igorluvr

[igorluvr]

literally perfection

Deliver us from evil

Namgyu x female reader

Your junkie ex-boyfriend pays you an unexpected visit. warnings: graphic depictions of emotional abuse, drug addiction, verbal degradation, non-consensual themes, and toxic, sexually explicit content.

  

The apartment felt hollow without his presence, though you’d never admit that out loud. Not to your parents, not to your pastor, and certainly not to yourself during those late-night conversations with God. The silence was different now, not the comfortable quiet of solitude, but the oppressive kind that seemed to press against your chest and remind you of everything that used to fill this space.

  You knelt beside your bed, the same worn carpet beneath your knees that had cushioned countless prayers over the past three years. The rosary beads felt familiar between your fingers, smooth from use, each one a small anchor in the storm that had become your life. Your parents had given you this rosary back when your biggest worry was whether you’d remember all the prayers correctly.

  That felt like a lifetime ago.

  “Heavenly Father,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the darkness. The words came automatically, a rhythm you’d learned before you could properly tie your shoes. “I come before you tonight with a heavy heart.”

  The prayer felt different now. Before Namgyu, your conversations with God had been simple, gratitude for your family, pleas for good grades, hopes for a future husband who would love you and lead you closer to faith. Now your prayers were messy, complicated things full of contradictions that would make your youth pastor’s head spin.

  You remember you’d met him outside a coffee shop near campus, of all places. He was leaning against the glass door, chain-smoking and handing out glossy flyers for some sketchy club downtown. And your parents had been suspicious from the start. “There’s something about him,” your mother had said after their first meeting, her lips pressed into that thin line that appeared whenever she disapproved of something. “He seems… troubled.”

  But you’d seen something else. Beneath the tired eyes and the way he sometimes fidgeted when he thought no one was looking, you’d seen someone who was searching. Someone who asked the right questions, even if he didn’t have the answers. You’d convinced yourself that was enough, that love could bridge the gap between his searching and your certainty.

“Watch over him tonight, Lord,” you continued, your forehead pressed against your clasped hands. “Keep him safe from harm, from himself, from the darkness that seems to follow him.”

  The irony wasn’t lost on you. Even now, even after everything, you were still praying for him. Still hoping that somehow, some way, he would find his way back to the light you’d tried so desperately to show him.

  The first time you’d seen him use, you’d told yourself it was just marijuana. Everyone experimented in college, right? Even some of the kids from your youth group had tried it, though they’d never admit. You’d prayed about it, asked God to help you guide Namgyu away from substances that clouded his judgment and separated him from divine purpose.

  But marijuana had been just the beginning.

  “I don’t understand,” you’d said to him one night, maybe six months into your relationship. You’d found the small baggie in his jacket pocket while looking for his keys. The white powder inside had made your stomach drop. “Why do you need this?”

  He’d gotten defensive, the way he always did when you asked questions he didn’t want to answer. “You wouldn’t understand,” he’d said, snatching the baggie from your hands. “Your life is perfect. You have your little prayers and your perfect family and your perfect faith. Some of us aren’t so lucky.”

  You’d tried to explain that faith wasn’t about luck, that it was about choice, about opening your heart to God’s love. But Namgyu had looked at you like you were speaking a foreign language, like the words coming out of your mouth were incomprehensible.

  That should have been your first warning. Maybe it was, and you’d just chosen to ignore it.

   “Please, God,” you whispered now, your voice cracking slightly.        

  “Please help me understand why loving him wasn’t enough. Help me understand what I could have done differently.”

  The guilt was the worst part. Your pastor had told you that addiction was a disease, that you couldn’t love someone into recovery. But late at night, when the apartment was too quiet and the absence of his presence felt like a physical ache, you wondered if you’d given up too easily. If you’d prayed harder, loved stronger, been more patient…

  But then you’d remember the last night, the night that had finally broken something inside you that you weren’t sure could be repaired.

  He’d been gone for three days. Three days of unanswered calls and texts, of driving by his usual spots, of calling his few friends who still spoke to him. You’d been sick with worry, imagining him overdosed in some alley or arrested or worse. Your parents had begged you to stay with them, but you’d insisted on staying at the apartment in case he came back.

  When he’d finally stumbled through the door at two in the morning, you’d been so relieved you’d almost cried. Until you’d seen his eyes. Pupils dilated, movements erratic, words slurred and aggressive.

  “Where have you been?” you’d asked, and he’d laughed, a sound devoid of any humor.

  “That’s none of your fucking business,” he’d said, his voice dripping with contempt. “Is there anything to eat in this shithole?”

  You’d smelled the alcohol on his breath, seen the way his hands shook. But what had terrified you most was the stranger looking back at you from his eyes. The Namgyu you’d fallen in love with, the one who’d quoted scripture ironically but with somewhat curiosity, who’d listened to your stories about youth group with affectionate amusement, was gone.

  “I was worried about you,” you’d said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I thought something had happened.”

  “Something did happen,” he’d said, moving closer to you in a way that made your skin crawl. “I realized what a fucking joke this all is. You, me, this whole thing. You think you’re saving me? You think your little prayers and your innocent act make you better than me?”

  The words had stung, but you’d heard them before. What was new was the way he’d grabbed your arm when you’d tried to walk away, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks.

  “Let go of me,” you’d said, your voice barely above a whisper.

  “Why?” he’d asked, his grip tightening. “Afraid I’ll corrupt your precious purity? Afraid I’ll drag you down to my level?”

  For a moment, you’d seen something in his eyes that had made your blood run cold. A potential for violence that you’d never seen before, a willingness to hurt you that went beyond words. Your heart had hammered against your ribs as you’d realized how alone you were, how far you’d let yourself drift from the people who actually cared about your wellbeing.

  “Please,” you’d whispered, and something in your voice must have gotten through to him because he’d released you suddenly, stumbling backward like he’d been burned.

  “Shit,” he’d said, staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I would never…”

  But you’d already seen the truth. You’d seen what he was capable of, what the drugs were turning him into. And you’d realized that all your prayers, all your love, all your desperate attempts to save him had only enabled him to sink deeper into a darkness that was consuming him from the inside out.

  The next morning, you’d found your jewelry box empty and several bills missing from your purse. He’d been gone when you’d woken up, and you’d known with crystal clarity that you couldn’t do this anymore.

  “Give me strength,” you prayed now, your voice steadier than it had been in weeks. “Help me forgive him, and help me forgive myself.”

  The breakup had been messy, painful in ways you hadn’t expected. Not because he’d fought for you, he’d barely seemed to register that you were serious when you’d told him it was over. But because cutting him out of your life had felt like amputating a part of yourself.

  Your parents had been relieved, though they’d tried to hide it. Your mother had made your favorite dinner and sat with you while you’d cried, stroking your hair and whispering that it was for the best. Your father had simply hugged you and said that sometimes loving someone meant letting them go.

  But letting go was easier said than done.

  The apartment still smelled like him sometimes. Cigarettes and that cologne he’d worn, the one that had been too expensive for his budget but that he’d insisted on buying anyway. His comics were still on the shelf, the ones he’d left behind in his hasty departure. You’d thought about packing them up, donating them or throwing them away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

  Maybe some part of you was still hoping he’d come back for them. Maybe some part of you was still hoping he’d come back for you.

  “Help him find peace,” you whispered, finishing your prayer. “Help him find his way back to you, even if it’s not through me.”

  You crossed yourself and rose from your knees, your legs stiff from kneeling. The apartment felt even quieter now, the silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic from the street below.

  Coffee. You needed coffee, or maybe tea. Something warm to chase away the chill that seemed to have settled in your bones.

  You padded to the kitchen in your bare feet, your pajamas soft against your skin. The routine of making coffee was comforting, measuring out the grounds, filling the pot with water, pressing the button and listening to the familiar gurgle as the machine came to life.

  It was then that you heard it.

  The knocking started soft, almost tentative, like whoever was on the other side of the door wasn’t sure they wanted to be there. But it grew more insistent, more desperate, until it became a pounding that echoed through the small apartment.

  Your heart stopped.

  You knew that knock. You’d heard it a thousand times before. When he’d forgotten his keys, when he’d come home late and didn’t want to wake you, when he’d been too high to figure out how to use his key properly.

  “I know you’re in there,” his voice came through the door, muffled but unmistakable. “I can see the light. Just… just open the door, okay? I forgot something. I need to get something.”

  You stood frozen in the kitchen, your hand still on the coffee maker. This was not happening. This could not be happening. Not tonight, not after you’d finally started to feel like you were healing.

  “Please,” he said, and his voice cracked on the word. “I just need five minutes. I forgot something important.”

  The rational part of your mind, the part that sounded like your mother and your pastor and every self-help book you’d ever read, told you to ignore him. To let him knock until he got tired and went away. To protect yourself from whatever chaos he was bringing to your door.

  But the part of you that had loved him, that maybe still loved him despite everything, wanted to know what he’d forgotten. Wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay, to convince yourself that he was someone else’s problem now.

