glide a washcloth over her shoulder and down her arm. The two of you trade sleepy barbs, teasing over who wore the other out more, Vi insisting it wasn't your 'best work', even though the bruises on her hips say otherwise.

It’s soft. Easy. Like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

Then Vi’s phone starts buzzing on the tile floor. She groans, stretching just far enough to snag it, drying off her hand on the nearby towel before answering and switching it to speaker.

“What?”

“Bitch!” Jinx’s voice comes through loud and shrill, her tone somewhere between delighted and scandalized. “How the fuck did you manage to keep a secret relationship from me? From us?! I thought we told each other everything!”

Vi barks a laugh, her brows furrowing together in obvious confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and our fucking manager! You’ve been bumping uglies this whole time and didn’t say shit! How long has this been going on?! Sevika says she’s known for months. Cait won’t confirm, but she sounded real smug about it. I feel fucking betrayed!”

You sit up straight, heart dropping into your stomach, already reaching for your phone on instinct. You unlock it, pull up your socials—and sure enough, your feed is flooded.

Pictures. Dozens of them. Of you and Vi at the car after the show, all over each other, making out like the world wasn’t watching. Multiple angles. The articles have already spun it up—Hotwired’s Violet Lanes Spotted in Secret Relationship with Band Manager! Is Our Rebel Girl Finally Settling Down?

“Fuck,” you whisper, scrolling fast, your pulse spiking. “Vi, we’re fucked.”

“Speak for yourself,” Vi chuckles, looking over your shoulder at the screen, completely unbothered. “I think we look hot.”

Taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!!): @izzy-sevika, @shxdy0ariia, @sevikas-whore, @mcqueeferson, @ctrlaltedits, @riotstemple29

#𓆩♡𓆪 ─ blue is typing... .ᐟ #vi x reader #vi arcane #lesbian #arcane smut #arcane fanfic #vi x you #rockstar vi #series: hotwired #IM FREE #everybody say nice things to me neow!

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elikajinnie · 7 months ago

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hii! hope ur doing good I have some ideas in mind hear me out demon sunghoon where he fell in love with reader and tries to protect and keep an eye on her and sunghoon tries to disguise himself as a human to get closer to her will do anything to protect her and love her, buttt what if reader discover’s his true identity. It could be incubus sunghoon BUT ITS UR CHOICE, Hope ur doing good :333

The Incubus's Touch - P.S

a/n: i hope you like it <33

P: Incubus!Sunghoon X Fem!Reader (Recommended age 18+)

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Obsession, Teasing, Possession, Seduction, Hurt/Comfort, Temptation, Stalking, Suggestive Content, Mature Content.

Wordcount: 10.2k

Synopsis: Working at the old campus library was fun—except for one rule: never enter the basement. Yet, one day, you found yourself there, holding an ancient book. You read a few words, and now strange things are happening, and a mysterious new student won’t leave you alone. Who—or what—did you awaken?

a/n: i got some inspiration from a new book im reading called The Devil Makes Three by Tori Bovalino - i would recommend it if you can handle slowburn.

now playing: woo by rihanna | sins (let me in) by kanii | temptation by ashley sienna | dont mess with my mind by emo

reblogs and commentary are welcomed <3

When you first decided to get a job close to campus, you weren’t expecting much. In fact, you didn’t have many choices at all. Most of the cafes and shops near the university had already filled their rosters for the semester, and every rejection you received only added to the growing knot of anxiety in your chest. As the weeks passed, you found yourself growing desperate, spending late nights scrolling through job postings that seemed to disappear before you could even send in an application.

It wasn’t until one quiet afternoon in the campus library that your salvation arrived.

The campus library had always been your sanctuary—quiet, calm, and filled with the smell of old books. It wasn’t unusual for you to spend hours tucked into one of the corners, surrounded by towering shelves of books and the gentle hum of the air conditioning. The librarian, Mrs. Choi, had gotten used to seeing you there almost every day, to the point where she’d started greeting you by name when you walked through the doors.

That day, she had approached your table while you were hunched over your laptop, your screen open to yet another fruitless job search.

“Still looking?” she’d asked, her voice soft but knowing.

You’d sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah. It’s been… rough.”

She’d nodded thoughtfully, her gaze drifting toward the stacks of books waiting to be shelved. Then, after a moment, she’d said, “How would you feel about working here? As my assistant?”

You’d blinked, thinking you must have misheard her. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” she’d said, smiling faintly. “It’s nothing glamorous, but we could use an extra set of hands. And you seem like the kind of person who’d do well here.”

You didn’t need to think twice. You’d eagerly accepted the offer on the spot.

The job, as it turned out, was exactly what you’d needed. Sorting out books, erasing stray pencil marks and doodles from pages, sitting behind the counter to check books in and out, cleaning shelves, making sure the computers were turned off at the end of the day—it was simple work.

You quickly fell into a routine. Most days, you worked quietly alongside Mrs. Choi, who was as patient and kind. Other times, you found yourself alone.

There were small challenges, of course— like figuring out the library catalog system, dealing with students who were less than gentle with the books, chasing down overdue returns—but they were minor in the grand scheme of things.

It wasn’t the job you’d imagined yourself doing, but it turned out to be exactly what you needed.

But there was one simple rule she had given you: never enter the basement alone.

At first, you thought it was strange. The basement was just a storage space, wasn’t it? A place to keep old supplies, forgotten books, and maybe some outdated equipment. Why would it matter if you were alone or not?

You got your answer the first time Mrs. Choi took you down there.

It had been a quiet afternoon, with only a few students milling around the library. Mrs. Choi had handed you a list of supplies needed to repair a torn book—a delicate process that required some old tools and adhesives she kept locked away downstairs. She led you to a small, unassuming door at the far corner of the library, almost hidden behind one of the towering shelves.

The moment the door creaked open, the atmosphere changed.

The air was heavier, colder. A faint smell of mold hit your nose immediately, mixed with something metallic that made you wrinkle your nose. The single light bulb at the top of the stairs flickered, casting shadows that danced along the narrow stairwell. You hesitated, but Mrs. Choi gave you a reassuring look and motioned for you to follow.

“I know it’s not exactly inviting,” she said with a small smile, descending the stairs, “but the supplies we need are down here. Just stick close to me.”

You nodded and followed her, but the deeper you went, the more uneasy you felt. The basement wasn’t just dark—it was suffocatingly so. The walls were lined with shelves cluttered with dust-covered boxes, forgotten stacks of books, and unidentifiable objects. The floor beneath your feet was uneven, cracked concrete, and your steps echoed in the silence.

And then there were the hallways.

You hadn’t expected the basement to be so sprawling. Hallways branched off in seemingly every direction, twisting and turning into darkness. Some of them were so narrow you’d have to walk sideways to squeeze through. Others disappeared entirely into shadows, the overhead lights either burned out or nonexistent.

“This library is older than the campus itself,” Mrs. Choi explained as she rummaged through a shelf near the end of one of the hallways. “The basement used to be part of an old archive building before the university bought the property. They’ve renovated the library a dozen times over the years, but the basement? Well…” She trailed off, gesturing to the decaying walls around you.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” you muttered, wrinkling your nose at the sight of a particularly large spiderweb on the wall.

Mrs. Choi chuckled softly. “Exactly. What the students can’t see won’t hurt them—or so the administration likes to think. Just be glad you don’t have to come down here often.”

You nodded, but your eyes kept drifting to the dark hallways. There was something… off about them.

“Mrs. Choi?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Hmm?” she replied without looking up.

“Why don’t you want me coming down here alone?”

She paused, her hands stilling on the box she’d been searching through. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, and you felt a chill crawl up your spine. When she finally spoke, her tone was casual—too casual.

“It’s easy to get lost,” she said, turning to you with a faint smile. “The layout down here doesn’t make much sense, and it’s not exactly safe to wander around in the dark. The last thing I want is for you to trip and hurt yourself.”

Her explanation made sense, but the way she avoided your gaze left you unconvinced. Still, you didn’t press the issue. You helped her carry the supplies back upstairs, relieved to step back into the library.

After that, you made a point to follow her rule. The basement was creepy enough with someone else—there was no way you were going down there alone.

At least, not until the night you had no choice.

It happened a few weeks later, after a long shift that had stretched past closing time. Mrs. Choi had gone home early, trusting you to lock up on your own. Most of the evening had just been returning books to their shelves, tidying up the counter, shutting down the computers—but just as you were about to leave, you noticed a small stack of books on the repair desk.

You froze, staring at them. Mrs. Choi had asked you to fix those earlier in the week, but you’d completely forgotten. The supplies you needed were downstairs—in the basement.

You hesitated, debating whether you could just leave it for tomorrow, but you knew Mrs. Choi was counting on you. Sighing, you grabbed a flashlight from the front desk and made your way to the basement door.

You hesitated at the door, keys in hand, as a quiet, uneasy thought crossed your mind: Just leave it for tomorrow. But Mrs. Choi... She was counting on you. The supplies were just downstairs. It’d take five minutes at most.

With a resigned sigh, you unlocked the door.

The heavy, creaking groan of the hinges sent a shiver down your spine as the door swung open. The familiar smell hit you immediately: damp, mold, and that faint metallic. You reached for the light switch, flipping it on without much thought.

Nothing happened.

You froze, your hand still on the switch. You flicked it again. And again. Still nothing.

You swallowed hard, telling yourself the bulb had probably just burned out—though you couldn’t remember a time the light had ever failed before.

“It’s fine,” you muttered under your breath, bringing the flashlight you’d brought along up. The bright beam cut through the darkness as you clicked it on, illuminating the narrow staircase in front of you. You took a shaky breath and began your descent.

The further down you went, the colder it became.

The air felt heavier here, pressing against your skin like a warning. You tried to focus on the flashlight’s beam, watching it bounce against the cracked walls and uneven steps. It helped, a little. But not enough to shake the growing knot of unease curling in your stomach.

When you finally reached the bottom of the staircase, you paused to look around. The beam of your flashlight swept across the basement, revealing the same maze of shelves, forgotten boxes, and darkened hallways you’d seen before. But tonight, it felt different—almost unfamiliar.

A shiver ran up your spine. You adjusted your grip on the flashlight, forcing yourself to move.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Get the supplies and leave.”

You turned toward the shelf where Mrs. Choi always kept the repair tools. They were usually right there—neatly stored in a small wooden crate on the middle shelf. But as you shone the flashlight over it, you froze.

The shelf was empty.

Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly scanned the area. No crate. No tools. Nothing. You crouched down, checking the lower shelves, even though you knew they’d never been there before. Still nothing.

“Where…?” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own breathing.

Maybe Mrs. Choi had moved them? That was possible, right? She was always reorganizing things. You straightened up, your flashlight flicking from shelf to shelf, moving to step back, you were about tt turn to check the other shelves nearby. That’s when you heard it.

A faint sound, just on the edge of your hearing. A soft creak, like the sound of a door easing open—or maybe a floorboard shifting underfoot.

You froze, your flashlight trembling slightly in your hand.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice louder than you intended. It echoed through the basement, bouncing off the walls and disappearing into the dark hallways. No response.

You told yourself it was nothing. Maybe just the old pipes settling, or your own footsteps disturbing something. But as you turned back to the shelf, another sound reached you.

This time, it was softer—quieter. Like the faint rustle of fabric.

Your stomach dropped.

You swung the flashlight toward the nearest hallway, its beam cutting through the dark. Nothing. Just more shelves, more shadows. But your instincts were screaming at you now, telling you to leave. To get out of there.

"Okay, nope," you whispered to yourself, backing away from the hallway, your flashlight trembling slightly in your hands.

That’s when you heard it.

A hum.

Soft, almost melodic, like someone humming a lullaby just out of earshot. It floated through the air, carried on a breeze that shouldn’t have existed down here. The sound wrapped around you, tender and strangely inviting, tugging at something deep inside your chest.

You froze, the flashlight beam flickering as your grip loosened. The hum grew louder—not in an overwhelming way, but in a way that seemed to sink into your bones. It felt… warm.

Where were you again?

You frowned, the thought slipping through your mind like water through your fingers. You couldn’t remember. The dim basement around you blurred at the edges, the walls dissolving into a hazy glow. The tight knot of fear in your stomach melted away, replaced by a slow, pleasant warmth that spread through your body.

The hum wrapped around you like a blanket, comforting and wonderful, coaxing you to close your eyes and just… relax. The cold, damp smell of the basement faded, replaced by something sweeter. Flowers? No… vanilla, maybe. Something that reminded you of home.

You let out a soft sigh, your muscles relaxing, the tension in your shoulders fading. Your flashlight slipped from your fingers and clattered to the ground, but you barely noticed.

Everything felt so perfect.

You wanted to stay here forever.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, the hum stopped.

And everything crashed back into focus.

The warmth in your chest was gone, replaced by a sharp chill that clawed at your skin. The sweetness in the air vanished, leaving behind the bitter stench of mold and metal. Your surroundings solidified, and you realized you were no longer standing where you’d been before.

You were in a different room.

The walls were smooth and gray, completely different from the crumbling concrete of the basement hallways. The shelves were gone, replaced by nothing but cold, empty space. The air felt heavier, colder, and every breath you took made your chest ache.

Your flashlight was nowhere to be seen, but a dim, pale light seemed to seep into the room from nowhere and everywhere at once.

The hum was gone, but the silence it left behind was worse.

You turned in slow circles, your heart hammering in your chest. The room was small, with smooth, gray walls that loomed over you, stretching upward into darkness.

“Hello?” you called, your voice trembling.

It echoed back to you, warped and distant, as if the room was far larger than it seemed.

The warped echoes of your voice faded into the suffocating silence of the room, leaving only the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

How did you even get here?

You couldn't remember. Your mind was still foggy, fragments of warmth and that eerie hum lingering in the back of your thoughts like an unfinished dream.

Did you walk here?

You felt like you were missing pieces of yourself, as if part of your memory had been swallowed whole.

You were about to take a tentative step forward when something deep inside you shifted—a strange, unnatural pull. It wasn't a sensation you could describe easily. It was as though a string deep within your chest was being tugged, pulling you toward something.

You froze, your breath catching as your eyes followed the invisible tether.

In the center of the room, sitting on a low, ornate stand, was a book.

Your heart stuttered. Had that been there before? You were sure it wasn’t. You would have noticed it immediately, wouldn’t you?

The book seemed to glow faintly, its crimson-red cover almost pulsating, like it was alive. There were no words or symbols on the front, just smooth, worn leather that seemed impossibly pristine for something that felt so… ancient.

You swallowed hard, your feet moving toward it as if on their own. Each step felt heavier, your instincts screaming at you to turn around, to run, but you couldn’t stop.

When you finally reached it, you hesitated.

It was smaller than you expected, almost delicate, as though it shouldn’t have belonged in a place like this. Despite its vivid crimson color, the book radiated a strange sense of calm—like it wanted to be touched.

Before you realized it, your fingers were brushing against the cover.

It felt smooth, almost unnaturally so, and surprisingly light when you picked it up. You turned it over in your hands, the edges soft and perfectly bound, as if the book had been untouched for centuries. But on the back, something caught your attention.

A pink heart.

It was imprinted into the leather, subtle, making it look almost playful.

You huffed, confused and almost annoyed by how strange it all felt. Turning the book back over, you slowly opened it.

The pages inside were blank.

Every single one, clean and untouched, as though the book had never been written in. But when you turned to the first page, something stopped you in your tracks.

There was writing.

It was delicate, inked in looping, elegant script that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. The letters were strange, unfamiliar, but they seemed alive, as though they were moving ever so slightly, shifting and breathing on the page.

Latin, your mind supplied, though you couldn’t remember ever studying the language.

You tilted your head, curiosity overriding your fear as your eyes traced the unfamiliar words. They beckoned to you, pulling you in deeper. Before you even realized what you were doing, your lips parted, and you read them aloud:

"Qui me legit, fiat noster ligamen aeternum."

Nothing happened.

You stared at the book, waiting for some dramatic effect—a rumble, a flash of light, maybe a ghostly apparition—but there was nothing. Just silence.

You let out an annoyed huff, rolling your eyes. “Great. Real spooky,” you muttered under your breath. Closing the book with a snap, you placed it back on the stand, wiping your hands on your jeans as if to rid yourself of its texture. “What a waste of time.”

Turning around, you glanced around the room again, your frustration growing. It wasn’t like you had time to deal with creepy books in creepy basements. You still needed to get out of here and figure out why the supplies weren’t where they were supposed to be.

Then, you saw it.

A door.

It was open, just wide enough for you to slip through. You frowned. Had it been there before? It must’ve been—how else would you have gotten in here? Still, something about it didn’t sit right with you.

Was that where you came from?

You shrugged. Probably.

With no other options, you headed toward it, slipping through the opening, the faint creak of the hinges echoing unnervingly.

And then you were swallowed by darkness.

“Of course,” you muttered, groaning. Without the flashlight from earlier, the darkness was thick and impenetrable. You could barely see an inch in front of your face, and the faint light from the room behind you did nothing to help.

Fishing your phone from your pocket, you switched on its flashlight. The beam wasn’t as strong as the flashlight you’d been carrying before, but it was enough to see the area around you.

The floor beneath your feet was uneven and cold, a mixture of dirt and cracked stone. You shone the light around, trying to get your bearings. The walls were damp and covered in spiderwebs, and the faint scent of mold and rust lingered in the air.

Where even am I?

You took a tentative step forward, the beam of light from your phone trembling as you moved.

The hallway kept stretching forward, narrow and seemingly endless. The farther you walked, the more the walls seemed to close in around you, the air growing colder with each step. Your phone’s light flickered once, then again, making your pulse spike.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” you whispered, gripping the device tighter.

The light steadied, and you exhaled a shaky breath, your footsteps faltering slightly.

Something felt off.

The air was too still, the silence too absolute. It was the kind of quiet that made you feel like you were being watched, like something was lurking just beyond the reach of your light.

You shook your head, trying to focus. “Get it together,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just find the exit.”

But as you took another step, something caught your attention.

A sound.

It was faint at first, almost imperceptible, but it grew louder the more you listened. A soft, rhythmic tapping, like footsteps… or fingers drumming against a surface.

You froze, the beam of your phone’s light shaking as your hands trembled. The sound echoed faintly through the corridor, coming from somewhere ahead of you.

“Hello?” you called, your voice cracking slightly.

No response.

The tapping stopped.

You waited, holding your breath, your ears straining for any hint of movement.

Then, suddenly, the tapping started again—this time behind you.

Your stomach dropped, and you whipped around, the flashlight from your phone sweeping over the hallway you’d just walked through. It was empty.

Completely, utterly empty.

You took a shaky step backward, your heart hammering in your chest. The tapping grew louder, faster, coming from all around you now, echoing off the walls in a maddening cacophony.

“Stop it,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Just stop!”

And then it did.

The silence that followed was deafening, almost worse than the sound itself. You took another step back, your pulse racing, and suddenly the floor beneath you gave way.

With a startled cry, you fell, the phone slipping from your hand as you tumbled into darkness.

You hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Dazed and disoriented, you lay there for a moment, your head spinning and your body aching.

When you finally managed to sit up, you realized you were no longer in the narrow hallway.

You were back in the room.

The light was gone, replaced by an suffocating darkness that seemed to stretch endlessly around you.

And in the center of the room, sitting on the stand where you’d left it, was the book.

But this time, it wasn`t red.

It was black.

And it was beating.

You screamed, the sound raw and terrified as it echoed around the room. Your knees buckled, and you collapsed to the ground, trembling uncontrollably. Your body felt impossibly heavy, as though some unseen force was pressing down on you, rooting you in place.

Frantic, your eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out, for anything to explain what was happening. But the darkness seemed alive now, shifting and writhing just beyond your vision.

And then, you felt it.

Hot breath, impossibly close, brushing against your ear.

Your breath hitched as warmth spread through you, pooling low in your stomach, and you hated how your body betrayed you, reacting to something you couldn’t even see.

Then came the lips.

Soft, feather-light, trailing along the curve of your neck. The sensation was so vivid, so real, that a groan escaped your lips before you could stop it. Your body arched instinctively, leaning into the phantom touch, even as your mind screamed at you to fight it, to run, to do something.

“Shh,” a voice purred, its tone soothing. “There’s no need to be afraid, my sweet. You called me, remember?”

Your heart raced, and your hands clenched into fists as you tried to regain control of your body. “What… what are you?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

The presence behind you chuckled, the sound low and intimate, like a lover’s laugh shared in the dark.

“I’m yours,” it said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You read the words. You invited me in. And now… we’re bound.”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “No, no, this isn’t real. This can’t be real.”

“Oh, but it is,” the voice replied, amusement lacing its tone. “You wanted something, didn’t you? Why else would you open that book? Why else would you speak those words?”

The weight on your body eased slightly, enough for you to shift and try to crawl away, but the darkness coiled around you like a living thing, keeping you in place.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?” the voice murmured, almost pitying. “Poor thing. You were so eager, so curious. And now…”

A hand—cold yet burning—brushed against your cheek, tilting your head up toward the stand where the book still rested.

“…you’re mine.”

The room seemed to pulse with those final words, the darkness tightening around you like a vice. Your vision blurred as panic clawed at your throat, and the last thing you saw before everything went black was the book—its pages flipping wildly on their own—glowing faintly with a sinister crimson light.

You woke up with a sharp gasp, your body jolting upright like you’d been shocked awake. But as you looked around, you realized you were lying in the middle of the hallway.

Your phone was on the floor beside you, its flashlight pointed up at the cracked ceiling.

It was a dream?

You laughed, breathless and shaky, running a hand through your hair as you tried to calm yourself. “This is insane,” you muttered, your voice trembling. The laughter didn’t last long—it felt hollow, a desperate attempt to convince yourself that what you’d experienced wasn’t real.

You snatched up your phone, and scrambled to your feet. Without wasting another second, you sprinted down the hallway, the weak beam of your phone’s flashlight bouncing with every step. You didn’t care where you were going anymore; you just needed to get out.

The hallways twisted and turned, stretching endlessly, and every shadow seemed to claw at you as you ran. It felt like hours—like the labyrinth was mocking you, refusing to let you leave.

But finally, somehow, you found your way back.

The dim light of the main basement room greeted you, and your breath hitched as your eyes landed on something you hadn’t expected to see.

The box of supplies.

It was sitting on the shelf, exactly where it was supposed to be.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at it. The same box you’d been searching for, on the same shelf you’d checked before.

How had it gotten here?

You didn’t dare question it. Not now. Not after everything that had just happened.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the box, clutching it tightly in one hand while you snatched the flashlight off the ground with the other.

Then you bolted.

Your feet thundered up the stairs, your pulse roaring in your ears as you raced for the exit. When you reached the top, you slammed the basement door shut and locked it, your hands shaking so badly it took you a couple of tries to get the key to turn.

The moment it was locked, you pressed your back against the door, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

You glanced down at the supplies in your arms, the mundane, ordinary contents almost laughable now after everything you’d been through.

But as you stood there, something cold prickled at the back of your neck.

You turned slowly, your eyes drifting toward the library’s main floor.

Everything was still. Silent.

And yet, for a brief moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a figure standing in the shadows between the shelves.

Watching you.

You blinked, and it was gone.

This was crazy. Absolutely crazy.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, shaking your head as you clutched the box tighter. You were just tired, that was all. You hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in days, and the stress of balancing school and work was clearly catching up to you. Yeah, tired. That’s all this is, you thought, repeating it like a mantra.

Ignoring the lingering unease prickling at the back of your neck, you made your way to the counter. The two ripped books Mrs. Choi had left were still there, waiting for you. You dropped the box down with a thud, grabbed the tools you needed, and got to work.

Your hands trembled at first as you smoothed out the torn pages, applying the adhesive carefully. You focused on the process—cutting, pressing, and smoothing out the repair strips—letting the repetitive actions calm your frayed nerves.

This was normal. Fixing books. Doing your job. Nothing weird about that.

Minutes passed. Then longer. The books were almost done, and for a moment, you felt like you could breathe again.

But then, just as you reached for the last tool in the box, a soft tap echoed through the library.

Your hand froze mid-reach, your eyes darting toward the source of the sound.

Tap… tap… tap.

It came from the direction of the shelves, slow and deliberate, like someone tapping their nails against wood.

Your chest tightened as you stared into the rows of books, the library was dark now—darker than it should’ve been. The overhead lights seemed dimmer, casting distorted shadows across the shelves.

You swallowed hard, trying to convince yourself it was nothing. Maybe it was the building settling, or the heating system kicking on. Don’t be stupid. You’re just scaring yourself.

Still, you couldn’t help but call out, your voice wavering. “Hello?”

No response.

The tapping stopped.

You stared into the darkness for what felt like an eternity, your heart hammering in your chest.

Then, just as you were about to turn back to the books, a book fell from one of the shelves.

The sound was deafening, the thud reverberating through the library like a gunshot.

You jumped, your breath hitching, and spun toward the source. The book lay open on the floor, its pages splayed out like wings.

You didn’t want to go over there. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to stay behind the counter, to leave it alone.

But your feet moved on their own, taking slow, hesitant steps toward the fallen book.

When you finally reached the book, you crouched down, your hand trembling as you picked it up.

Your fingers brushed over the embossed title, and your stomach dropped.

It was the same book you’d seen in the basement.

You gasped, clutching the crimson book tightly as your eyes darted around the library. Maybe this was some sort of prank? Someone could have grabbed the book from the basement and planted it here to scare you.

“Hello?” you called out again, but the library was still empty, silent.

Your breathing quickened as you scanned the shelves, desperate to catch a glimpse of anyone—a student pulling some cruel joke, or maybe Mrs. Choi coming back to check on you. But there was no one.

You hurried back to the counter, your heart racing, and turned on the computer. Your fingers fumbled as you brought up the CCTV footage, the small screen flickering to life. You scrubbed through the past hour, watching yourself walking back and forth, grabbing the box, and fixing the books.

Nothing.

No one else had entered the library. The hallways and shelves were empty. It was just you, moving around, completely alone.

Well… almost.

You paused the footage, your heart sinking as your eyes locked onto a shadow. It was faint, barely distinguishable, but for one brief frame, something seemed to linger in the corner of the screen. Not a person, but… something.

It was gone in the next frame.

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope,” you muttered under your breath, slamming the monitor off.

You looked at the crimson book sitting on the counter, its cover gleaming faintly under the dim light. It felt wrong—its very presence seemed to thrum.

Without thinking, you grabbed it and tossed it into the nearest trash bin, making sure it landed deep under crumpled paper and leftover scraps.

“There,” you said to yourself, your voice shaky. “Done.”

Forcing yourself to focus, you went back to finishing the torn books, your hands working faster than ever. As soon as the repairs were complete, you shoved the box under the counter and hurried to turn off the lights.

The library plunged into darkness, the faint moonlight filtering through the windows barely enough to guide you as you locked the doors behind you.

You didn’t realize how late it had gotten until you stepped outside. The campus was quiet, the lampposts casting long shadows across the pathways.

You tightened your coat around you and began the walk home, your footsteps echoing loud. Every so often, you glanced over your shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that someone was following you.

But the path behind you was always empty.

Still, the unease stayed with you, like a cold weight settling deep in your chest.

When you finally reached your apartment, you locked the door behind you, double-checking it twice before collapsing onto the couch. You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe you were just tired, your imagination running wild after a long day.

Before you knew it, sleep had overtaken you. The exhaustion from the long day weighed down on your body like a blanket, pulling you into unconsciousness almost instantly.

But the peace of sleep didn’t last long.

You found yourself in a dimly lit bedroom, one you didn’t recognize. The walls were draped with dark curtains, and the air was heavy with the faint scent of roses. You sat up slowly, blinking in confusion as you tried to make sense of where you were.

“How did I…?” you murmured, your voice trailing off.

Before you could process anything, a voice, smooth and rich like velvet, broke the silence.

“My, you’re even more beautiful up close.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, equal parts alluring and unsettling. You whipped your head around, searching for the source, but the shadows in the room seemed to shift and dance, obscuring whoever was speaking to you.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” the voice continued, closer now, almost right beside your ear. “To touch you… to feel you…”

You gasped as a pair of lips suddenly pressed against yours, soft but demanding.

Your initial instinct was to pull away, but the sensation was overwhelming. Your mind grew hazy, a strange warmth spreading through your chest as the kiss deepened. It felt so intoxicating, so magnetic, that you couldn’t help but melt into it.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. The kiss was unlike anything you’d ever experienced—it was all-consuming, as though the very act of it was pulling you further into the dream.

You felt hands brush against your skin, feather-light but firm, holding you in place.

You tried to pull back, but the hands held you steady, the kiss turning more possessive. The warmth you’d felt earlier now burned, searing through your veins as if something was being poured into you.

Panic swelled in your chest, but just as you were about to scream, the room spun violently, and everything went dark.

When your eyes shot open, you were back on your couch, drenched in sweat. Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, your fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

But the lingering warmth on your lips, the faint ache of the kiss, told you otherwise.

And as you glanced toward the door, you froze.

The crimson book was sitting there, completely untouched, resting on the floor as if it had never been buried at all.

Your blood ran cold.

You scrambled to your feet, your heart pounding as you stared at the book. How was it there again? You knew you’d buried it deep under the pile of scraps.

“Nope. Not dealing with this,” you muttered, your voice shaking but resolute.

You grabbed the book, your fingers brushing against its smooth, cold cover. A strange, pleasant warmth crawled up your arm at the contact, sending shivers through your body. For a fleeting moment, it felt good—too good. Your grip faltered as a soft sigh escaped your lips, unbidden.

No.

Shaking your head fiercely, you tightened your grip and turned toward the window. Without hesitating, you threw it open, the cool night air brushing against your flushed face.

With all the strength you could muster, you hurled the book out. It spiraled through the air before landing with a dull thud on the damp grass below.

You leaned against the windowsill, watching the book. It lay there, unmoving.

Relief coursed through you.

“That’s it,” you whispered. “Stay there. Stay gone.”

Slamming the window shut, you locked it, double-checking the latch before stepping back.

You needed to clear your head, to shake off the strange sensations still crawling under your skin. Heading to the bathroom, you stripped off your clothes.

The shower hissed to life, steam rising as the water warmed. You stepped under the stream, letting the heat cascade over you, washing away the sweat and fear clinging to your body.

You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to convince yourself it was all in your head. Just a bad day. Just a stressful, weird day.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the sound of the water beating against your skin filling your ears as you focused on your breathing. It’s fine. It’s just your imagination. Nothing weird is going on. You’re tired, just tired, you repeated in your mind.

The water seemed colder now, even though the temperature hadn't changed, and a shiver ran down your spine. You’re overthinking it. Just get out of the shower and relax, you told yourself, but your hands felt heavy as you reached for the soap.

Just as you were about to wash your face, a soft tap echoed from somewhere beyond the bathroom door.

You froze, the motion of your hands stalling in midair.

Tap... Tap...

Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes darted to the bathroom door.

It was all too familiar. You couldn’t breathe, your chest tightening as the sound echoed louder in your mind.

No. No. It’s just the house settling. Maybe it’s the pipes. Just the pipes.

But the words felt hollow in your mind, the fear building with every passing second. The taps grew louder, clearer, almost closer.

You turned off the water quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. You stood there, motionless, listening, waiting for the sound to stop.

But it didn’t.

And then a creak. Just slightly, but enough for you to hear.

You gasped, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around yourself as you backed away, your legs shaking. Your mind screamed at you to leave the bathroom, to get out of the apartment, but you couldn’t move.

Then, before you could react, the door opened, just a crack.

There was nothing on the other side.

Just the empty hallway beyond.

But you knew. You knew it wasn’t right.

You slammed the door shut and locked it immediately, your breath ragged. The air in the bathroom felt stifling now, the walls pressing in on you, the space shrinking.

Your hand trembled as you reached for your phone, desperate to call someone, anyone.

But the screen flickered as soon as you unlocked it. The text on the screen was warped, unreadable. You stared at it for a moment, your stomach dropping. Something wasn’t right with your phone either.

A sharp, guttural whisper curled through the air, a voice so low you barely caught it.

The voice was so faint at first, you thought it was just a figment of your imagination, a trick your mind had played in the silence. But then it came again, clear and sharp, wrapping around your senses like a heavy fog.

“Come closer...”

It was soft, smooth, but there was an undeniable edge to it—laced with something... something tempting.

You froze, the words swirling in your mind. It wasn’t your own voice. It was deeper, resonating through you, the very air around you thick with a strange pull. Your chest tightened, and you felt something shift within you, an involuntary tug deep inside your stomach, urging you forward.

“Just one touch... just one kiss...”

The voice slithered, curling into your ear like a lover’s whisper, and something about it stirred the air around you. Your body was heating up, your skin prickling with a strange energy you couldn't explain.

You swallowed hard, your breath quickening as you stared at the mirror, trying to make sense of what was happening.

That’s when you felt it—an undeniable heat at your back.

It burned, searing through you like something alive, something that wanted you. Your breath hitched, and you spun around in a panic, expecting to see someone behind you, but the bathroom was empty, the space cold and silent.

But the heat didn’t fade.

It lingered, crawling across your skin like a heavy presence, sending shivers up your spine. There was no one there, but the sensation of being watched was there. Your body tensed, the warmth spreading through your entire body now, suffocating you, as if someone was right there, pressed against you, whispering into your very soul.

“It’s just us now…”

You glanced into the mirror once more, and there it was again—the figure. This time, it was clearer, its shadowy outline just behind you, impossibly close. The reflection wasn’t yours—it was someone else, standing so close that the hairs on your neck stood on end.

You gasped, heart pounding, but the figure didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. It simply stood.

The heat intensified, and the whisper grew louder, more insistent, as if it had taken root in your mind.

“Come to me... you know you want to...”

Your pulse raced. The pull in your chest was growing stronger now, as if your body was no longer your own, as if it was being drawn to something that wasn’t just a dream anymore.

The room began to spin, and you had to grip the edge of the sink to steady yourself, feeling dizzy as the desire to obey, to give in, washed over you. But as you fought it, something else caught your eye in the mirror—something that made your blood run cold.

A pair of glowing eyes pierced through the shadows, locked on you. And they were hungry.

You staggered back, heart slamming against your ribcage, and in the corner of your vision, you saw a fleeting glimpse of something—something moving, shifting in the dark.

No… You wanted to scream, to run, but your body wouldn’t move. Your limbs felt like lead, and the heat had become unbearable, pressing into you, dragging you toward it.

With a strangled breath, you finally tore your gaze away from the mirror, blinking furiously to rid yourself of the image. But the voice didn’t stop. It echoed inside your mind, growing louder.

“We’re bound now... there’s no going back…”

You tried to pull away, tried to break free of the suffocating heat and the unbearable pressure, but you couldn’t move. It was as if invisible hands were holding you in place. Your body, already trembling from the overwhelming sensations, was paralyzed as the touch slowly traveled up your arms.

It was light, ghostly, like fingertips grazing over your skin—soft, but burning with a heat that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t. The sensation slid up to your shoulders, your neck, curling around you.

The moment it brushed your throat, the pressure seemed to increase, suffocating you. The touch lingered there, just under your jawline, fingers gentle yet firm. And then, before you could think, before you could react, you felt something else—lips.

A kiss.

But not from anyone you could see.

Your eyes snapped shut, your breath shallow as the kiss deepened, warm and intoxicating. It was urgent, burning, and wrong, but in a way that felt too good to resist. You tried to move, tried to pull back, but the invisible force held you in place, pushing you further into the kiss.

It was there, all around you—this overwhelming feeling of being wanted, of being pulled into something. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, fear and desire mingling into a sickening cocktail. The sensation of lips on yours, it felt alive, like the very essence of the kiss was drawing something from you.

A low, satisfied murmur vibrated against your lips, and something deep within you shivered.

No… stop, please… You tried to scream in your mind, but your body didn’t obey. You couldn’t pull away from it.

You were being pulled into it, held captive by something invisible, something that wasn't human. But what? What was kissing you, claiming you like this?

The answer felt just out of reach, like a whisper that barely brushed against your mind, too faint to grasp, too slippery to hold onto. The sensation of lips—too warm, too alive—pressed against yours again, and your strength began to wane. It was as if every breath you took was being drained, pulled out from you with each passing second. You felt weak, too weak to move, too weak to even think.

Your body, once full of fear, had gone completely limp, like a ragdoll strung up and held in place by an invisible force. The pressure around your throat tightened, suffocating, but you could do nothing to fight it. You couldn’t scream. You couldn’t even blink—all your energy was consumed, sucked away by whatever was holding you captive, by the kiss that wasn't a kiss.

You could feel your mind slipping, like your thoughts were dissolving into the heat, into the darkness surrounding you. The invisible force—was it a presence? A shadow?—held you in place, guiding you, manipulating you, as if you were a puppet and it was pulling your strings.

But still, the sensation of being claimed lingered, you tried to focus, tried to break free, but it was no use. Every attempt only made you feel smaller, more powerless, like you were losing yourself bit by bit.

Was this what it wanted?

Your body didn’t feel like your own anymore. It felt... distant. Detached. Like you were a spectator in your own skin, watching as the thing—whatever it was—wove its tendrils around you.

Just as the world around you seemed to fade, a distant whisper echoed through the fog of your mind:

"Mine now."

The words wrapped around you like a heavy chain, pulling tighter and tighter until you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even feel the floor beneath you anymore.

You were slipping away, your body fading into nothingness, held together only by the force that had claimed you.

"Mine forever."

When you woke up, it wasn’t like any other morning. You felt... tired. Groggy, and exhausted. As you stretched, you looked around the room, everything exactly as you left it, nothing unusual. It felt normal.

When you arrived at school, you couldn’t focus. The lessons droned on, but your mind kept wandering. You couldn't shake the feeling from last night. There was a gnawing curiosity deep inside you, a need to know what had happened, to make sense of it. You couldn’t just ignore it—your body wasn’t the same.

You pulled out your laptop in the middle of class, and you typed furiously. Your fingers flew over the keys, searching for any explanation that made sense, some kind of rational answer.

You found nothing but chaos.

The results were all over the place: demons, rituals, ghosts, whispers about curses and creatures from myths, things you thought only existed in horror stories. At first, you dismissed it. This can’t be real, you told yourself. But the deeper you went, the more it all seemed... possible.

And then you found it.

Incubus demons.

Your stomach twisted as you read more. The descriptions, the encounters—everything fit too perfectly. A demon, often seductive, one that could manipulate dreams, feed off your energy, entwine itself with you in the most intimate of ways. It would drain you slowly, filling you with warmth, with need, until it had you completely. Some even said an incubus could bind you to them—forever.

You felt a shiver creep down your spine. Was this what had happened to you? Could it be real? Could the thing you felt, the presence that had been with you, be an incubus?

The deeper you read, the more it made sense. The powerlessness, the way you felt unable to stop it, to resist. The hunger, the overwhelming desire. You couldn’t imagine it. You couldn't dream it.

You were still lost in thought as the bell rang, signaling the end of class. You gathered your things mechanically, your mind still reeling from the unsettling information you had uncovered. The words about incubus demons echoed in your head, each sentence making you feel more and more trapped.

As you packed your bag, your hand brushed against something unfamiliar. A cold chill ran through you, and your stomach dropped. You froze for a second, staring at your bag with a creeping sense of dread. Slowly, you opened it, and your eyes widened.

The book.

The crimson-red book. The one you had thrown out the window, the one you’d left behind—it was here, in your bag.

Your heart hammered in your chest, your fingers trembling as you touched the book. It was impossible. How could it be here? You distinctly remembered tossing it out, watching it fall to the ground outside your window. You’d even seen it land on the grass—it couldn’t have just come back.

A deep sense of dread filled your chest as your fingers slowly curled around the cover. You could feel the pull of it again, that same suffocating desire that called to you, whispered to you.

You quickly closed the bag, as if hiding it would make it go away.

How... how was this possible?

Your mind raced, trying to piece it together, but there was no logical explanation. The book had been thrown out. It shouldn’t be here.

And yet, it was.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t in control anymore.

Something was toying with you.

You had just sat down in your next class, trying to focus, but your mind kept wandering. How was it possible? What was happening to you? You barely noticed when the seat beside you shifted, and someone sat down, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts.

You turned your head instinctively, and your breath caught in your throat.

He was... stunning.

Tall, with sharp features and thick eyebrows that gave him an almost commanding presence. A few moles dotted his face, and his eyes were dark, almost mesmerizing, in a way which made your heart race in a way that felt unnatural.

But what really made your stomach flutter was the fact that you’d never seen him before.

Was he in this class?

You racked your brain, trying to recall if you had ever noticed him in the hallways or anywhere else on campus, but nothing came to mind.

He seemed to notice you staring at him, and a sly smile tugged at his lips. He leaned a bit closer, as if he didn’t mind the attention at all, his voice smooth and confident when he spoke.

"Hey, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

You blinked, caught off guard by the casualness of his tone. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine."

He chuckled softly, and you felt a strange sensation wash over you, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. It was unsettling, but you couldn't quite pinpoint why.

"I'm Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon," he said, his smile widening slightly.

You blinked again, now fully aware of how close he was. "Oh, uh, nice to meet you."

You forced a smile, but your heart was beating too fast. There was something about him, something that felt off—but also familiar.

Why did it feel like he already knew you?

The class went by as usual, the minutes dragging on in a haze. Sunghoon didn't speak much after you introducing yourself, but every now and then, you'd catch him glancing at you, his dark eyes glimmering with something you couldn't quite place. You tried to ignore the unease creeping up your spine and focused on the lesson.

By the time class ended, you were relieved to be able to leave. You needed some time to clear your head.

When you arrived at the library, you clocked in and slid behind the counter, but quickly growing bored, you leaned forward and opened the computer, deciding to look up something to distract you. You typed in "demon books," half expecting it to pull up some weird conspiracy theory, but to your surprise, a result popped up. There was a book, right there in the archives—on demons.

Your curiosity flared. This was what you needed.

You grabbed a pen and jotted down the shelf number before heading to the stacks. When you arrived, your eyes searched the shelves, scanning for the number you’d written down. There it was—just out of reach. The book you wanted sat high on the shelf, taunting you. You stretched on your toes, reaching as far as you could, but it was no use. You could feel the frustration rising as you considered your options.

As you were about to give up and turn away, a hand shot up from behind you, effortlessly reaching the book and pulling it down.

You turned around, heart skipping a beat. There, standing just behind you, was Sunghoon. He held the book you had been struggling to get, his expression unreadable.

“Need this?” he asked, his voice casual, almost too smooth.

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. Something about the way he said that sent a strange shiver down your spine. It was as if he knew exactly what you were searching for, as if he had been waiting for you to look it up.

“Thanks,” you said, taking the book from him, but your hand brushed against his for a moment longer than necessary. A jolt of electricity shot through you, and you quickly pulled your hand away, your face flushing.

“No problem,” he replied smoothly, his eyes twinkling. “Figured you needed a little help.”

You watched him disappear into the rows of books, and the unease from earlier returned, settling deep into your bones.

You don’t even realize what you've walked into, do you? Your deliciousness is like a siren's song, luring me in, and I am a lost soul, destined to follow. I've got you now, and I won't let you go. I'll devour every last piece of you, leaving no part untouched, for you're a feast that I'll savor forever.

Your beauty, it's like a spell, casting a shadow over my heart, and I want to take and take, until you give me everything, for I crave the taste of your soul, the essence of your being.

I think of your skin, smooth as silk, and how it feels under my touch. I imagine the taste of your lips, sweet like nectar, and how they'd satisfy my every craving. I envision your body, and how it yields to my every caress.

I'll trace the map of your body with my hands, my lips, and my heart, marking every inch as my own.

I'll feast on your lips, kiss by kiss, until my soul is satiated. I'll drink from the well of your desire, quench my thirst, and be nourished by your passion. I'll explore the depths of your pleasure, discover the peaks of your ecstasy.

And when I've had my fill, my sweet, I'll still want more. For you're an endless ocean, a bottomless pit of pleasure, and I can never quench my thirst. I'll always want to dive deeper, explore further, and discover more.

You stared at the book in your hands as you made your way back to the counter. And once you sat behind the counter, you placed the book down in front of you, the sound of the pages flipping echoing softly in the quiet library.

You opened the book, the musty scent of old pages filling your nose as you began flipping through it, scanning the words and images. Each page was filled with descriptions of various demons, their powers, their origins, and their terrifying abilities. But you kept your focus, searching for the section you had come here for.

Incubus demons.

When you finally reached the right section, your heart pounded in your chest. The words jumped off the page, unsettlingly familiar. It was like the book was confirming everything you had felt and the more you read, the clearer it became that this was no coincidence.

Incubi, it said, were demons who thrived on energy—specifically life force. They were known to seduce their victims, using dreams, lust, and an overwhelming need for intimacy to drain them. They were powerful, manipulating their prey until they were completely drained, their energy absorbed by the demon.

But what caught your eye was the last part.

"Once an incubus claims someone, it forms a bond—one that cannot be easily broken. The victim becomes a vessel, their soul linked to the demon’s for eternity."

You froze, a cold shiver crawling down your spine. Eternity. Was that what had happened to you? Had you unknowingly made a pact with something otherworldly?

You could feel your pulse quicken as your mind raced. Had you been claimed by the demon? Was it already too late to turn back?

You closed the book abruptly, the sound of it thudding against the counter loudly. You couldn’t breathe. Your stomach twisted, and for a brief moment, you thought you might collapse right there.

Just then, you heard a voice, soft but clear, cutting through the storm of thoughts in your head.

"Are you okay?"

You looked up, startled, and saw Sunghoon standing there, a stack of books in his hands. His eyes were searching your face, brows furrowed in concern.

"Uh... yeah, I’m fine," you stammered, trying to act normal. But you could feel the flush creeping up your neck, the words of the book still fresh in your mind. You quickly gathered your composure and grabbed the books from him, trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming feelings swirling inside you.

You ran the books through the system, scanning the barcodes one by one, all the while acutely aware of how close Sunghoon was standing.

As you glanced down at the books, you couldn't help but notice the titles—all of them were romance novels. It felt... strange. You glanced back at Sunghoon, trying to read his expression.

"Romance, huh?" you said, attempting to make small talk as you finished scanning the last one. "Didn’t peg you for someone into these kinds of books."

He chuckled softly, a low, smooth sound that made your heart skip again. "I’m not really. But, you know, sometimes it's good to pretend."

You blinked, unsure if you were reading too much into the comment. His smile didn’t help—he always had that air of mystery, like he was saying something and nothing at the same time.

"Thanks for helping with the book earlier," you added, trying to steer the conversation back to something neutral. "I appreciate it."

He shrugged, grabbing the books from on the counter. "No problem. Just looking out for you."

The way he said it sent a chill down your spine. It felt like more than just a casual statement. Like he knew something you didn’t. Something you didn’t want to know.