  “Go away, Namgyu,” you called out, your voice stronger than you felt. “You don’t live here anymore.”

  The knocking stopped for a moment, and you thought maybe he’d listened. Maybe he’d finally developed enough respect for your boundaries to leave you alone.

  Then it started again, harder this time.

  “Don’t be like this,” he said, his voice taking on an edge you recognized. “I’m not asking for much. Just let me get my stuff and I’ll leave. You’ll never have to see me again.”

  “You already got your stuff,” you said, moving closer to the door despite yourself. “You took everything when you left.”

  “I fucking missed something,” he said. “Something important. Something I can’t replace.”

  You pressed your forehead against the door, trying to steady your breathing. Through the peephole, you could see him swaying slightly, his hair disheveled, his clothes wrinkled like he’d been sleeping in them. Even in the dim hallway light, you could see the familiar signs, the restless energy, the way he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot, the slight tremor in his hands.

  He was high.

  “What did you forget?” you asked, though you weren’t sure why you were engaging with him at all.

  “Just… something,” he said, and you could hear the desperation creeping into his voice. “Look, I know you hate me, okay? I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. But I’m not asking for forgiveness here. I’m just asking for five minutes to get something that belongs to me.”

  “Everything that belongs to you is already gone,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction. “I don’t have anything of yours.”

 “You’re lying,” he said, and his voice was getting louder now, more agitated. “You’re fucking lying and you know it. Just open the goddamn door!”

  The coffee maker beeped behind you, signaling that your coffee was ready. The sound seemed obscenely normal, ridiculously domestic, in the face of the chaos brewing outside your door.

  “Stop yelling,” you said. “You’re going to wake up the neighbors.”

  “I don’t give a shit about the neighbors,” he said, and you could hear him pacing now, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. “I don’t give a shit about anything except getting what’s mine.”

  This was the Namgyu you’d learned to fear, the one who emerged when the drugs took hold and stripped away everything that had made him human. The one who’d grabbed your arm that last night, who’d looked at you like you were an obstacle to be removed rather than a person he’d claimed to love.

  “Please don’t make me call the police,” you said, though you weren’t sure you’d actually do it.

  “Call them,” he said, and you could hear the bitter laugh in his voice. “Call them and tell them what? That your junkie ex-boyfriend is asking for his stuff back? That’ll go over real well.”

  You closed your eyes, trying to think. Every instinct you had was screaming at you to keep the door closed, to wait until he got tired and left. But you also knew Namgyu well enough to know that he could be incredibly persistent when he wanted something. He’d stand out there all night if he had to, pounding on the door and yelling until someone called the police anyway.

  “What did you forget?” you asked again.

  “Just… let me in and I’ll show you,” he said. “I promise I’ll be quick. I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”

  His promises had been worthless for months now, but there was something different in his voice. Something that sounded almost like the old Namgyu, the one who’d listened to your dreams about the future.

  “You’re high,” you said. It wasn’t a question.

  “I’m fine,” he said, but you could hear the lie in his voice. “I’m totally fine. Just let me in.”

  The pounding started again, more desperate now. You could hear him pressing his whole body against the door, could feel the vibration through the wood.

  “Please,” he said, and his voice broke completely. “Please, I’m begging you. I know I don’t deserve it, I know I fucked everything up, but I’m begging you. Just five minutes.”

  And then, to your horror, you heard something that made your resolve crumble completely.

  He was crying.

  Not the angry, frustrated tears of someone who wasn’t getting their way, but the broken, desperate sobs of someone who had reached the end of their rope. Through the door, you could hear him slide down to the floor, could hear the way his breathing hitched between sobs.

  “I’m sorry,” he was saying, over and over. “I’m so fucking sorry. I know I ruined everything. I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve anything from you. But please, please just let me get this one thing.”

  Your hand was on the deadbolt before you’d consciously decided to move. Every rational thought in your head was screaming at you to stop, to think about what you were doing, to remember why you’d ended things in the first place.

  But the sound of his crying was breaking something inside you, cracking open the careful walls you’d built around your heart over the past month.

  The deadbolt clicked open, and you heard him scramble to his feet. You undid the chain lock with shaking hands, your mind still not quite believing what you were doing.

  When you opened the door, the sight of him nearly brought you to your knees.

  He looked terrible. Worse than you’d ever seen him. His clothes were dirty and wrinkled, his hair greasy and unkempt. But it was his eyes that made your breath catch. They were hollow, desperate, with the glassy shine that meant he was definitely under the influence of something stronger than alcohol.

  He’d lost weight, you realized. His cheekbones were more prominent, his clothes hanging loose on his frame. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a cut on his lip that looked recent.

  “Jesus, Namgyu,” you whispered, and he flinched at the sound of his name.

  “Thank you,” he said, and his voice was hoarse from crying. “Thank you for letting me in.”

  He stepped past you into the apartment, and you caught a whiff of his scent, unwashed clothes, cigarettes, and something chemical that made your stomach turn. This wasn’t the Namgyu you’d fallen in love with. This wasn’t even the Namgyu you’d broken up with.

  This was someone else entirely.

  “What did you forget?” you asked, closing the door behind him but leaving it unlocked. You needed to be able to get him out quickly if things went south.

  “I’ll know it when I see it,” he said, already moving toward the bedroom. “Just… just give me a minute to look around.”

  “Namgyu, wait,” you said, but he was already disappearing down the hallway.

  You stood in the living room, your heart hammering against your ribs, listening to the sounds of him moving around in what used to be your shared bedroom. You could hear drawers opening and closing, the sound of things being moved around.

  What could he have possibly forgotten? You’d been meticulous when he’d moved out, making sure every item of his clothing, every book, every random possession had been packed up and removed. You’d even found things you’d forgotten were his, a phone charger, a coffee mug, a book of poetry that had been tucked behind your dresser.

  The coffee maker beeped again, reminding you that your coffee was getting cold. Almost without thinking, you moved to the kitchen and poured two cups, one for you, one for him. It was automatic, muscle memory from hundreds of mornings spent sharing coffee before he’d started his downward spiral.

  You’d just finished adding cream to his cup the way he liked it when you heard him coming back down the hallway. You turned to face him, the two mugs in your hands, and immediately knew that something had changed.

  His eyes were different now. Not just high, but dark in a way that made your skin crawl. There was something predatory in his gaze, something that hadn’t been there when he’d been begging at your door just minutes ago.

  “Find what you were looking for?” you asked, your voice carefully neutral.

  He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze flicking between your face and the coffee mugs in your hands. Then, slowly, he smiled.

But it wasn’t a nice smile.

  He didn’t answer your question. Instead, he moved toward you with that predatory grace you’d seen before, when the drugs made him feel invincible and dangerous. The space between you seemed to shrink as he approached, his movements deliberate and unsettling.

  Without warning, he reached out and grabbed one of the coffee mugs from your hands, his fingers deliberately brushing against yours. His skin was clammy and cold, and you instinctively pulled back from the contact.

  You watched in growing alarm as he lifted the mug to his lips, took a long sip, and then immediately spat the hot liquid across your kitchen floor. Coffee splattered against the cabinets, dark stains spreading across the white surfaces you’d scrubbed clean just yesterday.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, staring at the mess he’d created.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, that unsettling smile never leaving his face. “Tastes like shit,” he said, dropping the mug carelessly onto the counter. “When did you start making coffee this shitty? You used to make it strong, the way I liked it.”

  “It’s late, and I don’t make coffee for you anymore,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I make it for me.”

  “Right,” he said, drawing out the word like it tasted bitter. “Of course you do.”

  He was already reaching into his jacket pocket, and you felt your stomach drop as you saw what he was pulling out. A crumpled pack of cigarettes, the kind he’d smoked constantly toward the end of your relationship. The kind that had made your apartment reek of smoke and reminded you daily of his deteriorating condition.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” you said immediately, panic rising in your voice. “This is my apartment now, Namgyu. You can’t just—”

  He laughed, the sound harsh and grating in the small space. The cigarette was already between his lips, and he was flicking his lighter with practiced ease. The flame cast dancing shadows across his gaunt face, making him look almost demonic in the dim kitchen light.

  “Can’t I?” he said around the cigarette, his words slightly muffled. 

“Since when do you make the rules?”

  “Since you moved out,” you said, your voice rising. “Since you decided to throw away everything we had for whatever poison you’re putting in your body now.”

  The cigarette was lit now, and he took a long drag, the tip glowing orange in the darkness. When he exhaled, the smoke hit you directly in the face, making you cough and step backward.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” you repeated, more desperately now. “The lease says no smoking. I could get evicted. Please, just—”

  “Shut up, you fucking bitch ” he said, his voice suddenly cold and sharp. “Just shut the fuck up for five seconds.”

  He held up his free hand, palm facing you, and before you could process what he was doing, he pressed the lit end of the cigarette directly into his skin.