You tried to push the feeling down. You had to stay focused. "Anything else you need?" you asked, attempting to keep things professional.

Sunghoon just smiled again, that strange glimmer in his eyes never fading. "For now, no," he said, his tone teasing. "But I’ll be around."

When your shift finally ended, the night had already settled in, the streets now cast in shadows. You clutched your bag tightly as you walked, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Eventually, you found yourself at the bridge, standing on the edge, the water below reflecting the lights.

You opened your bag, pulling out the crimson red book, the one you had tried so desperately to get rid of. As you held it, you could feel something radiating from it—a pull, tempting you to keep it, to keep following.

You shook, unable to tear your gaze away from the book, as if it were alive, trying to draw you into its dark power. What had happened to you? What had you gotten yourself into?

A cold sweat broke out along your spine, and for a moment, you thought you might lose control. With trembling hands, you lifted the book to toss it into the water, ready to rid yourself of it once and for all.

But just as you were about to throw it off the bridge, you heard a voice behind you, low and rough.

"Hey," the voice called out, sending a shiver down your spine.

You froze, heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you turned around.

Standing there was a man—a stranger. His features were sharp, his eyes narrowed in a way that made your stomach turn. There was something off about him, something unsettling in the way he watched you. His gaze was degrading, as if he had already sized you up.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing out here alone?" he asked, his voice slithering through the air.

You instinctively took a step back, clutching the book tighter in your hands, there was no mistaking the way his eyes lingered on you, his stare lingering a little too long.

His lips twisted into a grin, and it made your blood run cold. "You don't look like you're in a hurry to leave."

His tone, that smile—everything about him screamed danger, your heart thudded loudly in your chest as you fought the urge to run, but your feet felt rooted to the spot.

Your breath caught in your throat as the man took a step toward you, his hand reaching out with an unsettling determination. This was it. He was going to—

Suddenly, there was a sharp thud, and the man was thrown backward, crashing to the ground with a pained grunt.

You gasped, startled, and watched in disbelief as a familiar figure stepped besides you.

Sunghoon.

Without hesitation, he lunged at the man, throwing a fist that landed with a sickening crack against the stranger’s face. The man tried to scramble to his feet, but Sunghoon was relentless, his fists moving with precision, each punch landing harder than the last. You could hear the force of each strike, the sound of flesh hitting bone. The man barely had a chance to defend himself, crumpling beneath the force of Sunghoon’s blows.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, transfixed by the brutal scene before you. There was something terrifyingly powerful about Sunghoon right now, his movements were swift and calculated, as if he were punishing the man for something more than just the assault on you.

Your hands shook as you held the book tighter to your chest, you didn’t know why, but it felt like it was alive, pulsing in your grip.

The book was vibrating, faintly at first, but then stronger, almost as though it was purring, responding to the violence — to you.

You ignored it, trying to focus on what was happening in front of you. Sunghoon wasn’t stopping, his anger mounting with each punch.

The man on the ground groaned, clearly dazed, unable to defend himself. Finally, Sunghoon stopped, standing over the man, his breath coming in heavy, measured gasps.

"You shouldn’t have done that," Sunghoon said, his voice low and dangerous, his gaze unwavering. He turned to look at you, eyes locking with yours.

You were still frozen, your heart pounding in your chest, and you couldn’t make sense of it all. The way Sunghoon was acting, the way he looked at you—it was like he wasn’t the same person you’d met in the library. This was someone else.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice softer now, though there was still a sharpness to it.

You nodded, though your voice felt stuck in your throat. You couldn’t even find the words to thank him, or to ask why he’d come out of nowhere to help you. Why was he here?

Sunghoon glanced down at the man on the ground, his expression unreadable, before he turned to you again, taking a step closer.

"You’re safe now," he said, his voice more comforting this time, though the intensity never fully left his gaze.

Your hands trembled as you clutched the book tighter, trying to shake off the strange feeling it was giving you.

Sunghoon’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning you before he helped you steady yourself.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, his tone lighter, he glanced at the book in your hands, and that smile of his grew, just slightly, as if pleased.

He led you away from the bridge, the cool night air now feeling heavy around you. His presence beside you was comforting, but at the same time, you couldn’t ignore the sense that he was guiding you in more ways than one.

You looked up at him, and he caught your gaze, his smile widening ever so slightly. "Seems like you’ve taken quite the interest in that," he said, his voice soft but with an edge you couldn’t quite place. "You’re holding it tightly."

Your fingers ached as you continued to clutch the book to your chest, your heart still hammering from the encounter. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, too overwhelmed by everything that had happened.

"You shouldn’t have to worry anymore," he said, his voice lowering. “You’re safe now.”

Then why did something not feel right? Sunghoon was far too calm, too understanding. As if he already knew everything—everything that had been happening to you.

The way he looked at you, like he was watching, waiting for something.

And for the first time, you realized something that made your stomach twist in unease.

He wasn’t just helping you.

He was guiding you.

The moment you stepped through the door of your apartment, you immediately noticed it. The book was still pressed against your chest, and for the first time, it felt almost suffocating. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you had been holding onto it the entire time—your knuckles white. It was like it had become a part of you, and that realization twisted something deep within your gut.

You couldn't stand it anymore.

Without even thinking, you hurled the book against the wall, your heart racing as the impact caused it to thud loudly, the book sliding to the floor. The sound echoed in the quiet apartment, and you could feel your breath catch in your throat, as if your body had finally caught up to the chaos inside your mind.

For a moment, there was silence. The book lay on the floor, the cover staring up at you, as if mocking your decision. But you were too exhausted to care anymore. Too worn out by everything that had happened.

You stumbled fowards, your legs giving way, and before you knew it, you were sinking onto the couch. Your mind was foggy, too tired to think. Your body ached, your head pounded, but the exhaustion was overpowering. The last thing you saw before your eyes fluttered shut was the book, sitting on the floor.

And the only thing you could think of as you drifted off was how you felt that it wasn’t done with you yet.

You felt so... relaxed? It was like your body was weightless, wrapped in warmth and comfort. The air was thick, almost too hot, and the bed beneath you felt too soft, like sinking into a cloud. You opened your eyes slowly, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling above you. A grand queen-sized bed stretched out beneath you, luxurious sheets tangled around your legs.

Your head was still foggy, like you were waking from a deep, dreamless sleep. But the discomfort of the heat around you was immediate, and you instinctively pushed the covers away, trying to breathe through the thick air.

That’s when you felt it.

A weight on your body, pressing down, holding you where you lay. Your breath hitched as the sensation of someone’s lips—warm, urgent—pressed against yours. The shock of it made your chest tighten, and you gasped, eyes wide as you tried to push the figure off of you, only to find you couldn’t move.

A voice, soft but laced with something darker, echoed in your mind, almost like a whisper, “Give in.”

Your body stiffened, the words familiar yet chilling. The lips on yours were insistent, coaxing you into submission. You couldn't understand—how did you get here? Why was everything so warm? And why did you feel this strange pull?

The kiss deepened as your breath quickened, and the moment your hands tried to reach above you, they tightened their grip. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t think.

You wanted to push away. You wanted to scream. But you couldn’t. You were trapped in this sensation, helpless.

You felt so good. So pleasant. Every part of you hummed with a warmth, an overwhelming comfort, like sinking into the softest dream. But with it came an exhaustion, a draining weariness you couldn't fight.

As the lips moved from your mouth down to your jaw, trailing soft, slow kisses, you felt your body go limp beneath them. You tried to stay alert, to keep your mind sharp, but the sensation was too much. The warmth, the pleasure, it was like it was melting you from the inside out. Your energy, your strength, seemed to vanish with every kiss, every press of lips against your sensitive skin. You couldn't fight it. It felt too good.

A small gasp escaped your lips as they moved lower, their touch leaving a trail of warmth on your neck, then your collarbone. The sensation was both soothing and dizzying, like you were drifting between wakefulness and sleep. You felt so tired, but the pleasure pulling you under kept you from fully giving in.

Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, quickening with each new kiss, each lingering touch. The sound of your breath was louder than the rest of the world, but even that was fading. You could barely hold onto your thoughts, the desire to move, to push, slipped further and further away.

And then you realized—there was nothing you could do. You didn’t want to.

You felt something deep inside you stir, a craving, a hunger that matched the pull of the lips against your skin. You were being drained, yes, but it also felt like it was what you needed.

You closed your eyes, surrendering to it. You let your body go, let the exhaustion wash over you, let yourself fall into the warmth of the kiss. You didn’t even care where it was leading anymore.

You felt your body give in completely as the lips on your neck paused, lingering there, and you could hear the soft hum of approval, a low sound of satisfaction. And just like that, it was too late to resist.

As you surrendered to the moment, the hands, ever so gently, pushed your shirt up, exposing more of your skin, as the heat in the room seemed to rise.

The lips, now free to explore, trailed kisses down your stomach, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin there. His hands slid down to your waist, he squeezed gently, pulling you closer, and you felt his body press against yours.

You didn’t want to fight it anymore. Your body was giving in, responding to him, reacting in ways you couldn't fully comprehend. It was as though you were caught in a web, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

His lips moved from your neck, tracing the sensitive line of your jaw before they found your lips again, kissing you. The kiss was hungry now, deeper. You felt his hands tighten around you, as though he couldn’t get close enough, as though you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

And somehow, it felt... right.

You felt so hazy, your mind clouded by a warm, soothing fog that made it impossible to think clearly. Everything was blurred, all thoughts slipping through your fingers like sand. The weight of your body felt distant, like you were floating. You couldn’t move your limbs, couldn’t even feel them anymore.

The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of the lips that pressed gently against yours, warm and insistent. Every time they left, it felt like you were waiting, craving the return of that contact. And when they did, you kissed them back instinctively, your lips parting slightly to welcome them.

"Let go," it murmured softly, the sound of it like silk against your mind. "Enjoy this. Let the pleasure take over. You deserve it."

You shivered, feeling the warmth of the words settle deep inside you, pushing aside any lingering doubts, any hesitation. The voice continued, coaxing you, convincing you that this feeling, this moment, was all that mattered. That you didn’t need to resist, that you could simply surrender and feel everything without fear.

There was no fight left in you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt completely at peace. You didn’t have to think, you didn’t have to worry— just the feeling of being taken care of, loved, and wanted.

You closed your eyes, lost in the comfort, the warmth, and the voice that guided you deeper into the haze.

You woke up suddenly, your mind heavy, still clouded in a haze, and found yourself lying on the couch. You blinked, trying to shake off the fog, and as you looked around, everything seemed perfectly normal.

One thing wasn't normal, though. It was the warmth, the sticky, almost suffocating heat clinging to your skin, like honey trapping you in its sweetness. The sensation was odd, and it was paired with an exhaustion that weighed you down, a tiredness so deep you could barely keep your eyes open.

You managed to sit up and push yourself to your feet, dragging yourself to the bathroom, needing to see your reflection, needing to understand what was happening. The mirror greeted you with an unexpected shock.

Your neck and collarbone were covered in marks—deep, almost bruised-looking impressions, some faint, others dark, like someone had pressed their lips into your skin too hard, leaving their mark. You barely recognized the face staring back at you. Your cheeks were flushed, the kind of flush you’d never get from just a long day, and your eyes looked distant.

You kept staring at your reflection, eyes wide in disbelief, and slowly pulled your shirt off, but what greeted you beneath your clothes made your breath catch in your throat.

Handprints. Dark, unmistakable imprints stretched across your waist, your hips, and even down to your thighs. It was like someone had gripped you there with force, leaving their mark on your skin, as if they couldn’t resist claiming every part of you.

You stood there, frozen, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. The more you looked, the more it seemed to confirm your theory.

An incubus had done this.

But the memories were murky, like a dream fading in the light of day. You couldn't remember the specifics, but the evidence was undeniable.

You were cursed.

The thought sent a shiver through your body. There was no other explanation. It was all pointing to something beyond your control, something that wanted you, that had claimed you.

But what did it want from you? Why you?

The mirror reflected your confusion, your unease, and your disbelief. Your hand instinctively reached up to touch the marks, your fingers brushing lightly over your skin. Each touch sent a wave of heat through you, a reminder that something was still there, still affecting you, even when you had no idea what was really going on.

Days passed in a strange blur after that. Each time you tried to focus, tried to pull yourself together, the exhaustion dragged you down further. You couldn’t remember when it had started, when your body began to feel like it was no longer your own, but it was now a part of your reality. Every night, you’d find yourself drifting off to sleep, only to wake up once again in that grand bed, under the same warmth, your body burning.

The familiar sensation of lips on yours, the heat of his hands—each kiss drained you, leaving you weak and confused. It felt as though the very life force was being sucked out of you, but you were too tired to resist. Too tired to care. The next morning, you would wake up again, just as exhausted, with the marks on your skin deepening, the imprint of his touch still there. You tried to push through the haze, but it felt like you were walking through quicksand.

And then there was Sunghoon.

He was there for you in ways you couldn’t explain. It started small—offering to walk you to class, making sure you ate something, checking in on you when you seemed too tired to function. You didn’t fight it. You were too exhausted to.

You would often find yourself slumped at the counter, fighting to keep your eyes open, and there he was, showing up with something to drink or a comforting word, offering you a brief respite from the overwhelming fatigue that seemed to cling to your every movement. You didn’t realize at first that you were relying on him, leaning on him without question.

But Sunghoon didn’t mind. In fact, he thrived in this new dynamic, in your dependence on him. He reveled in the way you’d look to him for comfort, for answers, for protection. You didn’t know how much it fed into his desires, how much he enjoyed being the one to offer you care, to have you rely on him completely.

And you? You were too tired to notice. Too lost in the fog of exhaustion, the haze of what was happening to you.

But.. the more time you spent with Sunghoon, the more you began to notice the oddities that you’d once brushed off. He was always there, always watching, always making sure you were okay. But something about him felt... off. It wasn’t just his constant attention—it was the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed, before you even asked for it. It was the way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long, his smile a little too knowing, like he was seeing something in you that no one else did.

Then, there was the issue with his past. Sunghoon never spoke about it. When you asked about his family or where he grew up, his answers were vague, brushing off the topic with a quick change of subject. No traces of a life outside of the moments he spent with you.

It didn’t make sense. You had seen him around campus, so you knew he wasn’t a complete ghost. But there were no photos, no friends tagging him on social media, no history to trace. He was just... there. As if he had stepped out of nowhere and appeared in your life, and now he was all you could focus on.

Something about him felt wrong, and the pieces were starting to fall into place. But you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning on him, allowing him to take care of you. You didn’t know what to think anymore, especially since you were so tired, so lost in the fog of exhaustion that you couldn’t tell if your thoughts were your own or if they were being influenced by something else.

So, you decided to test your theory—to see what would happen if you suddenly started ignoring him. It wasn’t easy. Sunghoon always seemed to find a way to be around you, whether it was sitting next to you in class or showing up at the library while you worked. But you were determined. You stopped texting him back, avoided his gaze, and made excuses to leave whenever he tried to engage you in conversation.

At first, he didn’t seem bothered by it. He would simply smile when you dodged him, as if he already knew why you were doing it. That unnerved you more than anything else. It was like he could see right through you, like he knew your thoughts before you did.

But as the days went on, his demeanor started to shift. His smiles became tighter, his gaze colder, and the once-comforting presence he exuded started to feel suffocating. He wasn’t following you outright, but every time you turned a corner, you’d catch him in your peripheral vision—leaning against a wall, walking just a few steps behind you, always near enough to remind you that he was there.

One night, after a particularly long shift at the library, you came home and collapsed onto your couch, exhaustion washing over you. The moment you closed your eyes, you found yourself back in that bed again.

But this time, there was a whisper. A deep, seductive voice you hadn’t heard before.

"You can’t ignore me forever."

Your eyes snapped open, your heart pounding. You were back on your couch, drenched in sweat, and your hands were trembling. You instinctively gripped the edge of the couch as you tried to ground yourself, but the tremor in your fingers betrayed how shaken you really were. The room was quiet—too quiet. It felt as though something was watching you, just out of sight.

Your gaze darted toward the windows, scanning for any sign of movement, but the curtains were still drawn shut. Slowly, you reached for your phone on the coffee table, wanting the comfort of a light, a distraction—anything. As the screen lit up, you noticed the time. 3:03 a.m.

And then you saw it.

A single notification. It wasn’t from anyone in your contacts, just an unknown number. You hesitated before opening it, dread settling in your stomach like a lead weight. The message read:

"Stop running."

You dropped the phone as though it had burned you, the clatter breaking the suffocating silence. Your breaths came shallow and quick as you stared at the device, afraid it would light up again.

No. This had to stop.

You pushed yourself off the couch and stumbled to the bathroom, your legs weak beneath you. Splashing cold water on your face, you tried to steady your breathing.

You gripped the edge of the sink, your knuckles turning white as you leaned forward, staring at your pale reflection in the mirror. Your breaths came shallow and uneven as you tried to process everything.

It didn’t make sense—none of it did. But your thoughts kept circling back to Sunghoon. His perfect timing, his uncanny presence, the way he seemed to know more than he let on.

Your throat felt dry as you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to say it.

“Sunghoon?”

The sound of his name echoed faintly in the small bathroom. You waited, holding your breath, your heart pounding louder and louder in your chest. Nothing happened.

For a moment, you felt ridiculous, like you were spiraling into paranoia. You let out a shaky exhale and closed your eyes, trying to collect yourself. But then, just as you started to relax, you felt it.

A heat began to radiate behind you, warm and heavy, pressing against your back like a presence. The air shifted, and before you could react, a soft whisper brushed against your ear.

“Did you miss me?”

Your eyes snapped open, wide with terror, as you froze in place. The mirror reflected nothing behind you, but the heat remained, and the voice lingered, teasingly low and intimate.

“Y-you’re not real,” you stammered, gripping the sink tighter, refusing to turn around.

The voice chuckled, soft and amused. “Oh, but I am. You called me, didn’t you? Thinking of me? Dreaming of me?”

A shiver ran down your spine as the warmth seemed to creep closer, pressing against you like an invisible embrace. You gasped, your knees threatening to buckle under the weight of whatever was behind you.

“I-I wasn’t—”

“Liar,” the voice interrupted, a trace of playfulness in its tone. “You’ve been looking for answers, haven’t you?”

You felt something brush against your shoulder, light as a feather but enough to make your skin tingle. Your breathing quickened as the sensation spread, leaving you dizzy and disoriented.

“Stop,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

But the voice only hummed in response, low and pleased. “You can’t run from me. You’ve known that all along.”

“I never wanted this!” you shouted, your voice trembling but firm, defiance breaking through your fear. “I didn’t ask for any of this!”

The air around you grew colder, and suddenly a hand—a firm, invisible grip—wrapped around your throat. You gasped, your hands flying up instinctively to claw at nothing.

“Oh, but you did,” the voice purred, smooth and dark, vibrating through the room. The grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your pulse race, but not enough to harm you. It was a warning.

“You put this on yourself the moment you read the words in that book,” the voice hissed, hot breath fanning over your ear. “Qui me legit, fiat noster ligamen aeternum. Do you even know what that means?”

You shook your head frantically, tears pricking at your eyes as you struggled against the phantom hand holding you in place. The voice chuckled, low and condescending.

“It means, ‘Who reads me, let our bond be eternal.’ You invited me in.”

Your breath hitched as the words hit you like a punch to the gut. The book. The book in the basement. The words you read aloud.

“That’s not possible,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “It’s just a stupid book. It—it can’t be real!”

The laughter that followed was sharp, almost mocking. “Oh, it’s very real. And now, so am I.”

In the mirror, the reflection began to change. The shadow behind you shifted, growing more defined, more solid. Your eyes widened in horror as the silhouette morphed, taking shape, and then—

There he was.

Sunghoon.

Your heart stopped. You couldn’t believe it, but there was no mistaking him. The sharp jawline, the intense gaze, the faint smirk curling his lips. It was him.

Sunghoon stood behind you, his hand still firmly around your throat, his touch searing and impossible to ignore. His other hand came to rest lightly on your waist, and you shivered under the weight.

“Surprise,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement as his eyes locked with yours in the mirror.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, panic rising in your chest. “This— you’re not—”

“Not what?” Sunghoon interrupted, tilting his head as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Not human? Not the man who’s been taking care of you? Or not the one who’s been in your dreams, night after night?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. The pieces were falling into place, but they painted a picture you didn’t want to see.

“You were so lonely,” Sunghoon continued, his voice softer now, almost tender. “So desperate for someone to understand you. And I came to you, didn’t I? Gave you exactly what you needed.”

His hand on your waist tightened slightly, his grip on your throat loosening just enough for you to take a shaky breath.

“But you’re scared now. Why?” he asked, his tone almost teasing, as if he already knew the answer. “You’ve enjoyed this, haven’t you? The attention, the way I’ve made you feel.”

“No,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “You tricked me. This isn’t what I wanted.”

Sunghoon’s smirk widened, his reflection in the mirror impossibly calm, his eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” he said, his tone almost pitying. “But you can’t lie to me.”

“We’re bound now, you and I,” he whispered, his voice soft but laced with finality. “You can’t run from me. You can’t hide. And deep down, you don’t want to.”

You stared at him in the mirror, your chest heaving, your mind screaming for you to fight back, to do something, anything. But your body betrayed you, frozen in place as Sunghoon’s reflection smiled, dark and triumphant.

His grip tightened around your arms as he suddenly spun you around effortlessly, your back slamming against the cold countertop. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as the impact sent a jolt through your body, and you found yourself face to face with him.

Only... it wasn’t entirely him.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening as you took in his appearance. Sunghoon was still the same—his sharp features, his impossibly handsome face—but now, his true form was on full display.

Two curved, jet-black horns protruded from his head, his ears were pointed, inhumanly sharp, twitching slightly as though attuned to every sound you made. A pair of massive, leathery wings stretched out behind him. His skin held a faint reddish tint now, and his eyes...

They weren’t what you’d grown accustomed to.

They were blood-red, burning with an intensity that made your knees weak.

As your gaze traveled lower, you caught sight of a sleek black tail swishing behind him, the pointed tip moving back and forth like a serpent poised to strike.

“Like what you see?” Sunghoon asked, his voice low and smooth, laced with amusement.

You couldn’t answer. Your lips parted, but no sound came out as you stared up at him, utterly frozen. He leaned in closer, the heat radiating from him making it even harder to think, to breathe.

“You should’ve known,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You should’ve felt it. I’ve been hiding in plain sight this whole time, waiting for you to figure it out.”

“Sunghoon...” you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling as you tried to push him away, but your arms felt like they were moving through water—slow, weak, powerless.

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that sent heat flooding through your chest. “Still clinging to the illusion, huh? Poor thing.”

His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with an almost tender touch.

“This is the real me,” he said softly, his voice dripping with dangerous charm. “And now that you’ve seen it, there’s no going back.” His wings shifted slightly behind him, the sound making your stomach twist in unease. His tail flicked once, curling against your leg in a way that made your skin crawl—and, to your shame, sent a strange warmth pooling in your chest.

“You’re lying,” you said weakly, your voice barely audible. “This isn’t happening...”

Sunghoon tilted his head, his expression softening just enough to make it even more unsettling. “Lying?” he repeated, his voice almost offended. “Sweet thing, everything I’ve done has been the truth. You just didn’t want to see it.”

He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, his red eyes locking onto yours with a hypnotic intensity. “But now you can’t ignore it, can you? You can’t ignore me.”

You gasped, your body trembling as his tail coiled tighter around your leg, holding you in place. “You belong to me now,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice final. “And nothing will change that.”