  The sizzle was immediate and horrifying. The smell of burning flesh hit you like a physical blow, acrid and nauseating. You watched in horror as his skin blistered and burned, the cigarette tip eating through his palm like it was paper. He didn’t even flinch. His eyes never left yours, watching your reaction with something that looked almost like satisfaction. The pain should have been excruciating, but he might as well have been pressing the cigarette into a piece of wood for all the reaction he showed.

  “You’re insane,” you whispered, backing away from him until your back hit the refrigerator. “You’re absolutely fucking insane.”

  He dropped the cigarette to the floor, grinding it under his heel without breaking eye contact. The burn on his palm was already turning an angry red, the skin raised and blistered in a perfect circle.

  “Maybe I am,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “Maybe that’s what happens when an ungrateful bitch like you decides I’m not worth saving.”

  “You need to leave,” you said, your voice shaking so badly you could barely get the words out. “Right now. Get whatever you came for and get out, or I swear to God I’ll scream loud enough for the whole building to hear.”

  “Oh, you’ll scream for your neighbors,” he said, tilting his head like he was genuinely curious. “But you won’t scream for your precious God? What happened to all that faith, sweetheart? What happened to loving your enemies and turning the other cheek?”

  The way he said ‘sweetheart’ made bile rise in your throat. It was the same endearment he’d used when you’d first started dating, when he’d whisper it against your ear. Now it sounded like a mockery, like he was throwing your shared intimacy back in your face.

  “Don’t call me that,” you warned, but he was already moving again.

He reached into his pocket with his uninjured hand, his movements deliberate and slow, like he was savoring whatever moment was about to come. When he pulled his hand back out, your world tilted sideways.

  Dangling from his fingers was a pair of underwear. Your underwear. But not just any pair, these were new, delicate, nothing like the practical cotton ones you’d always worn when you were together. These were black lace, with tiny ribbons at the sides, the kind of thing you’d bought after the breakup in some desperate attempt to feel beautiful again.

“Found what I was looking for,” he said, his voice thick with something that made your skin crawl.

  The coffee mug you’d been holding slipped from your numb fingers, shattering against the kitchen floor. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden silence, ceramic shards scattering across the linoleum like broken promises.

  “Where did you—” you started, but the words died in your throat.

  The violation of it hit you like a physical blow. He’d been in your bedroom, going through your drawers, touching your most intimate belongings. The thought of his hands on your things, searching through your underwear drawer like he had some right to be there, made you feel sick.

  “Why were you going through my things?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

  His expression changed instantly, the predatory smile vanishing and being replaced by something much darker. His eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, his voice was full of rage.

  “You want to know why?” he snarled, his grip tightening on the underwear. “Because when you were with me, you always wore those fucking granny panties. Those ugly, beige, cotton pieces of shit that covered everything. And now I’m gone and you’re pulling out this sexy lingerie bullshit?”

  He threw the underwear at you, the fabric hitting your chest before falling to the floor among the broken ceramic. You flinched as if he’d struck you, the violation of the gesture making you feel dirty and exposed.

  “Who are you fucking?” he demanded, taking a step closer to you. 

  “Huh? Who’s the bastard who gets to see you in that shit? Some clean-cut Christian boy from your church? Someone your parents would actually approve of?”

  “Nobody,” you said, but your voice came out weak and unconvincing.

  “Bullshit,” he spat. “You don’t buy underwear like that for nobody. You don’t start dressing like a whore unless someone’s paying attention.”

  The word hit you like a slap, and you felt tears starting to burn behind your eyes. This wasn’t the Namgyu you’d fallen in love with. This wasn’t even the broken, desperate man who’d been destroying himself with drugs. This was something else entirely, something cruel and vicious that had taken up residence in his body.

  “Get out,” you said, your voice stronger now. “Get out of my apartment right now.”

  “Or what?” he sneered, kicking at the broken ceramic on the floor. “You’ll call your daddy? Tell him the big bad junkie is being mean to his precious little angel?”

  “Fuck you,” you spat, the words tearing out of your throat before you could stop them. You never cursed, your parents had raised you better than that, but something about his presence in your space was bringing out a side of you that you didn’t recognize.

  “There she is,” he said, his eyes lighting up with sick satisfaction. “There’s the real you. Not the perfect little church girl act you put on for everyone else.”

  “You don’t know shit about the real me,” you shot back, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “The real me got tired of watching you destroy yourself. The real me got tired of making excuses for a pathetic loser who chose drugs over everything else.”

  His face twisted with rage, and before you could react, he grabbed the remaining coffee mug from the counter and hurled it at the wall next to your head. You ducked instinctively as ceramic exploded against the drywall, shards raining down around you.

  “Pathetic loser?” he screamed. “I’m a pathetic loser? You’re the one who’s so desperate for attention that you’re buying slutty underwear the second I’m gone!”

  Without thinking, you grabbed the sugar bowl from the counter and threw it at him. It caught him in the shoulder, white granules scattering across the floor as the bowl shattered.

  “I bought them for me!” you screamed back. “Because for the first time in months, I wanted to feel like a woman instead of a fucking babysitter!”

  “Bullshit!” He was advancing on you now, his burned hand leaving bloody smears on whatever he touched. “You bought them for whoever you’re spreading your legs for now. Some clean-cut asshole who doesn’t know what a manipulative bitch you really are.”

  “You’re insane!” You grabbed a dinner plate from the drying rack and hurled it at his head. He dodged, and it smashed against the refrigerator. “You’re a paranoid, delusional piece of shit who can’t stand the thought that someone might actually be happy without you!”

  “Happy?” he laughed, the sound completely unhinged. “You call this happy? Living alone in this shithole, buying fancy underwear for nobody, pretending like you don’t miss what we had?”

  “What we had was toxic!” you screamed, throwing a fork at him that clattered harmlessly against the wall. “What we had was me enabling your addiction while you stole from me and treated me like garbage!”

  “I never treated you like garbage,” he snarled, grabbing a coffee mug from the counter and slamming it down so hard the handle broke off. “I fucking loved you!”

  “You loved having someone to take care of you!” You were both circling each other now like animals, the kitchen floor littered with broken dishes and spilled coffee. “You loved having someone to clean up your messes and make excuses for you and pretend like everything was fine while you flushed your life down the drain!”

  “That’s not true,” he said, but his voice was less certain now, more desperate. “That’s not fucking true and you know it.”

  “It is true!” you shouted. “And you know what the worst part is? I actually thought I could save you. I thought if I just loved you enough, prayed hard enough, you’d get clean. But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved!”

  “I never asked you to save me!” he screamed, his face contorted with rage and pain. “I never asked for your prayers or your judgment or your perfect little Christian conscience!”

  “Then what did you ask for?” you demanded. “What did you want from me, Namgyu?”

  “I wanted you to love me!” he roared. “I wanted you to fucking love me without trying to fix me! I wanted you to accept me the way I am instead of constantly trying to turn me into someone else!”

  “The way you are is broken!” you screamed back. “The way you are is sick and destructive and—”

  You never got to finish the sentence because suddenly he was across the kitchen, his hands tangling in your hair, pulling your face toward his. His mouth crashed against yours with desperate violence, all teeth and desperation and the taste of cigarettes and something chemical that made you gag.

  You tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong, his fingers twisted in your hair so tightly that moving sent shooting pains across your scalp. His kiss was nothing like the gentle, hesitant kisses from when you’d first started dating. This was possession, domination, an attempt to reclaim something that had never really belonged to him.

When he finally released you, you stumbled backward, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You could taste blood. Whether his or yours, you couldn’t tell.

  The look on his face made your blood run cold. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated, but there was something else there now. Something calculating and dangerous that made every instinct in your body scream at you to run.

  “You still taste the same,” he said softly, and the quiet tone was somehow more terrifying than all his screaming had been.

  You stared at him, wide-eyed, stunned into stillness. The world felt off-kilter, your breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts as your back pressed into the edge of the fridge. The ache in your scalp from where he’d yanked your hair hadn’t faded, but it was the look in his eyes that left you shaking, like he’d seen straight through your defenses and found the part of you that still wanted something from him.

  You hated yourself for it.

  “Don’t touch me,” you managed to whisper, your voice cracking mid-sentence. “Please, just—just go.”

  But the tears were already falling, hot and heavy and ugly, streaming down your cheeks in uneven lines. You weren’t crying pretty, and you didn’t care. Your nose was running, your lips trembling, your whole body shuddering from the aftermath of the argument and that violent kiss. You could taste him in your mouth, and it made you want to crawl out of your own skin.

  He didn’t back away.

  He watched you like you were a movie he’d seen a dozen times, like he already knew how this scene ended. When he stepped closer, you flinched, your hands curling into fists at your sides like you could punch the pain out of the air.

  But you didn’t move. You didn’t stop him.

  Because some sick, buried part of you still remembered what it felt like to be touched by him when things were good. Before the lies. Before the drugs. Before the nights you sat by the window waiting, praying, begging God to bring him home alive.

  That part of you still lived somewhere inside your ribcage. And she wasn’t gone yet.