You clenched your eyes shut, your entire body trembling as you willed it all to disappear. You thought maybe—just maybe—if you denied it long enough, it would go away. That he would go away.

But it didn’t work.

Instead, you heard his low, amused chuckle. The sound was rich and dark, crawling into your ears and embedding itself into your mind.

“You can’t escape me,” he murmured. And before you could protest, his lips crashed against yours, stealing your breath and overwhelming your senses.

The kiss was searing, a fire that burned its way through your body and left you paralyzed. It wasn’t soft or careful—it was commanding, leaving no room for resistance.

Sunghoon...

Sunghoon was an incubus.

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to fight, but your body wouldn’t listen. The warmth from his lips spread through you like molten lava, making you weak, making you feel... good. Too good.

You tried to turn your head, to break the connection, but his hand gripped your jaw firmly, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against yours with a skill that made your knees feel like jelly, and the heat radiating off him felt almost suffocating.

When he finally pulled back, your head spun, your breaths shallow and uneven. His glowing red eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the satisfaction etched across his face.

“See?” he purred, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’re not resisting me.”

You shook your head weakly, trying to deny it. “You’re not... I won’t...” you stammered, but even as the words left your lips, they sounded hollow.

Sunghoon leaned down again, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You already gave yourself to me the moment you opened that book.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you struggled to comprehend his words. You’d read the words without understanding what they meant, unknowingly binding yourself to him.

“You belong to me now,” he said, his voice soft but firm, his hand trailing down to rest on your waist. “No running. No escaping.”

His tail flicked lazily at his side, as if he were toying with you, enjoying your fear and confusion.

“I’ll take care of you,” Sunghoon continued, his tone shifting to something almost... tender. “You won’t need anyone else. You won’t want anyone else.”

You clenched your fists, trying to fight against the pull he had on you, the way his words seemed to seep into your mind like poison.

“What do you want from me?” you finally managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I already have what I want,” he said simply, his hand tilting your chin up so you couldn’t look away. “You.”

His hand slid up to your throat again, his grip firm but not enough to hurt—just enough to remind you who was in control. You gasped, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaned in, and before you could think or protest, his lips captured yours again.

This time, the kiss was more intense. It was intoxicating, a dizzying, heady sensation that left you feeling drunk and high at the same time, though there wasn’t a hint of nausea.

Instead, you felt consumed, like your body and mind were being submerged in a warm ocean. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

Your hands gripped the edge of the bathroom counter behind you, trying to ground yourself, but the heat only grew. It curled in your stomach, spread up your spine, and flooded every corner of your being.

Sunghoon’s lips left yours only briefly, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed down your jaw, tracing a path to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You couldn’t respond, your head spinning, your body trembling. Every word he spoke seemed to sink into your skin, fusing with your very being.

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing over your ear. “No one else can make you feel like this. No one else can take care of you like I can.”

When he finally pulled back, his red eyes burned into yours, glowing with satisfaction.

“Say it,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your pulse. “Say you’re mine.”

You hesitated, your lips parting, but no words came out. Your mind was a swirling mess of emotions, torn between the primal pull he had over you and the small flicker of defiance still burning in your chest.

Sunghoon leaned closer, his smirk returning as he tilted your chin up slightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’ll say it soon enough.”

With that, he released you, stepping back just enough to let you breathe, though the heat still clung to your skin like a second layer. Your knees felt weak, your body trembling, and you gripped the counter to keep from collapsing.

“Rest for now,” he said, his tone almost affectionate. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

And with a flick of his tail and a low hum of satisfaction, he vanished, leaving you alone in the dimly lit bathroom, your body still warm and your mind reeling from what had just happened.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that Sunghoon’s persistence wasn’t just some fleeting infatuation—it was something far deeper. When an incubus claimed a human, it seemed, their desire turned into a relentless obsession. Sunghoon took every opportunity to have you, to pull you into the haze of his presence, leaving you breathless and weak in his wake.

In the library, you were shelving books in the far corner, but then, you felt it—the familiar warmth crawling up your spine. Before you could turn, his hands were on your waist, spinning you around and pressing you against the shelf.

“Sunghoon—” you started, but your words were cut off as his lips crashed against yours, desperate and hungry.

The books nearly toppled from the shelf as his body pinned you in place. His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them tightly before lifting you up effortlessly, your back pressed to the shelf. His kisses left you dizzy, your hands clinging to his shoulders for balance as his lips trailed down your jaw, his voice low murmurs.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your body trembling. He smiled, his red eyes glowing faintly. “Couldn’t help myself,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

In the kitchen, you thought you’d have a moment of peace as you cooked dinner, but of course, he appeared again.

You didn’t even hear him approach before his hands were on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter.

“Sunghoon!” you protested, but your voice wavered as his lips found yours, silencing any resistance.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them slightly as he stood between them, his kisses consuming. The heat of the stove was nothing compared to the fire he ignited in you with every touch.

“You taste better than anything you’re cooking,” he teased against your lips, as you shivered under his touch.

Even in class, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you. At first, it was subtle—a hand resting on your thigh under the desk. But his touch was anything but innocent. His fingers pressed into your skin, his grip firm enough to leave an imprint through the fabric of your jeans.

One day, you made the mistake of wearing a skirt to class. His reaction was immediate.

His eyes darkened the moment he saw you, his gaze lingering on your legs with a hunger. The skirt seemed to drive him wild, and he didn’t bother to hide the want in his eyes as he took the seat beside you.

During the lecture, his hand found its way to your thigh again, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on your bare skin. Every touch sent shivers up your spine, your pulse quickening as his grip tightened slightly, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

“You wore this for me, didn’t you?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

You didn’t answer, your face burning as you tried to focus on the professor’s voice. But Sunghoon wasn’t letting you off so easily. His hand slid higher, just enough to make you squirm in your seat.

By the end of class, you were a mess, your legs trembling as you tried to stand. Sunghoon, of course, looked perfectly composed.

But one event made you realize just how far Sunghoon's obsession had gone happened unexpectedly.

You had just finished getting ready, dressed to go out to the club, your outfit on point, and your makeup perfectly done. You were about to put on some music for the drive when suddenly, you heard a soft hum from behind you.

The sound was so familiar, so calming that you couldn’t help but pause. The familiar haze crept in, clouding your thoughts. Before you could even process what was happening, you felt a shift in your surroundings. The next thing you knew, you were no longer sitting in the front seat of your car but instead found yourself in the backseat, sitting on Sunghoon's lap.

“You going somewhere?” he asked, his voice smooth, leaning back, his eyes filled with contentment. He seemed to be enjoying the view of you on his lap, your body pressed against his, all dressed up.

You were about to move off, muttering to yourself about how utterly stupid this situation was.

However, before you could push him away, Sunghoon's hands went around your hips. He pulled you closer, his body pressing into yours, and then, with a sudden thrust, he lifted you off his lap.

The movement was unexpected, and it caught you off guard. You let out a surprised squeal as you found yourself being moved to lay down on the backseat. Sunghoon hovered over you, his body pressing down on yours, his eyes filled with a fiery passion.

You were on the brink of speaking, your mind filled with thoughts you wanted to express, when suddenly, Sunghoon's lips crashed down on yours, silencing your words in an instant.

His lips, soft yet demanding, devoured yours, a perfect blend of tenderness and dominance. Sunghoon groaned into the kiss, a deep, raw sound that reverberated through your core. His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin. And as his kiss deepened, you felt him wrap your legs around his hips. You could feel the heat of his body, the solidness of his muscles, and the intensity.

You felt a sudden urge to pull away, to regain some sense of control and composure. With a gentle push, you tried to create some distance between you and Sunghoon. But Sunghoon, ever attuned to your every move, wasn’t about to let you escape so easily. As you tried to shift, reaching for the car door, his hands swiftly grabbed your waist, his strong arms pulling you closer. His chest pressed against your back, and you turned your head, your breath quickening as Sunghoon leaned over, his face now inches from yours.

His voice, soft and teasing, broke through your thoughts. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his tone low, almost playful.

You couldn’t find the words to answer, but you could feel the heat rising between you.

Sunghoon, sensing your hesitation, nuzzled his face against your neck, his breath warm against your skin. The soft touch of his lips traced a path along your neck, sending a jolt of warmth through you. You shivered at the sensation, unable to stop the flutter in your chest.

"Sunghoon..." you breathed, trying to push him away again, but his hands tightened around your waist. He didn’t let you move, holding you there.

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “You want me to slow down?” he teased, his voice amused.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat between you both. The car, once cool, now felt stifling, the air thick. You glanced over at the windows, noticing that the glass had fogged up, the condensation creeping in.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you tried to focus, but it was hard with him so near, his breath warm against your neck. You could feel him pressed against your back, his hands still holding you close.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered again, your voice barely a breath, caught between uncertainty and desire. You shifted slightly, trying to pull away, but he gently tugged you back, his lips hovering just above your ear.

“Why resist?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but there was an edge to it, a quiet demand. His lips brushed against your earlobe, sending another shiver down your spine. “We both know you don’t want to.”

The fog on the windows seemed to grow thicker, the air growing warmer with every passing second, as if the space between you was becoming smaller.

You didn’t answer him right away, just closing your eyes for a brief moment, trying to clear your mind.

But Sunghoon's voice broke the silence as he gazed at you. "You look perfect," he said, his eyes roving over your body, taking in every detail. "So delectable, it's as if you're offering yourself on a silver platter."

His hands, which had been resting on your waist, slowly slid downwards, tracing the curves of your hips with a gentle touch.

"I want to ruin your makeup," he said, his voice low. "I want to mark you as mine, to leave my touch on you."

His hands, which had been gently caressing your body, suddenly tightened around your hips. With a swift movement, he flipped you over, and you found yourself lying on your back, staring up at him with surprise.

"I want to look at you," he said, his voice low and intense. "I want to see your beautiful face, your eyes, your lips, as I kiss you."

His lips, soft yet demanding, pressed against yours, a perfect show of passion. His hands roamed freely, tracing the curves of your body. He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks, a gentle caress that sent a rush of pleasure through your body.

Guess this is what happens when you get claimed by an incubus in love.

a/n: well.. i have no other words. this had been sitting in my drafts for awhile so, yeah :)

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ggidolsmuts · 21 days ago

Text

Fromis App Part 17 (Final): Exit Strategy - Fromis_9 Seoyeon, Jisun, Jiwon, Hayoung, Nagyung, Saerom

A/N: Use the !. @. #. $. %. to quickly skip to the idol you want to read, it's in the order they appear in the title and below.

Seoyeon, Jisun, Jiwon, Hayoung, Nagyung, and Saerom.

One, two, three, four, five, six... and seven. The group Kakao chat is flooded with celebrations and congratulations. Baby storks will be visiting the employees of Fromis App in a few months time, and it's all thanks to you. How did it get to that point though? It all started with a meeting...

"Hey oppa."

"Hey Saerom, what's everyone doing here?"

"Oh, we thought it's best everyone is here for the meeting."

"You never told me what it's about, and Chaeyoung was evasive." You look around, and realize Chaeyoung isn't here, oddly enough. "Where is she anyways?"

"Home, I assume, or shopping for new clothes." Saerom claps her hands and gets everyone's attention. "Meeting's starting!"

"So, as most of you know, the Fromis company is being bought out, and the FROMIS app will be absorbed into their platform."

"Is... That good or bad?" you ask Saerom.

"Good, we get paid out very nicely. However, a condition of the pay out is that we stay on, golden handcuffs, if you will."

"I see." The other employees look bored, like none of this is news to them—Nagyung is on her laptop, Jisun's on her phone, and Seoyeon is writing in her notebook. "Why am I here then? I'm not an employee."

"I'm getting to that. As I said, we have to stay on, but there's a way around it, and we want you to help us."

"Help you?"

"Yes. There's a way we can stop working but still fulfill the golden handcuffs requirement, and that is if we go on maternity leave."

"Maternity leave, how am I—" You stop yourself mid-sentence, the blood suddenly pounding in your ears.

"Word around the office is you're having plenty of sex with all of us, and you added Chaeyoung to the list recently?" You suddenly felt put on the spot, like you've been caught with your hand (or cock, in this case) in the cookie jar.

"Umm, yes."

"Then we're all set. We've gone off birth control, so just keep doing what, or who I guess, you're doing, and just let things happen naturally."

"Right. Uhh, what if I can't make it happen? I haven't gotten tested or anything to make sure, you know, that everything works."

"Oh no no, we've tested you. You're very potent. You've only had sex with Chaeyoung once right?"

"Right, one night, but it was er, multiple times."

"Close enough, you're batting a hundred percent then."

"You mean—" The gears in your head turn just slow enough for Saerom to fill in the blank for you.

"Yes, that's why she isn't here, she's already on leave."

"And you're sure I did it?"

"You're the only guy she's slept with in months, so we're very sure. First time she gets some, and bam."

"Huh, okay, I guess that's good? What happens if all of you go on maternity leave though, can the company still run?"

"Yes yes, we have Jiheon our maknae, she can handle things, she's very good." Saerom dismisses your concerns. "That's all from me. Anyone else?" You spy someone fidgeting from the corner of your eye, but Saerom continues. "No? We're done then, this was more for you to know than anything, everyone else already understands and agrees." As they begin to file out, you call them back.

"Wait, I think Seoyeon's ready."

"Ready for?" You walk over to Seoyeon, and she doesn't resist when you pull her out of her chair.

"For us to go public." You bend her over the conference table, kissing her as the others gasp. You feel under her skirt, smiling into the kiss—she's not wearing any underwear. "This is what we've been doing in the building the whole time. We've just kept it under wraps." You shimmy your pants and boxers down, rubbing your cock against her slit before pulling it away briefly, just to show them how shiny Seoyeon has already made it. There are no gasps this time, just everyone holding their breaths, focused on the lewd scene unfolding in front of them.

"But since we all know what's going to be happening from now on, I don't think there's any need to hide what we do, is there Seoyeon?"

"No..." It comes out as a brittle sigh, her pussy clenching around your shaft sliding in. "It's okay if they see now. See how you use me, how I use you." She tilts her head, reaching for your neck as you continue pumping into her from behind. She sucks on your skin, leaving marks unabashedly on you.

"We should give them a better view," she whispers.

"Hold on then." Seoyeon leans back, rolling up her skirt and wrapping her hands around your neck. With a grunt you stand and lift her by her spread knees, showing everyone just how you're splitting her open. The atmosphere in the room immediately gets charged with arousal—to see you so openly lifting and fucking their petite colleague in an obvious show of virility and strength is causing their imaginations to run wild, about what you would do to them. You start moving slowly, pulling out almost all the way before pumping upward into her, to emphasize your cock disappearing into Seoyeon's fertile body.

"Ohh fuck, that's so deep!" Seoyeon cries out, getting into the act of being fucked so brazenly. Before, the thrill of getting caught was what turned her on—the danger of letting a moan leak, a squelch of her pussy if she's inevitably too wet and fucked too fast, the ability to hear others talking nearby, oblivious to your illicit act with her. But now, Seoyeon's finding the rush of being openly watched just as enticing—she's whining and whimpering, so wet that she's dripping down your balls, and she can see her colleagues looking at her. None of them are even moving, let alone trying to leave or hide their eyes, no they're openly watching, and getting aroused.

Getting aroused due to Seoyeon.

"Nngh I'm cumming!" All of them watch Seoyeon's legs shake helplessly in your arms as you ram an orgasm up through her, her head thrown back against your shoulder, a heel dangling loosely off one foot. In minutes you've wrecked her oh-so-perfectly, taking her apart so easily that there leaves little doubt in their minds—you're going to make them all cum their brains out while you breed them.

"Alright, tell me when," you mumble into Seoyeon's ear, ramping up your thrusting, bouncing her up and down a little to really drive yourself deep into her.

"Now please!" You let Seoyeon slip down slightly, and she is impaled deep on your cock as you unload into her. The others gasp as they watch a spurt of cum leak out from around your shaft—just how much did you cum that you're immediately leaking out of her? Seoyeon's low moan of satisfaction rumbles against your chest as you continue pumping potent seed into her. You draw your hips back, and lifted over the conference table Seoyeon shows them just how much you've left in her—a repeated thudding sound is heard as drop after thick drop of semen hit the table, staining the black varnish white.

You put Seoyeon back down, and she manages to straighten her skirt and fix her tousled hair a little before sitting down and cleaning the cumstain she just left, trying to pretend as if everything was normal.

"Let me know if you need another Seoyeon," you say, as if you're referring to the tissue paper you just handed her, rather than the baby you put in her.

"Sure, thanks oppa," she answers just as casually.

Seoyeon did ask you for more, but it was quickly clear that the first round got the job done, and she sent the group the first positive test to many cheers.

Jisun was the second one to send the group a positive test, but it came in the most surprising of ways—you finished using a condom!

"F-Fuck my ass, fuck it hard oppa!" Your arms burn as you ram the dildo hard into her ass. It was a compromise—Jisun wanted you in her ass, but that would be counterproductive to being reproductive, so she settled for damming herself on top of your cock as you filled her ass "manually". You could feel the dildo going through her, rubbing against your cock basically, but what's more enticing is Jisun's tits, dangling right in front of you like juicy melons as she arches her back on each deep thrust into her ass.

"Oh— Oh yes, suck on them!" You do just that, leaving her pointed tips shiny and dripping. Speaking of shiny and dripping, Jisun lifts her hips briefly, showing you just how slick your cock and the dildo have become before slamming herself back down on you.

"Fuck!" She screams as she double-penetrates herself. Jisun kisses you, grinding herself on your cock, rocking her hips back and forth, making both cock and dildo pump into her like a well-lubed engine. "Wish you could cum in both my holes..."

"Could go a second round, make you a runny mess down there." You squeeze handfuls of her chest, showing her just how little you would mind doing that.

"You think you could? Don't you— Hnngh! Need to save some for the others?"

"You can cook me something healthy and hearty, give me more energy after." You keep Jisun hips down, keeping her hilted on you as you sit up, allowing you to slam the dildo over and over into her ass. She slumps into you as she cums.

"Oh god my ass... Is all this just a ploy to get me to cook for you?" she asks, hair tickling your cheeks as she nuzzles you.

"Maybe, you are the best cook out of all of them, unless you think otherwise."

"How dare you, of course I am!" Jisun leaves a hickey on you in revenge. "God, such a Casanova aren't you? Sleeping around with everyone, and then judging their cooking after?" You kiss her harshly in response, her lips rosy red from your passionate indignance.

"Says the pure and chaste lady who agreed to be bred by me in a group effort, and has both her holes plugged up right now?"

"Fair." She sighs as you begin moving the dildo again—you didn't mind just staying inside Jisun, letting yourself last as long as you could as you played with her ass. "Best cook, what else am I the best at?"

"You have the best thighs." You run your hands up and down her juicy thighs, squeezing them.

"Don't let Saerom hear that."

"Best tits." You definitely take the chance to squeeze those, hearing her gasp as you flick her nipples.

"Don't let Hayoung hear that."

"Best pussy." You grind up into her, hearing her whine.

"Don't let any of them hear that."

"Best ass." You're gripping her cheeks, kneading them appreciatively.

"Don't let Chaeyoung hear that."

"Hm, best ass that let's me play with it." You apply a bit of pressure to the dildo, pushing it that little bit deeper and feeling Jisun tighten in response.

"Good point, but I think you're missing something."

"Am I?"

"Yup." Jisun leans in close, nibbling at your earlobe as she humps you. "Best mommy."

"Yeah? You think you'll be the best mother?"

"Not mother, mommy." You groan as her pussy contracts around you tightly—Jisun never skipped on her kegels. "Best at getting herself knocked up. I'm going to drain you right now, then I'm going to feed you, and then I'm going to drain you again."

"Fuck Jisun that sounds good." She was barely moving or bouncing on top of you, and yet your cock feels like it's getting tugged on, pulled on over and over to try and get your cum out of you.

"Yeah? Does it feel good? Does trying to make me a mommy feel good?" Jisun's breathing heavily too—your hand never stopped moving, fucking her ass with slow thrusts of the dildo.

"Yes, fuck yes Jisun!"

"Then cum, give me that thick cum you've stored up, give— Hnngh!" Jisun takes it from you, cumming from the anal stimulation, and her suddenly uncontrollable tightening around your shaft has you launching your potent load up into her. She collapses on top of you, her chest cushioning her fall and pressed against you, your heartbeats thundering in tandem. As you soften you feel your crotch get warmer, your load beginning to leak out of her.

"Can I feed you later?" Jisun asks quietly.

"You don't have to, I was kidding about the whole cooking thing."

"No, not that... I know we shouldn't waste any of it, but I really want you in my ass."

"No one else has to know, if you really want it."

"Okay." Without a second word Jisun slips down your body, her plump lips around your shaft promptly, cleaning you and getting you hard again. Your eyes are closed, enjoying her cleanup effort. You even let out a decadent moan when you feel your cock get squished between two comfortable pillows—Jisun's really trying to get you as hard as you can. You only open your eyes when you hear a crinkle.

"Condom?"

"Just in case I want you to plug the leak." She turns around to show you, her lightly parted lips still dripping with your load, and right above it, the dildo still deep in her. "But what are you waiting for?"

Jisun has a point. You pull the dildo out of her with little ceremony and plug the gaping hole immediately, a deep groan bursting from her lungs as you push the air out of her. You're definitely deeper in her compared to the dildo, because her reactions to you pumping in and out of her now are nothing like before—her cries are loud and unadulterated, flesh rippling as you pump into her ass. Jisun pushes her hips against you, trying to get you deeper into her, and you lift her slightly, her knees almost off the bed when you pull and yank her small juicy body against you.

"Hnngh fuck! Don't stop, open me up!" You slap a hand on her cheek and pull, making Jisun's hole stretch that little bit more. "Oh god I missed this, missed a real cock in my ass." She whines when you pull out, and looking past where you're plugged in her ass you see the puddle of cum get bigger by the moment, each thrust making her clench and shake, causing more to drip out. "Uhff!" she's huffing, groaning as you stretch out her second hole. You lean over her, grabbing a breast and squeezing it, playing with her stiff tip.

"Such a handful, literally," you snarl and kiss her wanting lips. "Wasting a perfectly good load too."

"Sorry, ah, sorry!" You slap her thighs, red handmark planted conspiciously on her thigh—no short dresses for Jisun for a while, and then for a few months after. You pull on her tits, squeezing them and leaving them red too. Jisun isn't a glutton for punishment, but she doesn't mind at all when you get a little rough, her soft flesh jiggling perfectly to absorb everything you have for her.

"Just cum with my cock in your ass already." You pull back to the very tip before slamming home into Jisun's ass, and she detonates with a choked cry. She shivers underneath you, anal walls gripping you tighter than ever, and you simply let yourself go, your throbbing cock pushing against her contractions, filling the condom fully. You land on top of her, and her arms give way, the two of you collapsing on the bed.

"Ah... fucking unbelievable..." Jisun sighs, kissing your cheek.

"Remember, no more anal until the job's done."

"I know I know. Just, just leave it in me for a little longer."

When you finally pull out, you're soft, and devilishly you leave the condom in her ass.

"Take it out, it's going to spill out if I sit up!" Jisun whines.

"No, now you have two loads in your holes, just like you wanted." You stay the night, and your nose wakes up to the smell of Jisun's delicious cooking the next morning. To both you and Jisun's pleasant surprise, a few weeks later her test comes back positive even if your final load with her ended up in a rubber.

Buoyed by Jisun's meal the third positive reading came quite quickly after the second...

"About time you came over, my stocks aren't doing so well, so I need another line to be going up." Jiwon flashes her prepared pregnancy kits at you.

"I'll try my best." Jiwon's hands land on your shoulders, gently squeezing you, pulling you close... And then she pauses, nose crinkling.

"Jisun?"

"Yeah, I spent the night with her."

"Do you need to take a day off today? It's no good trying and trying and not getting enough rest." You hold Jiwon's hands, interlocking fingers with her before letting them drift down her palms and to her wrists, growling as you watch them go limp.

"No, Jisun made me a delicious meal, and I'm ready to have another one." Jiwon's eyes flutter shut, ready to be eaten. She sighs when you breath on her neck, and she's trembling in your hands—a fertile Jiwon is simply ready to be devoured. "You don't want me to take a day off do you? You want this so bad."

"Y-Yeah, I, I really want it." It leaves her as a whimsper, a whimper and a whisper. You're happy to take your time kissing Jiwon, her hands resting on your shoulders as you move yours down her body, feeling her curves through her dress. "Please, let's go to the bed."

"Okay." Jiwon's eager, and she jumps into you, wrapping her legs around your hips. But almost immediately she lets herself down, an alert ringing in from her home office. "Oh, let me just check—"

"No." You hug her from behind, making her feel what she's responsible for against her lower back. "What are you doing?"

"The US markets, they just opened over there, let me check my investments—"

"No, not tonight." You re-wrap your arms around Jiwon, pinning them to her sides. "Just hold and let things... grow." A hand runs down to her belly, and Jiwon shudders as you press firmly down on her, where she's going to grow.

"Just let me take a quick look—"

"Fine." You lift Jiwon, carrying her to her office and plopping yourself in her chair with her in your lap. "You have one minute." Jiwon's hands shoot forward to her keyboard, and your hands are not idle either, pulling her dress up.

"30 seconds," you hiss, feeling the immediate bare skin between Jiwon's thighs—no panties, god, she's just begging to be bred at this point.

"It hasn't even been 30 seconds yet!"

"I don't care." You pull Jiwon's dress up further and manage to shimmy your bottoms off just enough to pull your hardness out. "5 seconds." You're already sliding into her.

"Hnngh wait, ah!" You push yourself off the chair, tipping Jiwon forward against the desk. "Bed, bed!"

"Can't wait," you're grunting, hand slipping under the side of her dress and pawing at her chest. Maybe it's Jisun's meal, or the sight of Jiwon in what is effectively a honeymoon dress, but you feel your thoughts slipping away. "Fucking you now."

Jiwon isn't fairing much better, the graphs and tickers on her screen blurring with every thrust into her. She's already forgotten what she wanted to do, why she needed to look at the market today. All she can feel is your cockhead pressing right against her womb, your hands firmly around her hips—she's not going anywhere until she's thoroughly "invested" in.

"Oh god, right there, you're so deep, too deep!" Her face is pressed into the keyboard, leaving imprints on her cheek but hopefully not actually triggering any hotkeys on her computer. Your breath is hot in her ear, huffing as you shake the desk, slamming into her from behind. Briefly you feel her flail her legs against you before she hiccups cutely and goes limp. You spy her expression as you kiss her cheek—Jiwon's eyes are rolled into her head, mouth open, drooling on to her keyboard. A warm spray of her juice splatters against your thighs—she's your prey, conquered and submitting to the pleasure, to her desires both carnal and biological. With a satisfied growl you press yourself over her, and Jiwon whines as her womb is filled with thick, almost syrupy, semen, laden with virility. Her mind's playing tricks on her, but Jiwon almost feels heavier when she's pulled back on to the chair on top of you.

"I expect rapid growth from you."

"Me too," Jiwon leans back against you, sighing into your neck. "Feels so thick, like it's never going to come out..." She's playing with the little bit leaking from her pussy.

"That's the goal. Do you need to do anymore checking?"

"No, it's a lost day already. The money's made in the opening minutes." Jiwon wraps her arms around your neck, pouting a little. "Take me to bed, I'm going to need... an injection of liquidity."

You carry her to the bedroom, and Jiwon pushes you away with a giggle once you get there. She makes a show of removing her dress, a bit of pointless flirting as you're already hard again at the sight of the complete lack of underwear underneath and your previous load sliding down the inside of her thighs.

"You know," you're on top of her now, her thighs loosely spread for you—she already wants more. "I'm thinking this might not be a good investment, you're staying up late all the time, ignoring your agreed upon responsibilities to check the market. Where's the condom, I might need to protect my investment." It's a fake threat, and like a magnet your cock is already drawn to Jiwon's warm core, entering her with a smooth thrust.

"No! I'll be good, I promise."

"What do you promise? I hope you're not making risky trades."

"No, no more risky trades, no more crypto, only safe investments from now on."

"Crypto? Oh no, that's very risky. I really might need a condom." You tease her, hands playing with her chest once more—not big, but they're plenty fun handfuls.

"No, no more. I'll be safe so..." Jiwon wraps her legs around your back, locking you in. "Please do me raw."

"Always," you groan as you pull and push back into her, her wetness and tightness and creaminess almost overwhelming you—damn Jiwon is needy right now. Every gasp and sigh is designed to pump blood to your cock, every drag of her nails across your back primally calculated to get your balls to start producing more sperm, every squeeze of her thighs around you fundamentally insistent on getting you to leave her a bubbling fertilized mess.

You do just that.

"Oh god, right there, fuck me right there, please cum, give me cum, I want it, I want it I want it I want it—" Jiwon yelps when you slam into her and then don't move. She hears the raw growl that rips from your throat, and then feels the sudden burst of warmth inside her, and she's tipped over the edge one last time. She loses herself, contracting around you, the bed instantly wet as she squirts uncontrollably with a loud wail. The rush of fluids over your cock make you fuck her even harder, sending the last few potent shots of cum even deeper into her.

"So warm, so happy..." Jiwon sighs at the creamy mess your connection has become, a weight lifted off her back and perhaps growing elsewhere in her.

"You made such a mess."

"Your fault, I can't help it, you make me feel so good, I get so wet, and then it just happens."

"Well, there's going to be quite a few messes to clean up soon, good to get some practice now." Jiwon blushes a vivid pink at the thought.

"Hopefully you're right."

While you waited on Jiwon's positive test, you got to work on Hayoung's, and work it was, considering the time and place of it happening.

"You want to do it... here?" You're somehow back in the security room, having Hayoung drag you through the gradually emptying out hallways of the company. She's somehow pulled a whole couch into the security room. "Where did you even get this?"

"Lounge, with people leaving and you knocking some of us up and out, we don't really need it in the lounge anymore, so I thought, why not?"

"That's true, but why'd you ask me here?"

"Why do you think?" Hayoung pushes you to the couch, a playful tilt to her voice.

"You really want to do it here?"

"Why not, we've done it plenty of times here."

"I guess, just figured you'd want some place more private."

"This is plenty private, besides, where else can we have so much screen space." Before you can ask what she means by that, she pulls up multiple recordings—the time you fucked Jiwon in Saerom's office, the few indiscretions you had with Seoyeon, the other time you fucked in Saerom's office, except this time it was Nagyung. Front and center though, was the recording from when you bred Seoyeon right there in front of all of them in the conference room.

"Hmm, I guess this is more than appropriate," you murmur as Hayoung settles in front of you, allowing you to wrap an arm around her. It was almost like a intimate movie night, except the movie was porn.

"Yeah, what's one more fuck in the office?" Hayoung turns to kiss you passionately, and your hand slips under her shirt, her smooth skin raising goosebumps in the cold whirr of the security room AC.

"Mm, what's one more baby made in the office?" You undo her pants, and Hayoung quickly shimmies it off as you get rid of your own jeans. Your hand dives underneath her thin panties, feeling her wetness—she's ready.

"Ah, just do me like this, do me while we watch the videos." You kick off your boxers and pull her panties to the side, and leisurely you slide into Hayoung, her raised leg resting on yours a little awkwardly to give you access.

"Is that comfortable?"

"It'll be fine, just stay in me." The couch creaks slightly as you start moving, pushing in and out of Hayoung best you could. Underneath her shirt you push her bra up, palming her pebbled tips, and she sighs contentedly. "That's nice, keep doing it."

Watching the security footage of you fucking the other employees, neither of you hurry, slowly getting both of you wetter and harder as time passes.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask her.

"Wondering what they were feeling, what they thought as it happened? I wonder what Seoyeon and Jisun felt when you did it."

"Having second thoughts?"

"No, just, it's nice to share you, but I also wonder what they felt."

"You really are an F. What about you, what are you feeling?"

"Feels nice, but also um, nervous? Like I know this is peak fertility for me right now and— Oh!" Hayoung gasps as she feels you twitch inside her, getting a little bigger. "You like that?"

"Yeah, you never wondered about how I felt?" She blushes a little, looking almost ashamed.

"Not really? Not my best F moment."

"I'll tell you later, you said you are nervous?" Hayoung's starts unbuttoning her shirt, revealing her delectable chest to you, her bra misplaced thanks to your hands.

"Yeah, it should feel different right, but how different would it feel, and don't accidents happen? So that means it didn't feel different, so I'm not sure—" You kiss Hayoung to quiet her, pulling her leg over your hips, trying to angle yourself deeper into her.

"How did that feel?"

"Good, you're really deep." Hayoung's hand drifts down to her tummy, and you join her there, letting her guide you to gently press on her lower abdomen. "You're like... here or something."

"Does this feel different?" You nudge forward, trying to reach even deeper, until you can't go any further, pushing against the end of Hayoung. You can tell it does, her breath catching in the kiss. "That's where I'll be when I cum." Hayoung clenches around you in response, she realizes what the difference is—intent. The accidents are merely a possible consequence of unprotected sex, but now, Hayoung's actively trying, and you're very actively trying to knock her up. A thrill runs up her spine, and Hayoung's sensitivity spikes immensely.

"Yes it does feel different, you're so, ah, hard!" All of a sudden Hayoung's pussy is milking you, contracting around you like she's on edge.

"Yeah? You like it more now?"

"Yes, it's so hot, oh fuck." Hayoung suddenly feels far too hot in the cold security room, she's going into some sort of heat. "T-Tell me how it feels for you!"

"It feels better than regular sex, you get extra sticky inside, so nice to thrust into."

"Hnngh more, tell me more!"

"It's so hot when you tell me you're fertile, and I don't have to tell you when I'm close, because there's no fucking doubt where I'm going to finish, you're practically begging for it."

"Yes I- I am, I will! Did the others beg too?"

"In their own ways." Hayoung's begging for your cum in her own way, legs and arms trying to loop around your hip and shoulders and through your limbs, as if tying herself to you so you can't pull out. "Seoyeon scratches the hell out of me, Jisun drains me with both holes. You know the best part?"

"What is it?"

"They cum extra hard, they love it so much it feels so good, and then I— fuck!" The mere thought of cumming hard has Hayoung writhing against you, and she's dragging you down with her, forcing you to do just as you planned to describe. Hayoung feels it briefly before the stars take her—you exploding deep inside her, filling her womb with potential life! She's not sure if she's screaming or not, but by the time she comes down, her throat is strained raw, her limbs like jelly, and yet she feels fulfilled, satisfied at the deep breaths you take against her neck.

"Fuck, I cum just like that," you manage. You continue grinding your hips into Hayoung mindlessly, trying to drain your balls fully inside her.

"Wow, it feels like that every time?"

"Yeah, we'll do it as many times as needed."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Until we get a positive." Slowly Hayoung gets on top of you, a small grin on her face.

"You have a loophole, I'm just never getting a test then."

"I guess we'll have to keep trying then." A few strokes from Hayoung is enough to get you hard again, and her creamy warmth envelopes you this time.

"I guess so, and this time, we're going to film it."

Hayoung did eventually do a test, and much to the surprise of a few people (including you) who opened the message in public, Hayoung attached a "home recording" of the process to the message too. Regardless, Hayoung was satisfied biologically if not hedonistically (she tried to get you to film the others even), but you could focus on those who come after. And poetically, just like the first time you found FROMIS app, as if it was written, Saerom and Nagyung demanded to do it with you, together.

"Oppa, wait till you see what we brought."

"I'm already the luckiest guy in the world, you don't need to tell me I got luckier."

"Well, we might need a little bit more luck. It's never a guarantee, but we'll try to stack the odds in our favor," Nagyung chirps, carrying two large grocery bags full of food and water.

"Stack the odds how? With those grocery bags?"

"That's just for the week. No Jissen cooked up some herbal tea for you, and some floral tea for us. I tried a sip and ugh, I had to do everything to make sure I had enough energy for tonight." As Saerom tells you that, you feel just how warm she is when she slips her arm around your elbow.

"Horny?"

"More than that, I got myself off like three times and it barely changed anything. It's all sticky and gooey, like I need someone to get in me and clean me out, to rub against me everywhere inside I— You're going to have to fuck me first," Saerom ends quietly, blushing at her own neediness.

"She made me promise not to drink it until after the first round, I don't know what Jisun unnie cooked but Saerom hasn't been quite right the whole day." You see how right Nagyung is when you get into the elevator—Saerom's practically rubbing against you, leaning into your body, hungry for skin-to-skin contact. As soon as you're inside Saerom's apartment she's on you, hands already lifting your t-shirt.

"Go ahead and get started, I'll make sure the fridge is well-stocked." Nagyung's only halfway through emptying the first bag of groceries when she hears Saerom's moan of relief.

"God unnie, you really couldn't wait could you?" Nagyung quickly pushes the entire second grocery bag into the fridge, slamming it shut behind her before she hurries to get in on the action.

"Nakko, it feels so good!" Saerom squeals in greeting. She's riding you in reverse cowboy, all of her clothes still on except for her panties. Saerom rolls her hips like no tomorrow, making sure your cock rubs against every inch of her walls, and Nagyung has the perfect view, watching Saerom's gooey cream coat your shaft liberally. Your arms hook Saerom's shoulders, pulling her back on to you in a great show of her flexibility, and Nagyung's round eyes almost pop when she sees the smallest of bulges between Saerom's legs, where your cock is jammed up against her front wall.

"God you're so fucking tight right now!" Saerom groans and grunts as you plow into her from below, her toned body bucking and bracing against the hold, trying to slam herself down on to you. She keeps asking you to fuck her harder, and the squelch between her legs gets lewder and lewder until things reach its natural climax. From Nagyung's point of view it is less an explosion and more of a bubbling over, your cum slowly leaking out of the connection, but internally Saerom is exploding, the pleasure driving her pussy to grip and milk you until you've painted every inch of her walls with cum.

"Wow, unnie, are you okay?"

"Never better. Get oppa his tea, and then it's your turn." You're quickly fed a cup of Jisun's herbal tea, and as soon as Nagyung's done stripping you're on her, mirroring Saerom's own aggressiveness.

"Fuck Nagyung, what's in that tea?" You can feel the blood rushing down your body and a tingling down there, like your reproductive system is working on Adderall or perhaps more appropriately, Red Bull. The warmth gathers between your legs, and the more you see Nagyung naked in front of you, the less brain function you have.

"I don't know, Jisun unnie made it. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, but I— Yeah I need to cum in you." Your mind is a little blunt, your actions even more so as you grab a handful of Nagyung's chest and squeeze.

"Looks like someone's ready," she purrs, and she manages to get on top of you. You throw your head back, the warmth of her walls almost cooling to the fire in your hips.

"Ohhh, yeah that's good, that feels good." To your tea-addled brain Nagyung's wrapped around you like she was always meant to be, but to Nagyung she feels like she's being spread, stretched, expanded, hollowed out, all the synonyms for "boring a hole straight to her womb" all at once.

"Nngh you're too big!" The blood rushing to your cock making you one large breeding stick buried deep in her.

"No, just almost too big." You grab Nagyung's tiny waist and begin moving her up and down your cock, leaving her wailing in intense pleasure. You're spreading her thin, stretching her walls and making sure you're hitting every spot that just lights her brain up.

"It's... Haah!" she tries to move her hips to keep up with you, but it's no use—her legs don't work, her muscle control no longer there as you overload her with bliss, and she hasn't even drunk the tea yet! She leans back, trying to get away from you a little. But it just makes things worse, you're push against her front walls like you did with Saerom earlier, grinding against her g-spot .

"Too much, it's too much unnie!" Nagyung wails to Saerom, who's now providing her with support, letting Nagyung lean against her while she's fucked up and into.

"You can do it, he's going to cum soon, he's going to cum so deep in you..." Nagyung can feel it too, your throbbing length pushing against her pussy, and she's responding in kind, clenching around you.

"I— Ahh!" Nagyung snaps, and she bucks so hard you slip out of her, to disastrous results. You're bucking as well in orgasm, and as you slip out everyone notices the effect of Jisun's tea—the strength and volume of your eruption is so great that your first shot of cum blasts them across the face. Subsequent shots land on Nagyung, staining her skin in white all over.

But you're not done.

"Move, get her the tea." You wave Saerom off, flipping Nagyung on her stomach, cum and all soiling the bedsheets.

"Oppa?"

"Haven't cum in her yet." Saerom watches you stroke yourself hard and quickly follows your order. She returns to find you proneboning Nagyung, hands on her lower back—this time you're not slipping out of her.

"So, hnngh, good..." Nagyung trails off, eyes rolling in her head. Despite her improved stamina over time, something about the way you're fucking her now is unmanageable. Her petite pixie body trembles as you bounce your hips off her again and again, and when you cum this time, you sink fully into Nagyung and growl.

"Take it all!" Her hands grip the sheets, tighter and tighter as you continue to fill her, until finally the heat becomes too much, she chokes a sigh out and goes limp. When you pull out you see that you've left her drooling from both holes—spit from one, cum from the other.

"God she's out again. What now?" Saerom asks. You spy the white trickle down the inside of her thigh, and the need to add to that trickle flares up.

"Want to go again? Grab one of mine?"

"Are you— Yeah, okay." Saerom almost wants to question you, but she stops short—you're sweaty, flushed with exertion from the latest round with Nagyung. You should be tired, spent, drained, yet you still want to knock her up, and it makes Saerom feel wanted like never before. When she comes back with your drink you make her wait, pulling her down next to you.

"Love shot."

"Cheesy." Saerom laughs before hooking her arm around yours, the two of you downing your shots of sex in one gulp. "It's so much stronger!" You feel a tug on your neck—she's pulling you down with her, chest heaving and legs spread.

"You okay?" You hover over Saerom, your eyes meet, and Saerom's pupils dilate right in front of you, her grip around your neck tensing.

"Yeah I— I need you. Put a baby in me." She's still more coherent than you, because all you can manage is a simple nod. You push in, groaning as you watch Saerom's abs flex—she's gripping you tighter than before! As soon as you're in she wraps her legs around you, and she's already bucking up into you, trying to get to the fucking right away. Saerom's so tight but so wet, so easy to push into, and both of you are delirious with need.

"Fuck me, fuck me harder!" she cries into your ear, and you slam into her, drawing out yelps of pleasure. The two of you are one organism, working in tandem to produce another. Saerom whines for you to get deeper, so you push her legs back, folding her in half and letting you plunge into her tightness fully. A dull twinge runs through Saerom—either from you thumping against her cervix or from her legs being pushed so far back, but it didn't matter, so long as you cum deep in her.

"Cumming," you grunt, and Saerom quickly plays with her clit, wanting to finish with you, to have her body drain you at the perfect time. Her ankles seize around your neck, holding you there as you pour a full load straight into her womb, drowning it with potent seed. Neither of you are done though, and after a short rest period of kissing and catching your breath in between the kisses, you're ready for more.

"Doggy." You're reduced to one word sentences, but Saerom follows your actions, letting you flip her around and pull her hips up. As soon are you're hard enough you start rutting into her, humping her like it was the only thing you knew how to do. You watch her ass and thighs jiggle against you, back muscles flexing in pleasure, and you need to see more of it, so you fuck her harder, getting bigger inside her as you're back to full hardness.

"That's it, fill me up again, need your baby—" Saerom feels it too, your thrusts reaching deeper into her again, the throbbing inside her pussy becoming more insistent. Saerom finds herself moaning into a sudden kiss, her head suddenly twisted to face you.

"Our baby." Saerom whimpers into your mouth, her emotions turned up to eleven. Pinned underneath you, her tongue thrashing against yours is the only way she can express her pleasure right now, and it is twisting and tangling, wanting every part of you to hold her down and breed her.

"Give it to me, I want our baby. Lock me down and knock me up."

"This is the one." The tea is wearing off, you're more coherent now, and there's only clarity as to what's going to happen.

"Yes!" Saerom simply agrees, gasping as you start thrusting even harder.

When it happens both of you burst into loud moans of satisfaction, hot virile seed rushing out of you and into her, the biological pressures of shooting and squeezing working to fill Saerom to the very brim and then some. You collapse on top of her, breathing heavily, leaving hickeys on her neck and more than a trickle down her thighs.

"You know, I'm so glad you found the app," Saerom whispers.

"I'm so glad you found me," you argue back, kissing her tenderly.

Fast forward to today, somehow the plan went off without a hitch, the company is doing fine, even doing some sort of a re-launch with a few employees that ended up sticking around, but that's none of your business anymore. You have a new FROMIS to care about.

Final ROMance Is Saerom.

A/N: That's a wrap to the series. I actually started thinking and planning this during Chaeyoung's chapter, but then time was cut short by the new Fromis comeback (go check that out!). Sadly I couldn't get this out before the comeback, but because of that I get to use that Jisun pic lol. I'll still write for the members, but just wanted to put a cap on the series. Thanks for reading!

#smut #fromis9 #seoyeon #jisun #jiwon #hayoung #nagyung #saerom

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austinbutlerslovers · 2 months ago

Text

Desperate Desire

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin is gone for weeks filming his new movie, and growing restless without him, you break one of his cardinal rules: never try to satisfy yourself without him.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Austin possessive • pleasure dom • getting caught with a s*x toy• mild jealousy • couldn’t wait? • edging • fingering• nipple pinching • oral on fem • soft dom • pleasure taming •orgasm detail until begging • edged with a vibrator • squirting • p in v • multiple stim during s*x• kiss it better • p*ssy claiming + taming •simultaneous orgasm •cream pie • after care

✨ Inspo Via Request 💝🔗 Masterlist

Desperate Desire

While Austin is away filming, the days without him seem to stretch into an eternity. His sprawling Los Angeles mansion with its sleek wooden floors and expansive windows overlooking the city, feels cavernous without him.

You wander through the rooms, your fingers skimming over the piano keys in his study, your eyes tracing over the glittering awards in his office, everything in his home a testament to his raw, consuming talent.

In the bedroom you catch the scent of his cologne, jasmine and something woodsy faintly lingering in the air. In his closet, you run your fingers over a row of his neatly arranged shirts, the soft fabrics carrying traces of him.

On your vanity, a framed photo of you together catches the light, his sandy blonde hair tousled just so, his piercing blue eyes staring at you in love, his full lips curved into a half-smile with his strong arms wrap around you.

He’s breathtaking, not just in the way the world sees him—but in the way he’s yours, fiercely attentive, playfully possessive, and so devastatingly good to you it’s unreal.

He’s been filming his latest movie for weeks, a gritty drama that’s already generating Oscar buzz. You’ve seen him pour himself into roles before, losing himself in characters until he’s almost unrecognizable, but this one’s kept him away longer than usual.

He calls you every night, his voice low and warm through the phone, checking in, teasing you about keeping his place in one piece.