  “Don’t cry like that,” he said, his voice low, rough, familiar in the way poison is familiar to someone dying slow. He reached up and wiped your cheek with his burned hand, the smell of scorched skin still thick in the air. “It makes me hard.”

  You choked on a sob, horrified at yourself for the way your thighs clenched at his words. Your whole body was betraying you, rewiring itself around him like muscle memory.

  “I hate you,” you breathed, but even you weren’t sure if it was the truth.

  “I know,” he said, stepping even closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You hate me. You miss me. You fucking need me.”

  Before you could protest, before you could gather any coherent thought, he spun you around and shoved you forward until your hips slammed against the kitchen counter. You gasped, your palms bracing against the cool surface, your chest rising and falling with shallow, frantic breaths.

  “I said no—” you started, but the words died the moment you felt his hand between your thighs, bold and possessive like he had every right to touch you. You should’ve stopped him. You should’ve screamed. But instead, you bucked into his hand like your body remembered something your soul wanted to forget.

  “You wore this for someone else?” he growled against your ear, yanking the lace panties down your thighs in one rough motion. “Some loser church boy with?”

  “No,” you whispered, tears falling anew as his fingers traced over your folds with slow, humiliating familiarity. “I wore them for me…”

  “Liar,” he hissed, slapping the inside of your thigh. “Fucking liar. You wore them for attention. You wanted someone to look at you and think, ‘I bet she fucks like a whore when the lights are off.’ Isn’t that right?”

  Your breath hitched. His fingers slipped inside you, two at once, deep and practiced, curling just right as your knees buckled.

  “Namgyu—”

  He growled low in his throat, grabbing a fistful of your hair again and yanking your head back. “Say my name again. Go on. You’re already dripping down my fingers, might as well admit how much you missed this cock.”

  You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood. And still, you didn’t tell him to stop.

  He shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself, and a second later, he was pushing into you hard and fast, with no preamble, no mercy, no illusion of tenderness. You gasped, the stretch sharp and unrelenting, your cheek pressed against the cool countertop as he buried himself to the hilt.

  “Still so tight,” he groaned, one hand gripping your waist, the other pressing down on your back to keep you bent for him. “Like your pussy knows it belongs to me.”

  You sobbed again, the shame and arousal mixing in a sickening cocktail that flooded your veins. His thrusts were brutal, punishing, fast. His hips slamming into the backs of your thighs as he used you like a thing, like a possession he’d left behind and come back to reclaim.

  “You think anyone else could fuck you like this?” he sneered, pounding into you harder. “You think some little church boy could make you moan like a slut while crying on your knees?”

  Your mouth opened but no sound came out. He had you folded over the counter like a doll, your hands slipping on the surface as he drilled into you, as he took and took like you owed him every last drop of what was left.

  “Who does this pussy belong to?” he growled, his hand wrapping around your throat as he fucked into you deeper.

  You couldn’t answer.

  He squeezed just enough to make your head swim.

  “Say it.”

  “Y-You,” you sobbed, your voice cracked and broken. “It’s yours. It’s always been yours.”

  “Damn right it is.” His voice was like gravel, low and victorious. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to fuck the faith out of you.”

  You came with a violent shudder, biting down on your forearm to muffle the sounds you couldn’t control. The heat, the pain, the degradation, it all blurred into one humiliating wave that crested and crashed over you while he rutted into you from behind like an animal.

  He followed seconds later with a loud, guttural groan, spilling into you with no protection, no hesitation. You felt it. Hot, thick, invasive, and the aftershocks left your body trembling, hollow, used.

  He pulled out slowly, with a satisfied grunt, and you collapsed against the counter like your bones had given out.

  There was silence after that.

  The kind that made you want to rip your own skin off. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.

  You heard him adjust his clothes, zip up. Then footsteps. Then the sound of him crouching beside you.

  Something warm brushed your temple.

  A kiss.

  Soft.

  Gentle.

  Mocking.

  “You may not take me back today,” he murmured, his lips ghosting against your skin, “or tomorrow. But I’ll wait. I know you’re too smart to go for someone else…” He paused, and then added, almost sweetly, “Or I’ll end you both.”

  Your breath caught, your body still trembling from everything. Fear, anger, disgust, and something darker still. Something shameful that lived deep inside you, refusing to die.

  When you finally turned to look at him, he was already at the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black lace underwear, dangling it between two fingers.

  “I’ll take this as a souvenir,” he said with a smirk. “Good night, beautiful. Lock up after me.”

  Then he was gone.

  And you were alone again.

  Broken prayers, shattered dignity, and the smell of smoke still hanging in the air.

[igorluvr]

Last Girl | Kang Dae-sung

Summary: Daesung takes interest in you after seeing you at his show and invites you backstage. Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: nsfw, mdni, 18+, Unprotected p in v, maybe a little fluff? That’s about it. Author’s Note: Hello, I’m back…kind of? I’m not going to be posting regularly or anything for awhile, but when the mood strikes I will pop up and try to deliver. I haven’t written a thing in over a month but after a conversation with some friends, the inspo for this little fic struck and here we are. It’s not my best work, and I’m sure I missed some typos (even after proof reading this twice), be gentle with me please, I’m still not in the best life state right now but I had fun writing this one for you all. Okay, I’m gonna stop talking now, enjoy!

The atmosphere was electric. You hadn’t known what to expect when you walked in, having never seen Daesung live before. Sure you’d been to BigBang concerts, but never a solo show. It was hard to not feel as excited as the rest of the crowd, even if you were bummed you’d missed out on VIP seats. It was fine, the venue was smaller, there was still a chance you could make eye contact with your long time bias, right?

You took your seat, quickly throwing some batteries into the very on brand for Daesung light stick you’d purchased a few minutes prior, turning it on just as the lights in the stadium dimmed. Cheering fans took to their feet and you followed suit, a loud cheer escaping your lips. 

Daesung took to the stage singing one of his newest songs. The crowd surprising you and him by screaming along with every word. You’d thought you were his biggest fan and were being shown up by, well, everyone. 

“Wow.” Daesung laughed into the mic as the song finished. “I didn’t think you’d know all the words already.” 

“Of course we did, we love you!” You yelled loudly, not thinking he’d hear you. 

Daesung did hear you though, and every other thing you yelled at him all night. He’d noticed you as soon as he took the stage, the lights illuminating around you perfectly. It was hard not to notice you, you were gorgeous, and funny. If he could’ve he would’ve stopped the entire show just to take you backstage and get to know you better. 

As Daesung made his way backstage to change for the encore, he waved to Youngbae who was about to take the stage and pulled Jiyong aside. He needed some advice, and who better than the leader of Bigbang himself? 

“There’s this girl out in the crowd.” He sighed as he laid down on the couch backstage. 

“Only one?” Jiyong teased as he fixed the ribbon on his hat for the tenth time.

“Only one that I’m interested in. Is that weird?” 

Jiyong shrugged, his eyes looking up at the ceiling as he thought, before he shook his head. “Only weird if you make it weird.” He put the hat on his head, gave Daesung a pat on the back and made his way to the stage.

“Right.” Daesung groaned as he leaned back. So much for that advice. 

Daesung threw on his Are You Ready to Ride shirt, to match Jiyong and Youngbae and made his way to the stage. As the start of Home Sweet Home started it up, he took his spot, a smirk on his lips as he heard the crowd cheer. He could picture you singing along and he couldn’t wait to be back on stage to sneak a glance at you again.

You hadn’t imagined you’d get a full on Bigbang reunion tonight. You should’ve figured but with everyone being so busy you’d just assumed the other two guys wouldn’t be there. You cheered when Daesung hit the stage again, your eyes meeting briefly. You shrugged it off, these things happened all the time, right? 

The show came to an end and Daesung pointed you out to his security, he needed to meet you. He’d never felt this pull towards anyone before and he wasn’t going to let you slip through his fingers. You’d been too busy gathering your things to notice his security detail making their way to you. 

“Miss?” Your head shot up, confusion on your face, “I need you to come with me.” 

“I didn’t steal this.” You clutched the paw light stick in your hand tightly, “I’ll find my receipt.” 

“No.” He chucked, eyes looking around to notice the fans in your row staring, “You have the meet and greet with Daesung. I’m your escort.” 

“Oh?” You nodded, “Right, ok.” You followed him down the steps and into the hallway. “I think you have the wrong person.” You whispered, “I didn’t get any special tickets.” 

“I’m aware, but Daesung wants to meet you. I just couldn’t say that in front of all those fans.” 

“Oh.” Your heart leaped out of your chest. So you hadn’t been imagining the eye contact.

You clutched your ‘are you ready to ride’ bracelet as you headed backstage. The nerves officially set in the closer you got to Daesung’s dressing room. The security guy knocked, faint laughter could be heard as he opened the door. You came face to face with Jiyong who raised a brow before turning back to Daesung and Youngbae. 

“Come on YB, we have places to be.” Jiyong smirked at you before grabbing his friend and heading out. 

“Oh, hi.” Daesung looked up from his spot as his vanity. A towel in hand as he cleared the makeup off his face. 