“You miss me?” he always asks, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, that softening in his tone just for you. You always hum as you pause to deflect, but the truth is …you’re drowning in the absence of him…his touch, his presence, the way he fills every space with his quiet confidence.

The ache grows unbearable. You try to distract yourself, yoga in the sunlit gym, binge-watching tv shows to pass the time. You even try baking his infamous grilled white peaches and amaretto audio recipe…a disaster that leaves the kitchen smelling of burnt vanilla sugar.

But every night when your alone in the massive bed you share, the silk sheets cool against your skin, you’re haunted by him. You imagine his large hands, calloused from guitar playing, gripping your hips. His toned body carved from disciplined workouts, pressed against your back.

You love when he whispers sweet praises against your ear telling you how much he loves you, how he makes love to you so passionately you can’t even think straight.

Your thoughts of him leave you restless, your fingers nowhere near enough to satisfy the need he’s conditioned you to crave.

In the shower one morning you make the mistake of accidentally grabbing his shampoo instead of your own. The rich, scent hits you like a wave, making your knees weak as you breathe it in feeling the ache for him sharpening.

Wrapped in a towel, you sit at your laptop desperation guiding your hands as you click through several options before ordering exactly what you want; a silicone vibrator—a sleek, discreet thing promising intense pleasure.

The day it arrives on the porch, you stare at the plain nondescript box picking it up as the guilt and desire clash within you.

Austin’s rules are clear: your pleasure is his to give, his to control. He loves knowing he’s the only one who can make you come, and you love the way he takes charge, his dominance laced with affection.

In your closet you pull it out of the packaging. The vibrator feels smooth and cool in your hands, but it doesn’t compare to Austin, not even close.

You quickly seal it back in the box, shoving it onto a shelf. The thought of him finding out, of disappointing him, makes your stomach knot and the package remains untouched in your closet for days.

You try to behave, to wait for him, but one night, flipping through channels, you land on HBO.

Dune Part Two is playing on the arena scene and your breath catches.

Austin is shirtless, wearing nothing but a black loincloth and wielding a blade. You sink back against the couch, pulse spiking as your eyes devour his chest, his pecs, the carved lines of his abs, and the skilled way his tongue flicks out to test sharpness of the blade.

You bite your lip, squirming, the need becoming maddening until you can’t take it anymore and you click off the tv in a frenzy.

You head up to the bedroom, city lights filtering through the sheer curtains as you step into your shared walk in closet. You slip out of your silk robe, the fabric pooling on the floor, and grab the vibrator, its weight a guilty secret in your hand.

You climb onto the bed laying back the vibrator humming softly as you click it on, the sensation foreign but thrilling as you press it against your clit.

You close your eyes, picturing Austin, his lips brushing your neck, his fingers teasing your nipples, his cock stretching you open.

Your breath catches as you push it inside, your hips slowly rocking as the toy sends waves of pleasure through you. You’re so lost in it, moaning softly, so distracted that you don’t hear the front door open, don’t hear the soft tread of boots on the hardwood floor.

“Baby,” Austin’s voice calls, his tone low and laced with amusement, cutting sharp through the haze.

Your eyes snap open, heart lurching to see Austin standing in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space.

“Austin!” you gasp, fumbling to turn off the vibrator, your cheeks burning. “I—I didn’t know you were coming home.”

“Clearly,” he says, his lips widening into a smirk as he steps closer.

He’s unfairly handsome, even after weeks on set, his sandy blonde hair slightly longer, curling at the ends, his blue eyes glinting with a mix of surprise and something darker.

His fitted black tee stretches across his toned chest as he drops his duffel bag, crossing his arms in disapproval.

“Couldn’t wait for me, huh?” he grins, his blue eyes raking over you, naked and flushed on the bed, the vibrator still in your hand.

You’re speechless, lost in a mix of surprise and want as he steps closer.

“Thought you’d replace me with that thing?” he gestures, his tone edged with a playful possessiveness that makes your heart race.

“I—I just missed you so much Austin,” you whisper, your voice small, caught between shame and need. “I tried to wait, I swear.”

He tsks, shaking his head as he kneels on the edge of the bed, his hands brushing up your thighs, the contact sending a surge of heat through you.

“You know the rules, baby.” He says his eyes fixed on you his pupils dilated. “You don’t touch what’s mine without permission.” He says, and his fingers trail higher, grazing the sensitive skin near your core, making you whimper.

“And this—” he gestures to the vibrator, plucking it from your hand—“is clearly breaking the rules”

“I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice trembling, and he leans closer, his lips brushing your ear.

“Oh, you will be sorry,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m gonna make you beg for it, baby. Beg until you learn never to satisfy yourself without me again.”

Your shudder, arousal and anticipation filling you to a peak as your pulse hammers. Austin’s always generous in bed, but he also knows how to torment, how to push you to the edge until you’re a trembling, pathetic mess.

He stands, pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest, his abs flexing as he moves and you can’t tear your eyes away.

He unbuttons his jeans, shoving them off and his cock is already straining against his boxers, thick and heavy, just as you’d been imagining it.

“Lie back,” he orders, his voice firm but warm, and you obey, your head resting on the pillows as he climbs over you, his large hands spreading your thighs apart.

His blue eyes darken as he takes in your slick folds. “You thought that thing was gonna do what I can do?” he rasps, his thumb brushing your clit, light and teasing, and you arch into him, a moan escaping.

“Never, Austin,” you whisper, already aching for more and his lips curve into a wicked knowing grin as he lowers his head, kissing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

His lashes flutter as he kisses higher, his breath hot as he nears your center, and he licks a slow stripe up your slit, his tongue flicking your clit, and you cry out, your hands fisting into the sheets.

He pulls back, making you squirm in anticipation. “Let’s see how much you missed me,” he whispers, and he dives back in, his tongue circling your clit with maddening precision.

His large hands pin your hips to the bed, knowing exactly how to work you open, alternating between soft teasing licks and firm, rhythmic sucks.

Your hips gently push against his mouth as your nipples harden, and his blue eyes look up at you, intense and knowing as he reaches a hand up, rolling one between his fingers, pinching it just hard enough to make you moan.

The pleasure builds fast, coiling tight in your core, and you’re so close, your moans growing louder, your hips bucking harder against his mouth.

“Austin, I’m gonna come,” you start, but he pulls away, his lips glistening as he smirks. He kisses along your stomach instead, leaving you panting, your body trembling with the denial of release.

“You think you deserve a reward after disobeying me?” he asks his voice low and condescending.

You whimper, your clit throbbing, but he doesn’t give you time to answer as he slides two fingers inside you, curling them against your g-spot, his thumb circling your clit.

“You don’t get to come until I say,” he says, his voice thick with desire.

You pant, head tipping back as he glides his fingers just right, stroking the spot that makes your hips twitch.

He pumps his fingers faster, his other hand tweaking your nipple, the dual sensations driving you wild.

Your body tenses, the edge approaching again as your moans rise high and needy. “Austin, please! I need to come.”

He slows his fingers, pulling them out just as you’re about to orgasm, and your legs tremble as you let out a strangled cry.

“You know better, baby,” he says, licking his fingers clean, his eyes locked on yours.

Tears prick your eyes, the frustration and need overwhelming. “I’m sorry, Austin,” you sob, your voice breaking. “I won’t do it again, I swear, just please let me come.”

He softens slightly, brushing a kiss across your forehead, his large hand cupping your cheek. “I know you’re sorry,” he coos, his lips almost touching yours, “and I love how much you want me.” He strokes his thumb against your lower lip. “But you didn’t wait for me, and I’m not gonna let it slide,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours.

He grabs the vibrator, clicking it on low. “So—let’s see how well your replacement does,” he says, his tone low and dangerous.

He presses it against your clit, the vibrations intense, and you cry out, your body arching as he lowers it to your entrance, circling until your hips twitch, then pushes it in, the silicone gliding warm and slow as his mouth latches onto your nipple, sucking hard.

The combination is torture, the pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. He moves the vibrator in and out as he leans back, his eyes never leaving your face, watching every moan, every shudder.

“You’re getting so fucking wet from this, aren’t you,” he says, his voice rough.

“Yes,” you sob, tears streaming down your cheeks as the orgasm builds, so close you can taste it. “Please, Austin, please I’m begging you.”

He pulls the vibrator out at the last second, and you wail, your body shaking with the denial.

He sets the toy aside and kisses you deeply, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, his hands roaming your body.

“You gonna be good from now on?” he says against your lips and you nod, eyes pleading, your body shivering, wrecked, your legs spread open leaking with need. “You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you,” he says between kisses.

“Yes, please, Austin,” you sob, your hands sliding over his shoulders.

He picks up the vibrator again, setting it to a higher speed. “Then let’s finish this right,” he says, pressing it firmly against your clit the vibrations making your hips jerk.

He slides two fingers inside, pumping fast, hitting every spot he knows drives you wild as you moan clenching on his fingers.

“Now you can come,” he whispers, his lips brushing yours. “Let me feel you fall apart for me.”

Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as you scream his name, your hips bucking wildly.

You squirt, the release so intense it soaks the sheets, and Austin groans, his eyes dark with pride as he works you through it, the vibrator relentless until you’re trembling and spent.

He tosses it aside and strips off his boxers, his cock springing out, thick, veiny, and so hard it makes you moan in anticipation. He climbs over you, his large hands spreading your thighs wide.

“This pussy’s mine, isn’t it?” He breathes his possessiveness sending a fresh wave of arousal through you, and you nod, feverishly your body desperate for him.

He slides his cock in with one deep thrust, and you moan, the stretch perfect, your body still overstimulated from the orgasm as he fills you completely. He pulls back slowly at first, letting you feel every inch as his cock glides out before his abs flex with each thrust back in.

Your dazed, breathless whimpers spilling out, head rolling back, eyes fluttering, as your body yields beneath him.

“Look at me,” he says, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “I want you to get this through that pretty little head.” he rasps, his hands roaming your body, pinching one nipple then the other, as he rubs your clit, keeping you on the edge even as he fucks you.

His lips find yours, kissing you deeply, then trailing to your neck, sucking softly as he whispers against your skin. “You gonna ever touch yourself without me, baby?” He asks, pinning you harder to the bed, his strength unrelenting. “Ever think anything can own this body like me?” he breathes, his thrusts growing harder, deeper.

“No…Austin…I promise,” you whimper, breathless, shaking with need as you moan, the pleasure rising fast, his words wrapping around you like a spell.

He holds you tighter, thrusting into you with fierce, possessive strokes, his strength keeping you firmly in place as your body surrenders, your mind gone in a haze of pleasure, blurring the edges of everything but him.

“Austin…I love you,” you moan, the feeling so intense it’s all your mind can come up with to praise him, and he smiles, his lips brushing yours.

“Love you too, baby,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. “Now come with me.”

His thrusts quicken, his fingers working your clit faster and you feel him pulse inside you, his cock throbbing as he fucks you hard against the bed, his body colliding with yours until you start to orgasm.

You come together, the pleasure crashing through you both as he spills deep inside, the warmth of his come making your walls throb harder, moaning his name as you give into him.

He holds you close as you ride it out, his hands stroking your hair, his lips pressing soft kisses to your face.

You lie there, tangled in each other, the city lights casting a soft glow through the windows as Austin’s hands trace lazy patterns on your skin, his affection soothing you gently as you come down.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers, staying inside you, his body pressed close against yours. “Don’t ever think you need anything but me,” he says softly, his tone affectionate and warm. “I’ll always take care of you.”

You smile, your heart full, the ache of his absence replaced by the certainty of his love. “I know Austin,” you whisper, and he smiles leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sweet, the two of you laying in his lavish bed, together again at last.

END 💕

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humiliatingsluts2 · 10 months ago

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Daily Denial

I wake up early because the first thing I have to do is edge for fifteen minutes. While I’m still half asleep I slip my hand between my legs and find my cunt already dripping. I know my body is conditioned to expect my morning edge, and I’ve noticed every morning now I wake up needier and wetter.

I glance at the clock and confirm how long I’ll be edging: from now until 8:10am. I can’t avoid a small whimper escaping my lips as I rub. I let my hips gently move to grind against my fingers and I already feel myself reaching the edge. The pressure and sensation builds with each touch and I start panting softly. I start rubbing and humping harder. I can feel my wetness dripping down onto my thighs. I need to cum so badly, but I know I can’t.

In desperation for more relief, I finger my cunt instead of rubbing my clit. I need to feel full and I start fucking myself with my fingers. Instead of the immediate desperation to tip over into orgasm from rubbing my clit, I start to feel the familiar ache of denial building. I glance over at the clock. It’s already 8:08am. I shut my eyes and focus entirely on my cunt. I keep fingering and humping my hand until I’m almost certain two minutes are complete and check again: 8:11am.

Despite how hard edging is, I don’t want to stop. But I know my duties. I take my hand from between my legs. I’m embarrassed to see it covered in my wetness; my fingers are soaked. I suck them clean. Ever since my owner started forcing me to clean up after myself, this is the first thing I taste each morning.

I get out of bed and go make my breakfast. I flip open my laptop and bring up porn. I don’t get to choose the porn, I watch what my owner has sent me while I eat. Today he picked a video of a girl tied to a park bench and being fucked by several men. I feel my cunt throbbing while I finish my breakfast. The sounds of the pornstar gagging on cock fills my kitchen and I already know I’m going to need to edge again this morning. I message my owner, “Morning Sir. Please may I edge some more? This porn is so hot.” He replies a few moments later,

“Good morning slut. You may edge, but you’re going to be your own porn. Edge in front of your mirror and film it all. Watch how desperate you are.” I’m grateful for permission to edge, even though I desperately want to watch this pornstar get gangbanged for longer.

“What should I wear Sir?”

“Only heels.”

“Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.”

The moment I finish breakfast, I go back to the bedroom, strip, and kneel in front of my full length mirror. I realise in shame that I wasn’t even told to kneel, I just knew I belonged there. I take my heels from under my bed, and feel even more shame at realising these pink heels had only ever been worn for edging. I put them on and prop my phone up on the floor. I angle the camera to picture my entire body and face. I know what Sir will want. Even seeing myself in the camera viewfinder is making my cunt wet again. My naked body and throbbing cunt look like porn already.

I take my vibrator from beside the bed and press record. I start watching myself in the mirror instead. I can already see how horny I am: my face is flushed and as I turn the vibrator on I open my mouth and start to moan. Immediately I’m on the edge. I press the vibrator on my cunt and watch my body respond. I feel the need to cum already. My body shakes as I reach the edge. I lock eyes with myself in the mirror and turn the vibrator up. The desperation to edge is overwhelming, and I feel tears pricking my eyes. I know I need to edge hard. I know I need to cum. I know I need to do as I’m told. Every muscle in my body is tensed as I see how far I can push myself. I hear myself moan. I feel my cunt contract and tense as I get closer. I tear the vibrator away and fall forward onto my hands and knees. I won’t cum.

My breathing is heavy while I recover. I gently stroke my cunt to feel how sensitive I’ve become already. I take the vibrator and lick it. I’m becoming addicted to the taste of my own edging. I glance at the camera and think about my owner watching. I smile and start licking the vibrator enthusiastically. I picture sucking my owner’s cock while I edge and before I know it I’ve started edging harder again. I put the tip of the vibrator in my mouth and start sucking it slowly while I edge. I always think I look my best with something in my mouth.

I decide to edge hard one more time and then send the video to Sir. I start slowly trying to deepthroat the toy, I want to get some drool on my tits too. I keep watching myself. I focus on my cunt and how wet it is. I can see it dripping from my fingers, and I rub my clit harder. I need to cum. I need it so badly. For a second, I almost consider doing it, without permission. I don’t know how I’d be punished, but it feels worth it. The relief would be so much. I feel myself get closer and closer. I picture cumming, I picture how it will feel. And I stop. I won’t cum without permission. I can’t.

I lick my fingers clean and stop recording on my phone. I immediately send the video to my owner. It’s over half an hour long. I finish cleaning up and wait on the floor naked for him to respond. The feeling of being such a good edgeslut is so comforting and my body is glowing with pleasure.

—

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heeambi · 5 months ago

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、Synopsis, Staying late was already frustrating enough, but dealing with your insufferably demanding—and dangerously attractive—boss, Lee Heeseung, made it unbearable. He never missed a chance to push your limits, but tonight, he takes it even further. When your sharp tongue earns you his attention, you realize that maybe there are better ways to spend your overtime₊

₊Tags ݃ #Smut, #Dom!Heeseung, #Office Sex, #Power Dynamics, #Light Choking, #Rough Sex, #Teasing, #Slight, #Degradation, #Tension, #Turned Heated ｡

、Pairing ݃ Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader ₊ ㅤ

₊ Nat's note ݃ I’m finally posting this after being sick in bed for several days now. Also, I'm way too lazy to change the coloring, because I'm pretty sure you can't see synopsis 💔 ｡

The office was empty, the only sounds being the faint hum of the air conditioning and the clicking of your heels against the tile floor. Everyone had left hours ago, but you were stuck finishing a report your boss had conveniently assigned last minute.

Your boss—Lee Heeseung.

He sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, eyes scanning you from across the room like a predator watching his prey. You had been working under him for months, and he never missed a chance to test your patience. Strict, demanding, and way too attractive for his own good.

“You’re taking too long,” he muttered, standing up and walking toward you.

“I wouldn’t be if someone hadn’t given me extra work,” you shot back.

Heeseung chuckled, but there was no humor in it. His long fingers trailed along the edge of your desk as he leaned in, his voice dropping. “Is that attitude, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard. The way he was looking at you made your skin burn.

“If you have time to talk back, you have time to—”

His hand wrapped around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

“—be put to better use.”

Your stomach flipped as he pushed your laptop aside and hoisted you onto the desk, spreading your legs with ease. His fingers traced up your thigh, smirking at how easily you gave in.

“Let’s see if you’re as mouthy when you’re stuffed full,” he murmured before crashing his lips against yours.

Heeseung's grip tightened on your throat, but it was more teasing than forceful. His lips moved slowly against yours, as if savoring the moment. Every second was a slow burn, making you crave more. He shifted his hands, sliding them underneath your skirt to grasp your hips, lifting you higher on the desk until you were fully exposed to him.

“You’re already this wet?” he teased, his voice dark and amused as he lightly ran his fingers along your panties. "You’re pathetic... Can’t even keep it together when I’m just talking to you."

You bit your lip, your body aching for him. “I’m not pathetic,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath as you met his gaze.

Heeseung’s eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then prove it.”

His hands worked quickly to strip you of the rest of your clothes, throwing your blouse aside as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against yours. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your neck to him. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of your throat, just light enough to tease before biting down, making you gasp.

“Don’t think you can just talk back and get away with it," Heeseung whispered harshly in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You’ve been testing my patience for weeks now."

You could barely process what was happening as he shifted, kneeling between your legs, his fingers tugging your panties off. You squirmed slightly as he stroked your bare skin, his gaze lingering on your exposed body.

"Patience's over," Heeseung growled, positioning himself at your entrance. He slid in, deep and slow, making you gasp as you adjusted to him. You dug your nails into the desk, your back arching, unable to contain the soft moans escaping your lips.

"God, you’re so tight." Heeseung groaned, pulling out and thrusting back in, faster this time. The desk creaked beneath you, but it only spurred him on. He fucked into you with a rhythm that matched the pace of your racing heart, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you in place.

His voice was low and commanding as he leaned down to press his lips to your ear again. “If you want me to stop, say it.”

You shook your head, breathless and desperate. “Don’t stop… please.”

Heeseung smirked, clearly enjoying how submissive you’d become, his thrusts growing rougher, his grip on you tightening as he chased his release. Your fingers dug into the wood of the desk, but nothing could anchor you as his pace picked up.

You could feel the tension building in your stomach, your body already on the edge of climax, but Heeseung wasn’t letting you reach it just yet. His hands moved, one still holding your hip, the other reaching up to grip your throat again, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges.

“You’re going to cum when I tell you,” Heeseung ordered, voice thick with lust.

The pressure from his hold, combined with his steady thrusts, made you teeter on the edge, but you had to wait. The anticipation was unbearable.

Heeseung leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Cum for me, baby.”

That was all it took. Your body tensed, your walls tightening around him as you finally let go, a flood of pleasure overtaking you. Heeseung’s grip never loosened, and he followed you quickly after, thrusting once more before stilling inside you with a groan.

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、 M.list Naughty O’clock 、

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cherriegyuu · 1 year ago

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lens of ice | yjh | one

pairing: jeonghan x f!reader genre: figure skater jeonghan, light angst, a little fluff, smut in the next part word count: 12k summary: jeonghan has only one chance left to make it to the olympics. as he embarks on this decisive journey, you, a documentarist, are set to follow him as he seeks the ultimate glory. warnings: jeonghan is kind of reckless with his body a/n: i've been writing this one for so long now and though it's not finished yet, i decided to post half of it, as a way to motivate myself to finish it. i really wanna thank @ressonancee first for giving me idea and second for helping me through all of this and putting up my crazy ass mind 💓

part one | part two (final)

The light buzzing of the fluorescent lights made him uncomfortable, it was like a premonition of what was to come. Something bad, he was sure.

Jeonghan was many things in his life, stubborn perhaps being the most obvious one, but dumb wasn't one then. He knew that his ankle was fucked up, that he was probably the cause of it. Too many hours of training, never giving himself enough time to heal before he got the ice again. He didn't know exactly how bad it was, that was for the doctor in front of him to say, but Jeonghan knew that nothing good would come out of the man's mouth.

"It's worse than I thought," the man said with a sigh, taking off his glasses "It's not just your ankle anymore, it's also your knee. And, I could be wrong, but considering the way you're walking, I'd say that you're right ankle also started to bother you"

Jeonghan hung his head. He was an athlete and he knew that he was being reckless, beyond actually. He should have gone to his coach the second he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. But he just went home, took an ice bath, and kept the whole thing to himself. Even on the following days, when the pain didn't go away at all, he still chose to keep his mouth shut and go to practice every day. And his coach, unaware of his condition, kept pushing him during practice.

Not that he needed anyone to be harsh on him, Jeonghan did all of that on his own. But having someone else do that for him as well brought out a different desire for perfection. One that came from a dark place to show someone else that he was good, to prove people wrong.

"Can I still compete?" was all he asked, it was the only thing that mattered to him "Can I make it to the Olympics? It's the last one for me, after this I retire"

The look on the doctor's face wasn't reassuring, Jeonghan knew that his next words wouldn't be the ones he wanted. He wasn't about to hear what he needed.

"If, and only if, you have surgery, take physical therapy seriously, and rest as we instruct you, there might be a possibility. Small, but it exists"

"When can I have the surgery?"

You stared at your computer screen, a hand on your forehead as you read the email your boss sent you. You sat at your desk, not really knowing what to do.

"Seungkwan!" you called without looking up "Did you get this email too?"

Just to make sure that you weren't crazy, you read it once again. The third time in less than five minutes. No matter how many times you read it, it didn't change.

"Yeah. I'm excited but scared…"

That was enough to get your attention.

"Why?"

Closing your laptop, you stood up moving closer to Seungkwan. Unlike you, who read the email many times, Seungkwan had already started his research. Not that he really needed to, everyone at the office knew that he was a huge fan of figure skating. So of course he would know all about Yoon Jeonghan.

The nation's pride and joy in figure skating, at least in the make category.