“Hi?” You took a shy step into the room.

 Daesung smiled at you through the mirror before standing up. He nodded at his team who filed out of the room, the door closing with a soft click. Daesung made his way over to you, stopping in front of you, the soft smile still on his face. 

“I’m sure you’re probably wondering why I brought you back here.” You nodded and he smirked. “I wanted to meet the woman who kept aggressively complementing me all night.” 

“Oh, well hello.” You laughed, your hand finally leaving your arm as you bowed.  Daesung’s eye caught your bracelet and he snorted.

“Nice bracelet.” Your eyes shot up to his and you covered it, a blush covering your face. 

Daesung reached out, moving your hand away from the bracelet and your pulse sped up. How was it possible to be this excited over a brief touch? His hand lingered on yours for a minute longer than it should’ve. He pulled it away but only to cup your cheek, before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours. 

You reacted right away, your lips moving against his as your hand reached out to clutch his shirt, pulling him closer. His tongue darted out, licking your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You happily obliged, your tongue meeting his as the massaged together. You let out a soft moan as Daesung pulled you even closer. 

You couldn’t believe this was happening, you’d dreamed of this, sure, who hadn’t? But to be called back here, kissing your bias? This couldn’t be real. Daesung pulled back after what felt like hours, both your lips swollen and he rested forehead against yours. 

“I don’t usually do this.” He whispered his eyes meeting yours. “It’s important to me that you know that.” 

“I know.” You nodded before your lips were back on his. 

You pushed him backward until he was sitting back in the chair. He pulled you down on top of him, straddling his lap. Your lips stayed locked as your hands roamed down his body, stopping at the budge in his pants. You gave him a gentle squeeze through the fabric of his jeans and he groaned into your mouth. 

“Are you ready to ride, then?” He teased and you let out a giggle before nodding your head.

He reached out, unbuttoning your pants and you followed suit, now wasn’t the time for foreplay. Anyone could walk in at any time. You lifted up slightly, pulling down your pants before freeing his cock from his. You licked your lips at the sight of it. You’d heard stories, but never imagined the truth of how big he was. Yeah, you needed him inside of you now. 

Daesung’s hands reached for your hips, helping you position yourself over him and you slid on top of him slowly, taking him inch by inch. You both moaned at the feel of him being inside of you. Once he bottomed out, your eyes locked, your breath hitched at how good he felt, and you didn’t move for awhile, letting your body adjust to him. 

Once you were ready, you rocked your hips back and forth, testing the waters as Daesung’s eyes slid closed at the feel of you. 

“None of that, D-lite. Look at me.” Your voice came out breathy, his eyes shooting back open and you smirked before your raised yourself, slamming yourself back on top of him.

“You’re a fucking goodess.” He whispered before his lips latched onto your throat, kissing down your low cut shirt. 

He ripped the material open, needing to see more of you and groaned as he came face to face with your breasts. He hadn’t calculated that you weren’t wearing a bra. His lips latched onto your breast as his hand moved to your other one, giving it a massage before moving to lightly pinch your nipple. You moaned, your head falling backward as he switched his mouth and hand to give each breast equal attention. 

“None of that.” He mimicked you, reaching up to tilt your chin back down. “I want to see your face when you come. 

Your walls tightened at his words and you moved your hips faster, his hands moved back to your hips, helping guide you has his thrusts matched your own. You could hear voices in the hallway and knew you needed to wrap this up, even if you didn’t want to. 

Your moans got louder as you felt yourself getting closer, Daesung smirked at you, his eyes never leaving yours as you bounced up and down on him quickly. He matched your every movement, his cocky little grin was almost too much for you to take.

“I’m so close.” You whispered, the voices getting closer to the door. 

Daesung’s lips were back on yours, swallowing your moans as you came undone. Daesung held you close as you both reached your climax, him coming inside of you. Your body relaxed against his, your chest heaving against his as you fought to collect yourself. 

You slowly removed yourself from Daesung, you both groaning at the feel of him not being inside of you anymore. You stood, pulling your jeans back up and giggled when you realized you shirt was no longer wearable. 

“Gonna need your shirt.” You teased. It was Daesung’s turn to blush as he stood up, zipping his fly.

He searched around the room until he found his merch pile and held out a shirt for you. You had just slid it over your head and were smoothing out the wrinkles when the door opened. You turned your head, your eyes met Jiyong’s again and he smirked.

“Come on, we have a dinner to get to.” He looked from you to Daesung. 

“Oh right. I’ll be there in a minute.” Jiyong nodded before slipping out of the room with a laugh.

“Well uh, this was fun.” You picked up your bag, making your way to the door.

“Wait.” You stopped, turning to look at him. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing. Can I see you again?”

“I would love that.” You nodded. “Give me your phone.” 

Once you’d exchanged numbers, Daesung kissed you softly before walking you out of the room. He waited to make sure you got escorted to your car before heading off to meet his friends. You’d never done this before either, a quicky with an idol wasn’t really who you were.

As you got in your car your phone buzzed, you couldn’t help but laugh as you read the text. Daesung already. 

Can’t wait to see you again! 🥰

Tomorrow work for you? 

Send me your address and I’ll be there. 

He really was a sweet guy, despite your first encounter being what it was. You couldn’t wait to get to know the real Daesung, and well, if round two happened you weren’t going to complain. You had a feeling you’d never really get enough of him, and little did you know, he felt the same way about you.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @ttturnitup, @aizshallnotbefound @loveesiren @tulentiy @petersasteria @flymetothexmoon @mashtatosworld @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @mirahyun @breakmeoff @1950schick @sherrayyyyy @bettelaboure @allthoughtsmindfull @sylviavf @makotocrys @lilshu65

[igorluvr]

WHEN THE WORLD GOES QUITE : Choi Seunghyun x reader

pairing : Choi Seunghyun x fem!reader

genre : fluff, comfort

description : After a rough day at work, and being stressed out for a while, Seunghyun comforts you

warnings / contents : stressed, overstimulated reader

The messages stopped being cute somewhere around 7 p.m.

You hadn’t meant to be dry. You’d just hit your limit.

One too many meetings. Too many voices talking over each other. A stylist pulling your hair too tightly. The light above your vanity flickering all afternoon. Every sound at the dorm today had felt like it had teeth.

You didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to think. Didn’t even want to feel.

So when Seunghyun texted, your replies were clipped, shorter than usual, lacking the usual warmth. Not in a rude way, you still tried to act normal, but Seunghyun saw through the facade. He always did.

The way you hadn’t sent him a selfie back from earlier, and the way your texts were slightly rushed told him everything.

Twenty-five minutes later, your buzzer went off.

You opened the door and he was already toeing off his shoes, no questions asked, just like that. No coat, no fanfare, just Seunghyun in a soft gray sweater, hands in his pockets, eyes calm.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Didn’t bring anything. Figured you didn’t want fuss.”

You blinked at him. Then stepped aside.

He walked in like he belonged there. Not with ownership, but with respect. Quiet footsteps. Careful presence. He didn’t fill the space with sound.

You watched him wander toward your kitchen, hands brushing over the edges of counters like he was grounding himself before helping ground you.

“You want tea baby?” he gently asked. His voice didn’t lace with concern or sympathy. He knew you hated that kinda thing. Hated feeling pitied. He was just acting like normal Seunghyun.

A beat passed before you nodded lightly, a small ‘please’ leaving you.

He nodded back and turned to start making you tea, his hands working swiftly as he ushered you to go sit in the living room.

You stayed curled on the couch, blanket half-dragged over your lap. The living room was dim except for the floor lamp you always left on. Your nerves were still too frayed to think straight.

From the kitchen: the kettle clicked on. A mug was set on the counter. Soft footsteps. The low creak of a cabinet opening. The clink of a spoon. All so quiet, so gentle, like he knew even his voice might be too much right now.

He returned with tea, steam curling in the mug, the scent of honey and something floral.

“Chamomile,” he said softly, setting it down on the coffee table. “You’re out of peppermint.”

You blinked at him.

He didn’t sit right away. Just stood for a moment, watching you the way you might watch a trembling animal. Cautious. Respectful. Like he knew one wrong move might make you retreat back into yourself.

You gave him a small nod and light, tired smile. That was all he needed.

Seunghyun settled on the other side of the couch, arms resting loosely on his knees, not touching you. Just there.

And that was enough.

You don’t remember how long you sat like that. The tea cooled slowly in your hands. The hum in your brain dulled, soothed by his quiet presence and the muted sounds of a film he turned on without asking.

At some point, you felt the weight of his gaze again.

“You’re in your head,” he murmured.

You nodded. “Can’t get out.”

He shifted slightly closer, his knee brushing yours. “Want to tell me what happened?”

You paused.

“…It’s nothing.”

“That bad, huh?”

A soft huff escaped your throat, almost a laugh.

You sank a little further into the couch and finally let the truth slip.

“Too much talking. Too many people. Lights were bright. Manager kept pushing meetings back-to-back. Stylists wouldn’t stop touching my hair, asking questions, needing decisions. Then I got home and the fridge started buzzing weird” you explained, making a small bad joke, that really wasn’t a joke, at the end.

You hesitated.

“It just got loud. Everything got loud.”

He listened without interrupting. His eyes stayed on yours. Not demanding, not judging. Just present.

When you finished, his voice was low.

“You don’t have to explain. I’ve had those days, too.”

You believed him. You could see it in his eyes that quiet empathy only someone who’d been through it would understand.

Then he asked, with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

“Did anyone notice?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t let them.”

“That’s the worst part,” he said. “The hiding.”

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until then. Something about his voice, so steady, so safe, made your shoulders drop for the first time all day.

Without thinking, you leaned into him.

Seunghyun immediately lifted his arm and let you curl into his side, tucking your head beneath his chin. The warmth of his body. The faint beat of his heart. The smell of him. It grounded you.

“mm ‘s okay baby” he murmured quietly, kissing the top of your head.

He didn’t say anything else.

He just held you.

“I’m sorry you had to come over” You say against him. He laughed quietly, his hand brushing the hair out your face without needing to be told.

“You didn’t ask me to come over, I wanted to come over baby, it’s not like you forced me”

You smiled softly, it didn’t reach your eyes but he knew you appreciated his gestures. “You want chocolate?” he whispered in your ear, causing you to laugh slightly with a nod.

He quickly stood and got some chocolate for you both, before plopping back down next to you. His hands moved your legs to go over his lap, and he handed you the slab of chocolate with a a warm smile.

“Thank you” you quietly comment. He knew you weren’t just talking about the chocolate.

Seunghyun didn’t answer for a moment. His arm wrapped around your shoulder again in a comforting embrace.

Later that night, after the tea went cold and the movie faded to black, you fell asleep tangled against his chest.

And Seunghyun didn’t move for a long time.

He just stayed right there, hand cradling the back of your head, lips pressed to your temple, keeping the quiet promise neither of you had said aloud;

You don’t have to be okay all the time. You just have to let someone stay.

[igorluvr]

My favorite thing about season 3 is this frame

[igorluvr]

‘RED HOT LOVE | lee myung-gi x reader

PAIRING: myung-gi x reader

SYNOPSIS: you were perfect. he knew it the second he saw you—too perfect to be real. you just didn’t understand what that meant yet. so he watched. closer than anyone else ever did. and now you’ll see it too. even if he has to show you from the inside out.

CONTENT: VERY dark fic, yandere!myunggi, stalking, kidnapping, cannibalism, possessive behavior, graphic gore, death, violence, gaslighting, emotional manipulation/trauma, mental instability

AUTHORS NOTE: insp by sarah by tyler the creator … umm idk i just got bored & felt my heart explode when i saw him all bloody in a suit (am i weird?)

words: [9.5k]

MYUNG-GI always had a sort of unattainable type. She had to be beautiful, but naturally. Any girl who tried too hard, in his eyes, was just an attention-seeking whore. She needed to be insanely smart and genuinely kind too; nobody wants to deal with a rude girl nagging them 24/7.

His whole life, he never involved himself in any real relationships. Not because he couldn’t—he practically had girls throwing themselves at him—but because he was waiting. Waiting for the perfect one.

Then you came into his life. It felt like a scene from a movie; you appeared out of nowhere—like an angel dropped from heaven. One look at you and everything inside him shifted. No girl had ever made him pause before, but you did more than pause him— you rewired him.

“Excuse me, do you know where the Myeongdong station is?” you asked, stepping in front of Myung-gi’s seated figure with that soft, unbothered grace he hadn’t realized he craved until now.

As he looked up, something in him snapped. Messy hair, no makeup, soft eyes—you weren’t trying. You were real; unfiltered, untouched. The kind of beauty that didn’t know it was being watched—and that made him want you even more.

He didn’t answer right away—just stared, memorized. You looked directly at him, and something fluttered behind his ribs—something hot, sharp, possessive. He’d never believed in soulmates until that second. Now, he couldn’t believe in anything else.

“Um, yeah, it’s…” he started, trailing off.

Then, suddenly—he got an idea, a way to make sure this moment didn’t just slip away. Why send you off into the city alone when he could go with you? Subway stations were full of creeps anyway. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be walking around there by herself—not when he was right here.

“Actually,” Myung-gi said, flashing an innocent smile as he stood up a little too quickly, “I’ll show you.”

Your face lit up like it was the easiest thing in the world to trust him. “Thank you so much!” You smiled, having no idea what you’d just invited into your life.

He walked beside you, just close enough to memorize your scent and the way your shoes barely made a sound against the pavement. You talked like he wasn’t a stranger, like you weren’t walking next to someone who had already decided you were his.

You laughed at something small he said and that was it. That was the moment he knew: he wasn’t going to let you go. Not now, not ever.

As you reached the station, you turned to him one last time, meeting Myung-gi’s eyes with that warm, unsuspecting smile. “Once again, thank you!” you said, then turned on your heel and disappeared into the subway.

Watching you walk away felt like someone had reached into his chest and torn his heart out. No—you couldn’t leave him, not yet. He didn’t even know your name.

Without another word, Myung-gi followed.

He kept his distance, careful not to catch your eye. Far enough to stay invisible, but close enough to see every move. You blended into the crowd so easily—so delicate, so unguarded. He couldn’t let this be the end. Not when fate had handed you to him so perfectly.

This wasn’t stalking, it was just making sure you were okay. There were a lot of unsafe places in Korea, he just wanted to be there if something happened to you.

He followed you to every store, every restaurant, every street. Quiet, patient—you never left his sight, not once.

It amazed him how unaware you were. How you didn’t feel his eyes on you, how you smiled so softly at strangers, paused at windows, wandered like the world owed you softness.

It made something burn in his chest. Not anger—need. You weren’t built for solitude. You needed someone to look after you, to keep the world from sinking its teeth into you.

You stopped at a convenience store, stepping inside without a second thought. He waited across the street watching through the reflection in the glass. You bought a drink and a snack—simple. Your choice was cute, innocent. Just like you.

He wondered what you’d sound like laughing in his apartment. If you’d like his cooking, how you’d look as you sat on his bed with your legs tucked under you, completely at ease.

You exited the store and kept walking. He followed quietly, still sure to keep his distance. You didn’t look back once, that made him smile. You trusted the world too much.

Even though you didn’t know it yet, he was already a part of your life. A constant you'd never be able to escape.

For the next few days, he trailed you like a shadow, always near, never seen. He memorized the rhythm of your steps, the stores you visited, the way your fingers tapped against your thigh when you were waiting to cross the street.

You liked sweet snacks from the convenience store, lingered too long in bookshop corners, and sometimes sat on park benches doing absolutely nothing, just staring into the air like you belonged to it.

You became a routine—his favorite part of the day—so predictable it felt intimate, like you were already connected in some silent, unspoken way.

He imagined what it would be like to sit beside you in those quiet moments. To hear you talk about the book you were reading for the past few days, to slip his hand over yours like it always belonged there.

And then today, as if the universe rewarded his patience, he saw you standing outside a bookstore, scrolling on your phone with one earbud in, hair frizzed slightly from the heat and bag slipping off your shoulder every few seconds.

You didn’t even look like you knew you were being watched, like something that wasn’t meant to be touched—but he couldn’t help himself

He adjusted his shirt, fixed his face into something friendly and casual, then approached like it was all just a happy accident. “Oh—hey, we met the other day, right? Myeongdong Station?”

You looked up, surprised for a second before your lips curled into that same soft smile, the one that made his chest feel too tight. “Oh yeah! I remember, you helped me.”

“Yeah” he said with a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like a boy who hadn’t been planning this moment for days. “Total coincidence seeing you here. But, uh… would it be weird if I asked for your number?”

You hesitated—not long, but just enough to make his stomach twist, then nodded, unlocking your phone and handing it to him like it was nothing, like this wasn’t the beginning of everything.

He took it with steady hands, smiling as if he hadn’t already memorized your entire schedule, as if this really was fate and not obsession dressed in clean clothes and polite words.

When your number appeared on his screen, he knew it for sure— you were his now.

Even while all these thoughts ran through his head, you didn’t think much of it when he showed up again.

Seoul was huge, yeah—but sometimes the city looped back in strange ways. People crossed paths, passed faces they swore they’d never see again. You figured it was just one of those coincidences, nothing more.

He seemed sweet—nervous, almost. His voice was soft, not too pushy, and when he asked for your number, something in you relaxed. Maybe it was the way he smiled, or the fact that he didn’t linger too close or try too hard.

So you gave it to him. You didn’t feel unsafe. If anything, you were a little flattered that someone as good-looking as him was interested in you.

You texted later that night, just a quick “thanks again!” and when he replied almost instantly, it made you smile. He was just a guy you bumped into twice—no big deal.

That’s what you told yourself.

But in the days that followed, you started noticing small things. Seeing him near the same places. The same café, the same bookstore, the same quiet corner of the park where you liked to sit alone.