"Why scared? I thought everyone loved him"

It was impossible to look away from the picture Seungkwan had open on his computer. Jeonghan's face really was something else, as if he had been carved in marble by some ancient Greek artist. From his dark hair covering his eyes, giving him almost a mysterious vibe, to the way his lips were slightly crooked into a smile. You had to give it to him, the man was absolutely stunning. No wonder he left a trail of fans everywhere he went.

"He isn't the biggest enthusiast when it comes to the press. He barely gives interviews so I guess doing a documentary about him won't be easy"

Seungkwan kept scrolling, reading the latest news on Jeonghan. But the truth was that there wasn't any. His social media was also rarely updated, the last post was from months before.

"Well, good luck to you"

"What do you mean? You're the one in charge"

You just shook your head. The problem was Jeonghan honestly, you barely knew anything about him, though Seungkwan's words didn't help the case. The thing was that you barely knew anything at all about sports, in general, much less about figure skating. Lack of knowledge was an easy fix. The real issue was the fact that a documentary on a sport was way too different from what you usually did.

"I'm not doing this one. I have other projects I want to work on. Plus, this is too sudden. They want us to start tomorrow, Seungkwan. Do you really think that it's possible to have anything done by tomorrow?" he shook his head and you nodded in agreement "Precisely, so I'm sure that if we talk with Jihoon…"

"Nothing will change"

A curse left your lips at the sudden voice behind you. Turning around you faced the small man. Jihoon had his arms crossed over his chest and the look in his eyes that told you that no matter what he wouldn't let you off the hook. Still, you had to try.

"Jihoon, I'm not your sports person. And it's too soon. I don't anything about Jeonghan or figure skating"

Jihoon simply shook his head at you.

"They want a different approach than the average sports documentary, so I recommended you. I'm sending Seungkwan with you because I know this isn't your area of expertise, though I highly suggest you do some sort of research" he turned around to leave with a wave of his hand then turned around for a second, as if remembering something "Hansol will be your camera and sound guy. They asked for a small crew"

With a salute Jihoon left.

"Fuck"

You couldn't take your eyes away from the crutches under Jeonghan's arms and the orthopedic boot around his left leg. There was not a single article that pointed to surgery. There were plenty about his constant injuries though. Seungkwan had the same look on his face, of pure shock.

"Are you okay?" you asked once he made himself comfortable on the couch.

Jeonghan sat sideways on the couch, his leg propped up over cushions. The position looked weird but he didn't seem to mind.

"Ah, this" he pointed at his leg nonchalantly, as if it was the most normal thing "Yeah, it's okay. Had to get the surgery done in order to make it to the next Olympic"

Nodding, you looked around. His apartment wasn't as big as you had expected. In fact, the three of you stood closely together in the living room, a bit too small for all the gear Hansol said he needed.

"Put your things down, let's talk. I don't know how this is going to work"

Me neither, you wanted to say but kept your mouth shut. Thankfully, Seungkwan was there to help you.

"Before we start any real interview or conversation, I think we have to tell you that this was very last minute for us. We only heard about this documentary yesterday, in the middle of the afternoon" he used his kindest voice, his voice laced with concern and a hit of fear, maybe "yn is in charge, she's the documentarist, she'll be asking the questions and dictating the overall direction that we're going to take with the documentary. I'm Seungkwan and that's Hansol. This is the smallest crew he could assemble"

Seungkwan was giving too many explanations, you felt. But he also wasn't wrong. What he did was normal, he was just introducing the crew. Maybe you were a little irritated by the way you were tossed into this job, without someone giving you enough time to prepare. Sixteen hours were barely enough.

"I assume my… reputation has gotten to you," Jeonghan said, a small smile on his lips.

A reputation he had indeed. Jeonghan was known for not liking the press and journalists. He avoided them at all costs and once, on one occasion, was seen being rude. And honestly, you had to give him a pass for it. Pushing the camera away from his face, almost delicately, could barely be considered rude at such a moment. There were way too many cameras around, all of them on his face, trying to get some sort of pronouncement on why he had not made it to the podium.

And that had been years before but people still remembered him by that one moment. But what exactly did they expect? He underperformed, came in fourth place, and injured himself in the process. Was anyone expecting a happy and bright Jeonghan?

"You can be comfortable around me. A conversation like this is fine. I just don't like being swarmed"

Though his words were inviting, his face told a whole different story. He clearly didn't want this documentary.

"All of our interactions will be recorded," you told him, not leaving room for arguments on his end "These first few minutes aren't, out of courtesy and so that we can set our goals. I need to know if you're uncomfortable with anything, or something that you don't want to be filmed, either right now or before we turn the cameras on. Once we start, we won't stop"

Jeonghan adjusted his position on the couch, his eyes never leaving you. It was like he was measuring your every move. He didn't like your tone, and how aggressive you were towards him.

"I know this was last minute and I apologize for that. This is going to be my last run and, as much as I hate to admit, I'm a bit sensitive to it.

With furrowed eyebrows, you nodded. Jeonghan knew that you didn't believe him or that you cared about his reasons. He knew that the sole reason you were there was because someone made you.

"Will you need to film my family?"

"Yes, usually film family members to get a complete idea of someone's life"

Turning around you nodded at Hansol, telling him to start setting up. With a shake of his head, Seungkwan moved to help him.

"I don't want my family to know the extent of my injuries. So if you only want them for context, to know about me as a child, that's fine. But they can't know anything about this" Jeonghan pointed at his leg "I've been hiding this for a very long time and I'd like to keep it that way"

You dropped your bag on the couch, eyes tired and mind filled with one too many thoughts. The day had been easier than you expected, far more so.

Based on Seungkwan's words you had expected to fight with Jeonghan in a way. It was a documentary so you needed him to talk and talk he did. There was no question unanswered or dodged, all of his answers were precise and consistent. All of it had sounded fake like he had rehearsed them a million times.

Even if you thought that your question had been good, and had caught him off guard, Jeonghan seemed to be fully prepared for it. He didn't hesitate for a second.

In the few hours you spent around him, you finally managed to understand the fascination most people had with him. He was handsome, yes, but that was just the very basic and surface level of him. Beyonce that he was also good with his words. It was hard to tell that he was lying because he talked with conviction. After just one interview you were sure that if one day Jeonghan decided to tell you that your mom wasn’t actually your mother, you’d somehow believe him.

And the man knew all of it. He was aware of his beauty and charm, of what it did to normal people, and he used it in his favor. Jeonghan knew that most people couldn’t resist a handsome talented man. And that was a part he was all too willing to fill.

“Yeah,” you answered your phone, not bothering to see who it was, certain that it was just Jihoon.

“How was it today?” he sounded just as tired as you felt and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was okay.

“Fine”

“Just fine?”

You turned on your back, facing the ceiling, or at least whatever you could see with the lights turned off - not a whole lot, to be honest.

“He lied through his teeth today. There was no manager, and no coach around, though I do remember him saying someone would come. The person never showed up” you sighed “Seungkwan hates and Vernon probably thinks I’m a crazy bitch. So yeah, just fine”

Jihoon laughed on the other side of the line and you felt the little butterflies in your stomach come to life. You rolled your eyes at yourself. How pathetic it was of you, to have a crush on your boss. How very much bland of you.

Growing up, like a lot of girls that were influenced by way too much TV, you had wanted the be the odd one out. The I’m one of the guys kind of girl, or the one who refused to wear any kind of makeup or even come close to the pink because that was just girly for you. And now there you were, in love with the color pink, finding excuses to wear pretty dresses, and having a crush on your boss.

Teenage you would throw eggs at your head if she had the chance.

“Okay, but how was Jeonghan?” Jihoon pressed even further.

You sighed and closed your eyes, covering over face with your hand.

“He was polite, answered all of my questions, had a pleasant smile the entire time, and only asked for a bathroom break while we were there. Offered us food and drinks. He was fine” you said again, emphasizing the fine.

You could picture Jihoon, nodding his head and looking at the floor, probably thinking of what to ask next.

“Why would Seungkwan hate you? And why would Vernon think you’re a bitch?”

“Seungkwan thinks I went too hard on Jeonghan and Vernon just trusts Seungkwan’s judgment and goes with it”

Jihoon laughed again and you heard him moving around.

“Classic yn, going at someone while she’s angry. At least your anger was sort of directed to the right person”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you sat up.

You liked to think that you didn’t act that way all the time. In your mind, most of the time, you were able to hide your anger and just play nice like your mother had taught you to be. Jihoon’s words told a completely different story.

“Have some rest, there’s still a lot of work to do. Tomorrow you’re going with him to rehab, right?” Jihoon paused for a second and you heard a female voice in the back, you couldn’t make out what she said but you were sure of who it belonged to “I have to go. We’ll talk next week”

The line was disconnected and leaned back on the couch again. The problem of having a crush on your boss was also the fact that he had a long-time girlfriend and soon he was supposed to be marrying her.

You groaned, wondering if you had gone far enough that there was no going back from this crush.

You sat across from Jeonghan once again, the position exactly the same as the first day. But this time you chose to be less irritable.

The other day you were frustrated because you had to give up other projects to be able to accompany Jeonghan and that, thinking rationally, had nothing to do with him. He asked for a specific documentary filmmaker profile and you were chosen by the studio. Maybe it was more your fault than his. But it was also a no-return kind of situation. The job was assigned to you and there was nothing you could do to change it. So the least you could do was do your best and pray that it didn’t take a turn for the worse.

And, if anything, the conversation with Jihoon helped you focus on work. It wouldn't be the first time you were doing something you didn't want to do and it certainly wouldn't be the last. So you decided that the best thing to do was just work, showing your professional side that had been left aside before.

Jeonghan looked at you the same way, eyes serious as if he was ready for a new attack.

"Thank you," he said to Vernon, who had just placed the microphone inside his jacket, so that he could pick up the sound well, but it was not visible to the camera.

You turned to Seungkwan and Vernon, waiting for confirmation from the two that you could begin. You received a wave from each of them after they checked that the cameras were on and recording.

You took a deep breath and turned to Jeonghan.

"I wanted to apologize for yesterday," you said "I wasn't fair to you. I was irritated by things that had nothing to do with you, but I somehow decided that they did"

Everyone in Jeonghan's living room seemed to hold their breath, you included. You didn't know what to expect from Jeonghan, not really. You had been anything but ungracious with him, in a way that to most people meant that any door between you two had closed.

Jeonghan decided, at that moment, that he had two options: a) he could let the previous day dictate how all interactions between the two of you from then on would be, and it would be many months of a bad relationship that would bring no benefit to anyone involved in it; or b) he could accept your apology, which seemed sincere enough, and let go of the discomfort he felt.

Option b was actually the only possible choice.

“Okay” he finally smiled “my reputation isn’t the best, either way”

Seungkwan and Vernon breathed a sigh of relief. It was as if a huge gray cloud had moved away and the weather was beginning to clear.

“No, your reputation had no influence. I was the one who lost my hand because of my problems and for that, I apologize” you said and you were sincere in your words “But Jeonghan, I need you to stop seeing me as your enemy. I need you to be honest with me.”

You hoped Jeonghan could understand what you were saying.

“You think I wasn’t honest?” he tilted his head as if analyzing you.

“In the same way that you don't want your reputation to affect the way I see you, I need you to not let the way you see other journalists affect the way you see me. I want to tell your story, however you want it told, but I need you to be honest with me.”

You hoped Jeonghan could understand what you were saying.

He was silent for a minute, his eyes fixed on his hands. His hair covered his face, so it was hard to get an idea of what was going through his head.

You looked at Seungkwan, seeking confirmation that you hadn’t been rude. He seemed to be as lost as you were, but the small smile he gave you was enough to make your restless heart rest for a second.

“What if I say something and regret it later?”

It was the first time Jeonghan looked insecure and it was a strange sight, but much more realistic than the other version of him.

“We can edit it, it’s not a problem. I said that because I was angry” you said apologetically once again.

“Can we throw it all away and start again?”

Jeonghan smiled and you had no choice but to smile along with him.

“Let’s start with what’s happening now,” you said, folding your legs under your body, notebook open to a blank page and a pen ready to take notes “You underwent surgery not long ago, right? Why?"

Jeonghan took a deep breath, eyes closed for a second before placing all his attention on you. His gaze was almost too intense. You had to force yourself not to look anywhere but at him.

“A few years ago I fell during training and twisted my ankle. At the time, it wasn't a big deal and if I had stayed quiet for a few weeks, and did everything right, I wouldn't have had any problems. But I couldn't do it, I was preparing for a competition. I didn't tell anyone about the problem and just endured the pain. When I participated in the competition I fell again and that only made the situation worse. Today I have a problem with my ligament and tendon.”

With every word that left his mouth, you felt like a lump was forming in your throat, and with every second it was getting bigger.

Unlike the day before, it didn't seem like Jeonghan was lying, but you didn't know if you wanted the truth he was sharing. Even if it was a lie, a character he had created, the version of Jeonghan from before was a little brighter, a little more present in the moment. The version of him that was in front of you, that you imagined to be the closest to reality, was almost sad, detached from everything.

“Because I forced my right knee a lot, trying to compensate for the lack of my left one, I developed a problem with that one too”

“You’ve never talked about your injuries before, right?” he nodded “Why talk now?”

He was silent again, his lower lip caught between his teeth. That was a great question, one that not even Jeonghan himself knew exactly how to answer.

“I'm not sure, to be honest” he laughed a little. Instead of looking directly at the camera, his eyes were focused on you “Someone came up with the idea at some point and it didn't seem like a bad one, but I think it will only work if I make it to the Olympics.”

“Is that the ultimate goal then, to get to the Olympics?”

He shook his head, that fearless, confident look you had only seen in photos finally making itself known.

“No, the ultimate goal is to win”

As promised, Jeonghan waited for you, Seungkwan, and Vernon outside the clinic. He was nowhere to be seen, really, but the car his assistant informed you of was parked right in front of the door.

You were the first one to exit your own car, while Seungkwan and Vernon prepared the camera to follow along. You could only assume he was the manager. Terribly young for a manager, sure, but a manager nonetheless.

“I assume you’re in” he extended a hand to you “I’m Joshua”

“Hi”

The exchange of words with Joshua was quick, no more than half a dozen. You didn't have much to talk about with him and he wasn't your priority, at least not at the moment. Later, at some other time, talking to him would be great. He had introduced himself as a friend/manager of Jeonghan. Having his point of view would be great and could contribute a lot, but your eyes couldn't leave Jeonghan.

His hair was tied back, but a cap covered much of his face. He had barely said hi to you or the other two. It wasn't a big surprise. While it was true that made up to a certain extent, you didn't expect him to simply welcome you with open arms, but his reaction was strange - or as strange as the reaction of a person you knew little, or nothing, could be.

“Can we film it?” You asked.

Jeonghan stopped and turned towards you. He had forgotten that you and your team would attend his first physical therapy session, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Since the last time you saw each other, Jeonghan spent hours on end watching documentaries made by you and they all had one thing in common: they were almost like video logs. You followed everyone around documenting every tiny aspect of their lives. All those people told their stories and didn't seem afraid of having their lives exposed. And perhaps for people who didn't lead lives where they had been exposed too much, sincerity came easily.

For Jeonghan, that was never the case.

Being treated as the future, a promise of the sport, had brought a lot of harm and situations that neither he, nor anyone else, had the option to deal with or even, perhaps, ignore.

Cameras were pointed at him, rumors spread and suddenly he wasn't just Yoon Jeonghan, the boy who started skating because it would annoy his little sister. He became someone from whom people expected something.

As much as he could, Jeonghan tried to live up to all of those expectations, realistic or not. He tried to be as perfect as possible, on the ice and off of it. And it only took one day of silence, a few rude unanswered questions, and one bad performance — which had no real effect — for everything to collapse.

“You said you would film anything and everything.”

You grimaced, clearly regretful and maybe even a little embarrassed. It wasn't his intention, but he found your reaction funny anyway.

In your place, Jeonghan would have done much worse.

“Do you think it’s important?”

You nodded, perhaps more forcefully than necessary. Jeonghan laughed, he wanted to hold your head to make sure it was still in the right place.

“The documentary is about your return, so filming you here is important. I asked because it's your first session. I heard it can be painful.”

“It will probably be uncomfortable” he couldn’t deny that “Let’s do it like this, you can record it, if in the end you think it’s bad or that it doesn’t fit, we won’t use it

You quietly followed Jeonghan and Joshua out of the clinic, Seungkwan and Vernon trailing behind you talking in hushed tones. It was no surprise that they were talking. Truth was rehab had been brutal. You knew that it could get hard for Jeonghan, that it could be painful but nothing really prepared you for what you saw. And if it was hard for you to watch him go through that, it was unimaginable to understand how it was for him.

Throughout the entire session, Jeonghan looked in pain, his grunts and the scowl on his face growing with each passing second and new movement. Midway through you told Seungkwan and Vernon to stop filming. You had seen enough and you had more than what you needed for the documentary.

You would only film his rehab again when he was no longer in such pain, you decided. Out of the many things you learned about Jeonghan was that showing his weaknesses wasn’t something he was too fond of or even comfortable with the idea of it. So there was no real reason to keep recording and you couldn’t stand it either.

While you watched his face contort in pain, you felt something inside your chest tighten.

It had never been a real issue before with you. You had always managed to separate your personal emotions from the things you felt while working. More often than not you told stories that were hard to listen to, took someone’s suffering, and put it on the TV for the entire world to see in hopes that maybe a part of their lives would be changed. You had always been able to detach yourself from that.

However while inside with Jeonghan, such a thing was not possible. You felt your throat constrict and your eyes grow wet and for a short while, you couldn’t breathe either. It made no sense really. Why did it hurt to see this man, you knew nothing about, in pain to the point you wanted to cry? Why did it sadden you so much that he was limping harder than before?

You wanted to approach him, ask if he was okay, if it had been too much. But it was out of line, it was one that you knew you shouldn’t cross. There was this itch though, in the back of your mind, begging you to just ask, to just take a step closer to him.

It happened so suddenly that you didn’t even see it happening. One second it was just the five of you in the parking lot, in the next there were reporters with mics and cameras pointed at Jeonghan. You noticed how Jeonghan raised his shoulders at the same time he lowered his head. He couldn’t see in front of himself, you were certain.

Joshua put an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulder while he used the other one to keep them away from him. Not that it was of any use. One of the cameras was directly under his face as if trying to get an expression, anything at all, that could show his discomfort with the situation. From somewhere behind you there were flashes.

"Do you believe your injury was a result of your own carelessness?" someone asked.

You felt your blood run cold for a second and you froze in place, Seungkwan and Vernon behind you.

"Do you think your skating career is over after such devastating injuries?" someone followed.

"Did you regret pushing yourself so hard during training, knowing it led to your injury?"

"How did it feel to watch other skaters progress while you were stuck in rehab?"

"Are you worried that your injury will define your career more than your achievements on the ice?"

The questions got progressively worse and you wanted to scream at them to just shut up, and stop. How could they just ambush someone like that with those questions? It made no sense at all. And though you knew that it would cause more harm than good you wished Jeonghan would tell them all to fuck off.

Instead, he kept his head low and just slowly walked to his car while ignoring everyone around him, all the careless words being thrown at him.

You tried to take a step forward but were held back by Seungkwan, who gripped the strap of your purse. He didn’t say a word, just shook his head.

“They can’t just do that to him” you almost cried

“If you say anything, it might only make matters worse,” Hansol said, his voice sad.

That sudden need to protect Jeonghan felt weird but oddly natural as well. Weird because you knew that you shouldn’t, because you hardly knew the guy. Natural because it felt as if you had always done that like it was just second nature to you.

“He is used to this,” Seungkwan said, still not letting go of your purse.

“He shouldn’t be! They are barely treating him like a human!”

By the time you turned around, Jeonghan was already inside the car leaving the parking lot.

The clock on the top of your phone screen told you that it was 4:37 am. You hadn't even realized that you had spent so many hours still awake.

As soon as you got home from the rehab with Jeonghan, you took a quick shower, ate the leftovers from the night before, and started to look up Jeonghan’s performances.

The man was a celebrity amongst athletes since he was a child. He was always seen as a promise of the sport. He was good from the start. Performing moves that he was still too young to do, entering competitions boys his age never really competed in and somehow managing to either come up to the podium or even winning some of them.

Everything was displayed online. Yearly competitions, practices, and small moments of his life.

Jeonghan's entire life, at least the sports part, was exposed on the internet for anyone, from anywhere in the world, to see. And it wasn't just the competitions, having videos of that part seemed completely normal and expected.

What was scary was all the other content. Some photos of him in school uniform, not one where he was actually looking at the camera, but ones that were clearly taken in secret. Another one from when he seemed to have simply gone out for coffee with Joshua.

You knew he had fans, that he was liked wherever he went, and that he was always followed, but that seemed a bit much.

In reality, watching videos of the competitions was like a gateway to everything that came after.

You knew very little about Jeonghan, only what you had read about in all the articles that you found and all of them had one thing in common: Jeonghan was a huge diva, who thought he was superior to everyone. But after seeing how he had been treated that day, as soon as he got out of rehab, you knew it wasn't like that. It was as if they had appeared out of nowhere, one second the parking lot was empty and the next it was full of journalists, shouting things and asking questions that to many would seem harmless, but were clearly intended to hurt.

Instead of watching more competition videos, not that there were many you hadn't watched yet, you decided to look for the famous video of him treating journalists badly.

You had never found one so easily on the internet. You just typed "Jeonghan and journalists" into the search bar and it was the first video to appear.

It was a scene very similar to the previous day. Jeonghan was in the parking lot, walking towards the guy when he was surrounded by several journalists.

"You didn't get the podium today, are you disappointed?" one of them asked and that was the most harmless question he got. “Did you really try hard or did you think you would get a high score because you were the favorite?” “Why did you fall in such a simple jump?” “Don't you think it was an amateur's performance?”

You didn't want to keep listening to all those meaningless questions, but you couldn't take your eyes off Jeonghan. He still had short hair at the time, even covering his eyebrows. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were hard, and his gaze was focused straight ahead, as he walked slowly to his car. Joshua tried as best he could to control the journalists with their microphones and cameras, but he was just one man against many. Finally, after what felt like ages, two security guards appeared, pushing the journalists away as they began shouting profanities in Jeonghan's direction.

Could those people even consider themselves journalists? Real journalists, who took their work seriously?

There is a very fine line between being a journalist who asks incisive questions and one who is completely disrespectful to the athlete. And those people were anything but professional.

It was no surprise that after that Jeonghan refused to give interviews.

That whole situation happened years before, at the beginning of the previous Olympic cycle, but even so, it was still a moment that haunted him. People remembered him as just that guy, someone who refused to answer simple questions. But what exactly did these people expect? That he was all smiles when he failed to reach the podium, even though he was the favorite in the competition? That he smiles when he hurts?

Finally, you managed to understand why he acted that way, and why his answers were so polite and direct. Jeonghan didn't want to leave room for interpretation. Not that he had much of a choice. People only see what they want to see, but that didn't mean he couldn't try.

Jeonghan couldn’t take his eyes away from your back, he followed your every move. You stood next to Joshua, talking to him quietly, his friend showing you something on his phone. He felt something scratch at his neck. This new and unknown feeling.

It was unusual for Jeonghan, to want to have someone’s undivided attention. It was usually the other way around and he was never willing to do it, with anyone. And then there you were and suddenly he didn’t like that you were talking with Joshua.

It wasn’t like you seemed to be having fun either. You moved around with intention, your eyes always focused, your words and questions firm and straight to the point. Jeonghan couldn’t help but wonder if it was always like that with you. If your professional persona always took over who you were in other moments.

His curiosity was huge but his courage to ask was very little.

“She may seem like it, but she won’t bite your head off if you talk with her,” someone said on his left.

Seungkwan stood at his side, his hands clasped in front of him while he rocked on his heels.

“I think she will,” Jeonghan said.

Seungkwan took his reply as an invitation to sit.

“You know, in the office, people call her the ice queen” he too looked in your direction, at your serious expression "She’s like that most of the time”

Jeonghan looked at Seungkwan expectantly, he knew there was a but coming soon. All he needed to do was wait long enough.

“She didn’t want to take this job, our boss forced her to. She’s more into storytelling, real people, with real issues”

“Am I not a real person?”

The offense in Jeonghan’s voice made Seungkwan almost fall off his chair. He didn’t intend for his words to sound like that.

“Of course you are” he laughed nervously while trying to explain it as best as he could “If it were up to her, she would focus this documentary on you, on how you started skating, why, what attracted you to it, how it affected the rest of your life. But your team doesn’t want that, I think. We were told that you already gave many interviews on the matter so there’s no point in talking about it again. They want us to focus on your recovery and then you make it to the Olympics. She’s trying to figure out how to do that in a way that makes someone watch it”

Jeonghan nodded, feeling guilty. It had been his request to not the documentary so focused on the past and more on what was happening in the moment

“She also doesn’t like sports and hated the idea of the job, but that's beside the point”

Both of them laughed, eyes still on your back now that you talked with Vernon, giving him new instructions.

“I’ll make sure that she gets to do the kind of documentary she thinks is best”

Seungkwan stood up, a big smile on his lips.

“Who could have known that the ice queen and the ice prince aren’t actually that cold”

After months of just rehab, it’s finally time for Jeonghan to get back on the ice and it pained you a little to admit that you were looking forward to it. The videos you watched could only take you so far, you wanted to actually see the real thing. Him, in action.

Of course, you know that he wasn’t going to be able to do a third of the things he did on those videos. But you wanted to see him in his element, how he would behave when he was finally around the thing he loved the most in the world — his words, not yours.

The one thing you were able to learn from Jeonghan was the fact that he indeed loved what he did. Like most people, sometimes he hated it. It was the thing he was most passionate about, yes, but it was also his job, so there were days when he just hated and the mere idea of leaving the house was too much.

It was too hard to be a professional athlete, it demanded way too much of him. Of anyone, really. Sometimes he wanted to be like everyone else and just not put everything he was into it. But if he did that, he lost one single day, he was scared that he could lose an entire year and maybe that year turned into two and then he could lose his chance to go to the Olympics.

And he only had one change left.

So, instead of focusing on much he didn’t want to do, Jeonghan decided to focus on the fact that there was only a year ahead of him and he would be able to do whatever he wanted and have as many down days as he wanted.

He didn’t know what he wanted to do and what would be the after for him but it gave him something to look forward to.

“Are you nervous?” you asked him.

Jeonghan was someone who was mostly quiet. You noticed that once he started to feel more comfortable he was one to start the conversation and even crack a few jokes here and there. Seungkwan had been the first person he kind of opened up to, which had left you a hint of jealousy. You wanted to be one he talked with mostly because it was your job but also just because.

However, he had been especially quiet that day. The three of you went to meet him at his apartment. The idea was that you’d follow him the entire day, from the moment he woke up, to when he went to the doctor to get the final clear and then finally to the ring.

He had talked very little, his eyes always focused somewhere else. It was clear that his mind was traveling somewhere far, far away. So you left him be, quietly watching him just move around. A silent shooting day, you told yourself In the end, however, you had a job and he needed to do the talking.

“It’s been too long,” he said, his eyes never really leaving the ice “I don’t know if I can still do it”

You laughed, causing him to finally look at you, eyes wide on his face. He tried to look serious but the corners of his lips were turned slightly up.

“You just don’t feel confident, but you didn’t forget it” you looked at his ankle, it was still weird to see him without any sort of protection around it “How’s your ankle?”

He just shook his head and in that moment you chose to believe that he was said It doesn’t bother me anymore.

Through the interviews, you found out that Jeonghan is the kind of person to suffer in silence. It was clear from all of his previous injuries, how he competed while in pain and only ever said anything when it was almost too late.

“Do you think I can still do it?”

There was something in his voice like he was almost on the verge of breaking. He sounded vulnerable in a way that was entirely too new, in a way you wanted to push Vernon and his camera away because that was a part of him you knew he didn’t want the world to see.

Instead, you reached for his arm, patting it a couple of times, hoping that your touch, as ungraceful and awkward as it was, was able to soothe him, even if it was just for a moment.

“I was watching some of your competitions last night, again, you know? And that guy? He’s still in there, I’m sure of it, I’ve seen him”

You weren’t just saying that to cheer him up, your words were true. You had seen that version of him, little glimpses here and there. He was in the way his eyes suddenly changed and it was like he owned the entire room, in the way he suddenly turned confident, in the way he was charming in a way that was almost sickening but all too enchanting either way.

Whether or not he believed it himself, Yoon Jeonghan was a force to be reckoned with.

"What kind of kid were you?" you asked, looking up at Jeonghan.

He sat opposite to you, bent down to tie the laces on his skates. His hair covered his face, you were sure that he couldn't see much, but he didn't seem bothered by it in the least. Maybe he had just gotten used to it.

Four months had gone by since you started to follow Jeonghan and even before that, he had kept his hair long. And you hated to admit that he looked good, too good even.

"What kind do you think I was?" He smirked at you for a second before going back to his skates.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help but smile.

"This is not how it works. I ask the questions here"

Jeonghan leaned back on his seat, giving you his full attention. His smirk did something to your insides. It felt tight and loose at the same time, like wild butterflies running around on your skin.

"Come on, humor me"

You pretended to be in deep thought, Jeonghan as a child had been something you thought about for a long time now. Even though he was very serious most of the time there were these small moments where he looked like a kid ready to do something he wasn't supposed to.

"I can only think of you as a troublemaker” you smiled, closing your notes knowing well that you’d make no progress at all with the filming “I’ve seen pictures of you and a child and although you looked very cute, I’m sure you were a handful to your mother”

Jeonghan laughed, throwing his head back and in that moment he looked so carefree.

Even since the start of the documentary Jeonghan had used his most serious expressions, a frown always taking over his beautiful features. But he had been back on the ice for a few days already and in those days he had looked the happiest you had seen him yet.

Of course, he still hasn’t practiced the way he wanted or the way he used to. He still needed to take things slowly: fewer hours, less power in the movements. But it was undeniable that he was a completely different person.

It wasn’t that he had been in a bad mood every single day but there was just something about him in his element, of him doing something he was obviously passionate about, that was so enchanting that it became impossible to look away from him.

“Where did you see those pictures?”

“You do know that I had to google you because I had no idea who you were, right?”

One thing you managed to learn about Jeonghan is the fact that, if in the right mood, he is a trickster and most of all, a flit. You weren’t even sure that he was aware of what he was doing, it seemed like second nature to him.

He put a hand over his chest, faking being in pain. His face contorted and a pout on his lips.

“I thought we were getting to know each other”.

Seungkwan coughed by your side, finally making you remember that there were people around you and that the entire interaction between you and Jeonghan was being recorded.

There was something about Jeonghan that always seemed to make you forget where you were, that maybe there were people around you. You could only suppose that it was the charm of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, who knew how to sweet talk someone.

And Jeonghan knew what he was doing, what kind of words or looks could get a reaction from a woman.

Most of the time while around Jeonghan you had to remind your heart to be calm and quiet. Being around him was a temporary arrangement, as soon as the Olympics started said arrangement would be done and you’d have to go back to your normal life. One that didn’t include Yoon Jeonghan. And you also knew that there wasn’t space for you in his life.

“We’re going to set up the cameras around the ice,” Seungkwan said awkwardly while dragging Verno by the hand.

You watched as the two walked away from you, whispering in secrecy. You could only imagine the kind of things that they were saying. If you knew Seungkwan at all, you were certain that it couldn’t be any good.

“Jeonghan, I ask questions and you answer them. And while one could say that I’m getting to know you, I don’t think it would be possible to say the same thing about me”

Jeongahn's smile was defiant when he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You have a no-bullshit policy, which I should have known, from the start, but I wasn’t expecting someone like you. Although you try really hard to pretend that you’re not, your eyes are kind and you quietly take care of those around you, me included sometimes. You got worried when I was in pain in rehab and when Vernon got hurt it seemed as if you were angry, but you were concerned about him and after that, you asked to have another staff with you so that he wouldn’t need to carry so many things on his own. You and Seungkwan bicker a lot but when he isn’t around for a day you are quieter and your questions have been more direct. That doesn’t make you a lousy documentarist, please don’t think that I’m saying that, you take your job very seriously. I’m saying that you put people above your job. I’m guessing that’s why you wanted to become a documentarist, to begin with, to tell stories”

You stared at him, mouth open wondering just how he had come up with all of that and why he had managed to hit everything right on the stop. Especially the reason why you became a documentarist. It seemed very obvious, yes, but it wasn’t something that you had said.

In fact, your personal life was something that very few people knew. You weren’t one to share your thoughts and what was on your mind with people. Seungkwan was a good friend, but he was a work friend so your personal life was just that, personal. Not that you had someone to share it with, either way.

The apartment was empty when you left and it was in the exact same way and you got back. You were on your own, with no parents, no siblings and most of your friends had given up on you somewhere along the way.

For the longest time, you put your job first. It came before anything and anyone. You were building your career and name at the time so it was hard not to put it first. It was your dream, one that your friends supported at first but were displeased when you decided to put it first.

You had thought that if you made it big on your job if you got hired by a big production company, you’d be able to find the happiness that you had searched for a long time. And while some of it was true, your career was on the right path and you did something you loved, you didn’t have a lot more beyond that going one.

It was become just you and your job.

Was it sad? Yes, but it was also the life you chose.

“Just because I don’t know details of your life, doesn’t mean that I don’t watch you, yn”

You watched as Jeonghan fell for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It didn't make sense, not really. At least not for you. And from the looks of it, for him too.

He was frustrated and completely angry. All those people looking at him, expectations high, waiting for something. He wasn't sure what. For him to fail? To see if he still could do it?

Everything was possible and impossible at the same time.

He couldn't stop his eyes from going after you every time you fell. Somehow, your reaction was the only one that mattered to him. The first few times your face was completely emotionless, as if you were staring at a blank wall. Then Jeonghan fell once again, and again, and again. He stopped counting at 10, but he knew it was much more than that actually. But your gaze, which was fixed on him, became more worried as the minutes passed and he hated being the cause of it.

Somehow, since he met you, only two things were on Jeonghan's mind: skating and you.

He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but you had taken over his every thought. It was as if you had walked through an imaginary door and entered his mind and decided that it was a great place to be.

Even on days when you didn't see each other because there was no recording, he was tempted to talk to you. And on one of those days, he just succumbed to the temptation of picking up the phone and calling you.

“Jeonghan, is everything okay?” was the first thing you said.

He hated that worry was the first emotion he awakened in you. He hated that the first thing you said wasn't "hello" like a normal person. But at the same time, the concern made him feel somehow welcomed. It could, of course, be all in his head, and what he saw as concern for himself was actually concern for the documentary.

"I just wanted to talk," he admitted.

Maybe it was because he had gotten used to talking to you, maybe it was because you offered zero judgment for the way he thought or reacted. Or maybe it was because it was you. Whatever it was, Jeonghan felt comfortable talking to you.

Telling the truth, about everything, was not difficult, in fact, it became something very easy. It was because of you, he knew.

"I realized I don't know anything about you"

You laughed and he listened as you moved through what he imagined to be his apartment.

"That's because I interview you and not the other way around"

He sat on the bed, his legs stretched out in front of him as he supported the rest of his weight on his arms stretched behind him.

"Do you think it's so bad that I know anything about you?"

You remained silent for a few seconds, seeming to think about the idea. It wasn't bad, not at all.

At several moments you found yourself with your cell phone in your hand, ready to send a message or call him. You weren’t sure what, but there was something about Jeonghan that just made you want to tell him everything.

"What do you want to know?" you said with a sigh.

"Whatever you want to share"

The great truth is that very little happened in your life. You lived alone, worked every day, and came home alone. Your last boyfriend, or even a fling, was over a year before. Your friends, if you could call them that, were all from work. Your life was quite still and dull. Even if you wanted to talk about work. Jeonghan was your job. There wasn't much to talk about.

"I don't think I have much to tell" you knew that what you were about to say wasn't the happiest topic in the world, but it was what you had to offer "My mother passed away when I was nineteen, since then I've been alone"

You could still clearly remember the day your father left. There wasn't a fight. He never packed his bag and left. One day he was there when you woke up, he gave you breakfast and took you to school, like he did on most days. But it was his job to pick you up and he never showed up. Your mother showed up instead, her eyes swollen as she did her smile to smile at you and explain to the teacher why she was so late. When you finally got home she said "Now it's just you and me. Daddy had to leave"

For months, years even, you waited for him to come back. You thought one day he would just appear in front of you. You were disappointed when it was your mother who showed up to pick you up when he didn't come to his birthdays when you called the number he had left with his mother and he never answered.

You waited until you turned 18 to go after him. You only had a name, but with that alone, a person can find everything on the internet. You found him in another state, working at a real estate agency. You sat down in front of him and talked for about half an hour. You made up a story about going to college and needing a place to live. You said your name and your mother's name several times, surname and everything, and at no point did he seem to connect one thing to the other. Until the last second, when you said you would think about renting the studio he had suggested, and he walked you to the door. He said, "I left for a reason, don't come back here."

You couldn't believe what you had heard. You couldn't understand why he left and why he never came back. But at that moment you decided that if he didn't want you, you didn't need him. Your mother had worked so hard to make sure you had everything you needed.

Exactly one year later, your mother died in a bizarre car accident. It was like being 7 years old again and losing another person, only in a much more painful way.

"You don’t have any siblings?" Jeonghan's voice on the other end brought you back "Relatives?"

You shook her head, even though you knew he couldn't see you.

"I was an only child, so no siblings. My mom was an orphan so relatives either. My father left when I was a child"

You and Jeonghan spent the whole night on the phone, talking about everything and nothing. From trivial things to more personal matters. His delight upon learning that you didn’t have a boyfriend didn’t go unnoticed.

Calls and messages became commonplace between the two of you. Your heart raced every time a new message arrived and it was hard to hide your disappointment when you realized it wasn't from him. On days when you didn't see each other, you would stare at your phone, waiting for it to ring, waiting for him to call.

So you hoped he understood when you shook your head in his direction, a request written on your face. That's enough for today, you can try more tomorrow, you hoped he would understand.

Instead of trying one more time after he fell once again, he skated to the edge of the ice. His face was red from the effort, and his chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm trying to force air back into his lungs.

"I want everyone out," he said, his voice broken.

Seungkwan and Vernon didn't even question it, they simply started putting away the equipment. Jihoon, who had shown up unexpectedly to "supervise" didn't seem to understand what was going on, but turned to help Vernon.

Jeonghan's coach was the only one who approached him, his hand on the athlete's shoulder.

"Go home, rest. Tomorrow we try again"

Jeonghan shook his head. He would only get out of there after managing to make the damn jump, even if he had to stay the whole night.

"Just half an hour more, but I want to be alone"

The coach clearly didn't like the idea, but he knew it was stupid to try and make Jeonghan change his mind.

You turned to him, looking at his face, trying to figure out if he was in pain or if he was just being a big blockhead. Without giving yourself the luxury of thinking about what you were doing, you placed your hand over Jeonghan's and squeezed for a second. You hoped he understood what you meant.

"You have to rest"

You knew everyone was watching, that despite saying they were leaving they weren't actually moving. Jeonghan didn't seem to care and for a moment you decided not to care either.

“Stay,” he said softly, so only you could hear him “please.”

Some strands of hair were stuck to Jeonghan's face, you wanted to get them out of his face, but caution spoke louder. You looked over your shoulder and everyone was still looking at the two of you, but as soon as they noticed your gaze they started moving again. Seungkwan shouted “We’re leaving” and seconds later the door slammed.

Finally, you were alone.

“You have to rest,” you said again.

You took advantage of the fact that no one else was there and removed the strands of hair stuck to his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. Jeonghan sighed, his eyes closing as he leaned towards you. Just that little touch wasn't enough.

“I need to get it right”

"If you stop now and rest you will know what you are doing wrong"

A half smile shined on Jeonghan's face as he leaned further into the barrier, his face just inches away from his.

"My ego loves it when you say I'm doing something wrong”

You pushed him back, needing a little bit more space to yourself. He was too close, you could feel his breath on your nose and cheeks. It was suddenly as if the world was made of Yoon Jeonghan, it was just him and no one else.

“I’m sure your ego will be just fine”

Instead of pulling your hand back, you allowed it to stay in his chest. Jeonghan smiled for a second before pressing his hand over yours.

“Just another 30 minutes” he repeated what he said to his coach “I promise I’ll stop in precisely 30 minutes”

You nodded with a sigh. There was nothing you could do to stop him. Something told you that even if you threatened him to leave he would stay and practice, he would stay on the ice for far more than just 30 minutes if you weren’t around.

So you sat down and waited for him. And he fell time and time again, his face growing displeased with himself at each passing second, each time he jumped but didn't manage to land.

Jeonghan had done that same jump countless times before with ease as if one's body would simply perform such movements. To him, it always seemed as easy as walking. You had seen it in all of his videos, almost in trance by him.

“If you’re not done in twenty-one minutes” you pretended to look at your imaginary watch “I’m taking you out of there by force”

Jeonghan threw his head back, laughing.

“Remember when you said that you never skated before?” Jeonghan asked after finally being able to breathe properly again.

You weren’t too sure how, but he had stopped after 30 minutes. A big smile on his face after he managed to land the jump after so many tries. After getting it right once, he didn’t get it wrong again. It was like something clicked inside his brain as if he had found the last missing piece of the puzzle.

Of all the things you said to Jeonghan, from the most personal to the most trivial, that was, by far, the only one you regretted. You had told him over the phone but he looked horrified, it was easy to imagine the wide eyes on his face.

But him standing there, in front of you, with a smile that could only be seen on the face of a mischievous child, said much more than any words he could utter.

“No,” you said, shaking your head, already moving back.

You had learned several peculiarities about Jeonghan in all the months you spent by his side, and one of the most glaring was the look in his eyes when he was about to do something he shouldn't.

“You have to try, at least once” his lips were a mixture of a smile and a pout “You will have the best teacher in the world”

You saw it and shook your head again.

“I can’t trust a teacher who spent the day falling” you pointed to the rink behind him.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You didn't know if your words would offend him, you hoped he knew it wasn't your intention. But you also knew that hell was paved with good intentions. Jeonghan was silent for a minute, his face serious, his eyes not leaving yours for an entire minute.

Then he smiled, his nose wrinkling a little as he laughed, loudly. It didn't take long for you to join him.

“You’re evil,” he said, trying to control himself, but failing “This way you’re going to break my heart”

“I think there are few things in this world that can break your heart.”

You would definitely be one of them, Jeonghan wanted to say, but he held his tongue in his mouth. He knew he couldn't say that, he knew that any word said wrongly could simply ruin everything he had built so far. If he could even say he built something. He liked to think so.

From the first time you spoke, Jeonghan knew there was no going back, at least for him. He had never done anything like that. He had never called someone in the middle of the night simply because he wanted to hear someone's voice. And in this case, it wasn't just someone's voice, it was your voice that he wanted to hear.

With each passing sentence, Jeonghan found himself falling more in love with you and he wasn't able to say why. Maybe he could blame it on your eyes, always so focused, but somehow when they turned to him, they seemed so sweet and sincere. Or your voice, which gave orders and asked incisive questions, but as soon as the cameras were turned off it became gentle and almost shy. Maybe it was the fact that you seemed like a lioness when you were working, never giving space for unfounded questions, but you were shy when it was just the two of you alone.

He liked this version of you, who was right in front of him, who seemed completely comfortable with him, to the point of making jokes — something that until that moment you hadn't done yet.

“We always have extra pairs in the back, I'm sure one of them is your size” he had made sure you would, with Seungkwan's help of course “And then we try it, what do you think?”

Even though you were shaking your head, you went to the closet where you knew the skates were stored.

With your knees bent and shaking, you stepped onto the ice and immediately regretted giving in to Jeonghan's will. You didn't know how he had managed it, but in the closet, there was a brand new pair of skates, your size. Jeonghan had smiled as he bent down to tie your shoelaces,

“I’m going to fall flat on my face,” you said as you grabbed the bars.

Jeonghan held your face in his hands, your eyes fixed on his.

“I won’t let you fall”

The way the words left his lips made your heart skip a beat, or maybe several of them. You could feel it on the back of your throat and you could swear that your hands shook a little as you accepted the hand Jeonghan had extended to you.

You wished it could just stop. Not for your heart to stop beating altogether but for it to stop reacting to Jeonghan. Everything changed after that first call and you weren’t too sure of where it was. He had, someway, somehow, become a pivotal point of you. His voice, his eyes. The way tingles started to run down through your body the moment his skin came in touch with yours. How, despite all odds, he made you feel safe in a way you weren’t too sure you had ever experienced before.

When he said that he wasn’t going to you fall, you believed him so you held his hands — strong enough that you were sure were hurting him but he didn't seem to mind — and allowed Jeonghan to pull you into the rink.

“Don't move your feet” he said, voice ever so sweet but with a slight hint of teasing “I know it's probably hard, but let me take control here”

Forcing out all of the remaining air inside your lungs, you did as he asked. Instead of keeping your focus on the ice under your feet, you kept them in Jeonghan's face. A mistake, of course.

His eyes were too intense if you could say that. You didn't want to understand what was happening. Perhaps for the first time since you met Jeonghan, you didn't want to understand what it could mean. You were scared. What, exactly, you weren’t sure.

“I didn’t even have to ask you to look at me,” he said and you laughed a little, automatically looking away “Keep looking at me”

The whole experience of skating for the first time, or being guided, was not being registered by your brain. All you could see, think, feel, was Jeonghan, as if he had become a central point of everything.

“I think we should stop here”

You hoped your voice was loud enough and judging by the look on Jeonghan's face, it was. The smile fell from his lips and it was as if a small light in his eyes had gone out.

You hated that you were the one causing that reaction in him, but you knew it was best to stop everything before it went too far.

"I thought that…"

“We can’t blur the lines that much” you shook your head.

You didn't know exactly who you were trying to convince, him or you. You also weren't sure you had to convince yourself of anything. It was as if your brain had split in two. One part, probably the loudest, wanted you to just let things happen. You knew you weren't doing anything wrong, you weren't doing anything much really. What you did outside of your working hours and who you did it with was your problem and no one else's.

But the other part, one that spoke softly and that should have had much less strength, said it was dangerous, but also didn't offer much reason to be dangerous.

Yet somehow, that was the side you chose to listen to.

"Why?" He asked forcing his feet to the ground, making the two of you stand in the center of the rink. “What line are we blurring?”

You shook your head, hands clinging to his waist as you felt your feet begin to slide.

“I don’t know” you whispered in response “We are working”

Jeonghan leaned forward and pressed his lips to your cheek. With a sigh, he let his forehead fall onto your shoulder and closed his eyes.

You didn't know exactly where your skepticism came from, but you were also sure it wasn't completely unfounded. But truth be told, you wanted to blur that line and any others that might appear along the way.

“Go on a date with me,” he said “If you still feel that way, there’s nothing we can do. Just don’t… don’t stop something that hasn’t even started yet”

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