Each time, he waved, smiled, said hi like it was another happy accident. And each time, your stomach felt just a little heavier than before.

You didn't want to assume things early on—maybe he just liked going to the same places as you, right? But if this was the case, why are you just now seeing him?

He’d found your address days ago, coming by occasionally just to make sure you were safe. Finding out where you lived felt like the grand prize, confirmation that he was meant to be in your life. And once he had it, more and more details about you began to bubble to the surface.

He knew you always woke up late at night to get snacks, knew you spent most of your time at home in bed on your phone, even that you kept that one window unlocked all the time.

It had to be a sign, though, right? Maybe you knew he was watching, and left it unlocked as a passageway—an invitation into your life.

You acted so oblivious, but you must’ve felt it too. Felt the way his heart exploded into a million pieces every time you looked at him, or how he wanted nothing more than to run his hands up and down your body, covering every inch of skin with warm, soft kisses.

That was all the confirmation he needed. The next day, Myung-gi texted you asking to hang out. It wasn’t intrusive, just a suggestion. He offered to meet at the library you loved and pick out books for each other to read—nothing too intimate, just a quiet place where he could finally express his feelings.

He stared at his screen for a full minute before pressing send, re-reading the message over and over to make sure it sounded casual enough. Polite, interested—but not desperate. He didn’t want to scare you, not when he’d come so far.

You replied fifteen minutes later.

“sure, that sounds fun!”

He sat frozen, phone still in hand as the words echoed in his head like a prayer answered. You said yes. You wanted to see him again, and this time, he’d be able to sit across from you. Hear your voice without needing to follow from a distance, watch your eyes move from page to page and imagine a life where this wasn’t a one-time meeting, but instead the start of something permanent.

He spent the night planning what he’d wear, what books he’d suggest, how close he could sit without making you uncomfortable. He wouldn’t come on too strong—not yet. You still needed time to realize how well you fit together.

That next day, he arrived at the library twenty minutes early, heart pounding beneath his neatly ironed shirt, fingers twitching as he paced the aisles pretending to browse. Every few minutes, he checked his phone—no new messages. But you hadn’t canceled, that was enough for him.

He chose a seat near the windows where the sunlight hit just right, soft and warm, like the glow that radiated off you naturally. He wanted you to feel comfortable—wanted you to walk in, spot him, and smile like this was something you’d been looking forward to too.

When you finally appeared, his breath caught. You looked just like you did the first time. Simple, effortless, unaware of the effect you had on him.

Your hair was tied loosely with a bag slung over your shoulder, thumb scrolling absently on your phone as you searched for him. Then suddenly, your eyes landed on his. As you smiled, his chest tightened.

You sat across from him, greeting him cheerfully, “Hey! I’m glad you picked here, it’s quiet.”

He nodded, swallowing the flood of thoughts trying to rise up all at once. His mind swarmed violently with things he so wanted to say. 

"I missed you" "I’ve seen you every day" "I’ve watched you sleep"

Instead, he offered a small smile. “Yeah, I figured you’d like it. Thought we could pick out a few books, maybe read some together?”

You agreed easily, not knowing that he’d already planned the next two hours in detail—what aisles to take you through, which titles to suggest, how close he could get when pointing something out without drawing suspicion.

Yet all he could think about was how perfect your life would be once you finally understood it belonged to him. It would all be so simple—the two of you spending the rest of your lives together.

You hadn’t expected to enjoy yourself as much as you did. Myung-gi was quiet, a little awkward, but in a way that felt endearing.

He listened more than he talked, nodding along thoughtfully as you rambled about the books you liked. He even surprised you with a recommendation that was already on your to-read list. That made you pause for a second—had you mentioned it before? You couldn’t remember.

Still, he made you feel noticed. As you walked through the stacks together, the conversation stayed light—favorite genres, authors you hated, the type of stories that kept you up at night.

Every now and then, you caught him watching you, like he was trying to memorize your expression. It made you feel warm, but slightly self-conscious.

When you sat down again, this time was closer. You noticed the way he leaned in just enough that his shoulder brushed yours. Barely—light enough that it could’ve been accidental, but it wasn’t.

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t move away either. You weren’t sure why, but there was something about him you couldn’t quite place. He was kind, but intense. Attentive, but always a beat too focused, like he was trying to hold back something heavier under the surface.

Still, when he offered to walk you home after, you hesitated for only a moment before saying yes. It was broad daylight, what harm could it do?

The walk home had been mostly quiet, but not in a bad way—at first. Myung-gi asked you a few things here and there, nothing too personal. His voice was gentle, like he was constantly trying not to speak too loudly. He mentioned a few of his favorite books, nodded a lot when you talked, and smiled at things that weren’t even jokes.

But the longer you walked, the more you noticed. Like the way he looked at you, not just a glance—he watched you, like he was trying to memorize every shift in your expression, every movement you made. At one point, you looked over and found his eyes already on you, unblinking.

You gave a tight smile and looked away. Maybe he was just awkward, harmless. Still, something deep in your chest stirred.

When you finally reached your apartment building, you slowed to a stop and turned to him. “Thank you for walking me” you said, shifting your keys into your hand. “This was nice, really.”

He didn’t smile this time. Just looked at you, head tilted slightly. “Do you want to go out sometime?” he asked suddenly. “Like, just us—a real date.”

Your smile faltered. It wasn’t that he’d done anything wrong, not really. But something about the way he asked—how quiet the street was, how still he stood, waiting for your answer like it was a life-or-death choice—made your skin crawl.

You hesitated for a second too long, then shook your head gently. “Oh, um… I don’t really date much. But I appreciate it, we can still be friends!”

He kept smiling, but something in his face shifted just slightly. Not disappointment—something else, like the quiet twitch of a crack forming in glass. “No worries” he said, his voice low. “Just thought I’d ask.”

You nodded quickly, already backing toward the door. “Yeah, totally. I should get inside though, have a nice night.”

He didn’t move. Just stood there, watching as you turned the key in the lock and stepped inside. You could feel his gaze on the back of your neck the whole time.

As the door clicked shut behind you, you didn’t even think. You reached up and locked it—twice. Something about him had started to feel… off.

You couldn’t explain it, but for the first time since meeting him, a cold, quiet dread began to settle in your chest.

You told yourself you were overreacting. Myung-gi was probably just a little awkward, socially off. But then again, the way he stared, the way his smile didn’t fade when you said no. It was like he was already living in a version of your life that you hadn’t agreed to.

You walked to the window and peeked through the blinds. The street was empty, not a person in sight. Still, your heart wouldn’t slow down.

You shook it off, took a shower, changed into something comfortable, tried to scroll through your phone and distract yourself. You even drafted a message—hey, thanks again for walking me—but ended up deleting it. Something in your gut told you not to reach out first.

Hours passed. You were half-asleep scrolling on Instagram when your phone buzzed.

Myung-gi • just now goodnight. :)

Your body stiffened as you stared at the screen, that simple sentence digging under your skin in a way it shouldn't have. You'd been home for hours, why was he just now telling you goodnight as you were on the brink of sleep?

You hadn’t told him you were going to bed, you hadn’t texted him at all. Your phone stayed face-up this time, the screen glowing in the dark beside you. Simply hearting the message, you just laid there, wondering how he always seemed to know exactly where you were.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. You couldn’t tell.

Eventually, you turned over and pulled the covers to your chin, but sleep didn’t come easy. Every creak in the apartment made you tense, every shadow outside the window looked like it might move. You kept thinking about how long he’d paused when you said no, how tightly he watched you, how little you really knew about him.

Your eyes finally fluttered shut sometime after 3 a.m. Unfortunately, you didn’t see the notification that came in half an hour later.

Myung-gi • just now your curtain’s still open.

You never heard the soft click of your window’s faulty lock, and had no clue that by the time morning came, you wouldn’t be alone.

The sun hit your face earlier than usual. You groaned, eyes squinting against the light pouring through the window, which you could’ve sworn you closed last night. Your body felt heavy, unrested, like you hadn’t really slept at all.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes, then froze. Your curtain was wide open. You stared at it for a long time, stomach sinking, heartbeat starting to race in your ears. You never left it open in the morning. It faced the street and the sun blasted in. You always closed it before bed.

Did you forget?

You got up, cautiously peeking outside. People passed by; a cyclist, a woman walking her dog. Normal—still, a strange chill crept up your spine. Your phone was still on your nightstand. You picked it up with a shaky hand, and the screen lit up.

1 unread message

As you read through the text, you dropped the phone. Your hands went cold as your legs rooted to the floor. Backing away from the window instinctively, your breath caught in your throat as sweat coated your skin.

You didn’t remember that message, why hadn't you hadn’t heard it come in? You had locked the window. You were sure of it, weren’t you?

Slowly, you turned toward the far corner of your room, heart thudding louder than your footsteps. The closet door was cracked slightly—just barely—but you always shut it before bed.

You stared at the gap, skin crawling, and for the first time since meeting him, you felt something deeper than unease. You felt watched.

Suddenly, you snatched the door open with wide eyes, bracing yourself for the worst. But to your surprise, there was nothing there. All your clothes were in the exact same spot, not even being moved an inch. But no matter how safe it looked, that pit in your stomach still persisted.

With each passing second, the anxiety in your chest grew sharper, more unbearable. Frustration boiled to the surface as you tore through your apartment—ripping open doors, yanking blankets off furniture behind the shower curtain.

You didn’t know what you were looking for, you just needed to do something. Prove to yourself that you were overreacting, that nothing was there—but nothing helped.

Tears blurred your vision as terror sank deeper into your bones—a cold, sick feeling crawling up your throat. Your hands shook uncontrollably and you felt like you might throw up.

Deep down, you knew you weren’t alone, but you were desperate to prove yourself wrong—desperate to quiet the voice in your head screaming that something was watching you.

Myung-gi smiled at your obliviousness. From beneath your bed, he watched as you ran through the apartment, panic spilling from your body like perfume.

He shifted slightly, adjusting the grip on the gun resting in his lap. He didn’t want to use it—he never wanted to hurt you. This was just a precaution, something to keep things from spiraling. He knew how emotions could get in the way of love.

You stumbled through the apartment for another fifteen minutes, frantically opening doors, tossing blankets, your breath loud and uneven. It hurt him to see you like this. He loved you, and seeing you this distressed made something twist in his chest.

Eventually, he decided it was time.

Crawling out slowly from under the bed, he crept toward the doorway of the room you were in. You were facing away, knees deep in a closet, tossing around forgotten clothes and boxes from years past. He paused for a moment, just watching. You looked so beautiful like this—raw, vulnerable, real.

Each step he took was calculated, soundless. He didn’t want to startle you too early. He wanted to ease you into this—help you understand. He only wanted to keep you safe, to preserve the light he saw in you.

You were still crouched at the closet, rifling through old clothes, breath shaky. As you shifted, you caught something in the edge of the mirror across the room—a shape, a figure. Your breath hitched.

You turned your head, heart slamming against your ribs as you saw him; Myung-gi. Standing just behind you, eyes wide, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding his breath.

“Myung-gi…?” you whispered, your voice cracking. “What are you doing—”

Before you could move, his hand shot out, pressing a gloved palm over your mouth as he yanked you back against him. You screamed into the fabric, kicking, thrashing wildly, panic surging through you like electricity.

“Shh” he whispered into your ear, breath hot, trembling. “Just be quiet. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

You didn’t listen, you couldn’t. You were was running on pure fear. You fought harder, body working on instinct, blind terror surging through your limbs.

“Stop moving.” he hissed, tightening his grip, “Before you make me put this gun to your head.”

Then you felt it—cold metal, unmistakable, pressing against your temple. Still shaking, you froze—everything in you locked up.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and for a moment, the only thing you could hear was your own heartbeat, loud and frantic, like it was trying to escape your chest.

“That’s better,” he murmured softly. “See? It’s okay now.”

Your eyes burned with tears, muscles locked with terror. He held you there for several seconds, like he was waiting for something—waiting for you to give in.

Then came the sharp scent, the cloth. Your vision blurred, tunneled. The strength in your body drained all at once, knees buckling beneath you. His voice faded into static, and then—

Black.

Time didn’t pass the way it should have. There was no clear sense of how long you were out—just the slow, creeping awareness of silence pressing down like fog.

The hard floor sat beneath your cheek, a dull ache in your limbs reverberating through your body. Your head throbbed, pulsing behind your eyes like something was trying to claw its way out.

You couldn’t move, not yet. Everything felt heavy, like your body didn’t belong to you. Then, a voice sounded from behind you. It was soft, familiar.

“Hey” Myung-gi whispered. “You’re awake.”

You tried to open your eyes, but everything was blurred. A light flickered above you, casting long shadows on the walls. Your wrists burned—something tight wrapped around them. Rope, duct tape—you couldn’t tell.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up” he said, sitting beside you, his hand brushing your hair from your face with disturbing gentleness. “You scared me.”

He sighed, almost shamefully, as he looked down at you.

“You don’t get it yet, do you? That this is better. For both of us.”

He stood up slowly, pacing in the dim light. Wherever you were—it wasn’t your apartment. The air reeked of dust, like old wood and basement rot. You could make out shelves, boxes, shadows of things stacked against concrete walls.

He'd taken you somewhere else, somewhere no one would find you. “You’ll thank me” he murmured, voice drifting behind you. “One day, when everything finally makes sense.”

You tried to scream, but nothing came out. All you could do was lay there, heartbeat roaring in your ears, as he hummed softly to himself in the dark. The crusted streaks of old tears clung to your skin as you watched Myung-gi pace. Why was he doing this? Why you?

Suddenly, he squatted down in front of you, face inches from yours, eyes dark and unreadable. “You know,” he said softly, tilting his head, “you don’t even have to love me.”

You stared frozen as his voice dropped into something almost gentle.

“I don’t care about all that performative stuff—it’s fake. I just need you to understand that we’re perfect for each other.” His eyes widened, pupils blown, mouth twitching at the corners.

“Do you feel it too?” he asked, breath quickening. “The way my body feels like it’s gonna explode when I’m around you?” He grabbed your bound hands, clutching them tightly in his own. “It’s like fire under my skin.”

You flinched, instinctively pulling back, your whole body tensing. Suddenly, his face twisted with rage. “Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his fist into the floor beside you.

You yelped and recoiled, curling inward, arms shielding your head, breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Why are you so fucking scared of me?” he spat, pacing now, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I did all this for you! I—I made it perfect!” He stopped. Silence stretched thin in the room.

Then his voice softened again, broken and trembling. “Shit… I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He knelt beside you again, brushing your hair back from your face with trembling fingers.

“You’re just overwhelmed. That’s okay. I knew it’d take time.” His smile returned—small, shaky, too calm. “I’ll wait. I can be patient. You’ll see… once you calm down, you’ll see everything clearly.”

You didn’t move, you couldn’t. Every part of you felt like it was sinking, as if your body had left in a pile of quicksand with nobody around to help.

He stayed crouched beside you once again, one hand resting on your shoulder as the other still gently stroked your cheek like he was comforting a child. His breath was steady now, as well as his voice.

“You don’t have to talk yet” he whispered, almost sweetly. “I know you’re scared, I get it. The world’s full of liars and users and people who only want you when it’s easy.”

He smiled at you like he was telling a secret. “But not me, I want you always. Even like this—especially like this.”

Your eyes flicked toward the locked door. You’d heard it click earlier when he dragged you in. No windows in the room, just a single low bulb above your head casting a sickly yellow glow over the concrete walls. This wasn’t a basement—it was a tomb.

“Don’t look over there,” he said suddenly, his fingers tightening on your arm. “Don’t even think about leaving. That’s just the fear talking. When that goes away, you’ll realize how good this can be.”

You opened your mouth, lips trembling, but no words came out. He leaned closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“I know you don’t believe me yet, but you will.” Myung-gi whispered. “You’ll see that I’d never let anything bad happen to you. You’re safe now.”

You were shaking uncontrollably and still—he smiled. Like he’d won this sick love game.

“Now,” he said, pulling away slowly, “you rest. I’ll bring food later—something sweet. You like that, right?” He stood up, brushing the dust from his pants, and looked down at you with that same sick devotion in his eyes.

“I’ll be right outside” he added, almost proud “You won’t even have to call.” Then he turned and walked out, the door closing with a soft, final click behind him.

The lock turned, and you were alone again. With nothing but your heartbeat, the sound of your own ragged breathing—and the lingering echo of his voice still whispering in your ear: "You were always meant to be mine."

It had been four days.

Four days locked in the same suffocating room, the same flickering light, the same stale air pressing down on your lungs. You stopped crying after the first day. Not because you weren’t scared anymore—but because it didn’t help. Nothing did.

Myung-gi had changed—no, evolved. Something inside him was slowly unraveling, thread by thread, exposing the thing he’d kept hidden beneath his soft voice and trembling hands.

At first, he was quiet—careful, almost gentle. Now, he never stopped talking.

He paced constantly, muttering to himself under his breath. His words came fast, sometimes incoherent—about your future together. About people who “didn’t understand,” about fate and purity and how you were the only thing keeping him sane.

Sometimes he laughed at nothing. Other times, he’d sit across from you, staring for what felt like hours, eyes glazed over, lips barely parted, like he was studying something fragile and sacred. You learned not to look him in the eyes when he got like that.

That morning, he came in without knocking. The door slammed against the wall, his hands twitching, mouth moving before the words caught up.

“You’re still not eating.” he hissed. “Why? Hm? Do you think I poisoned it? Is that it?”

You shook your head quickly, trying to stay calm. “No—I just—I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit!” he screamed, and the plate shattered against the wall beside you, scrambled eggs sliding down the concrete like vomit.

You recoiled instinctively, knees pulled tight to your chest. Immediately, his expression snapped back—too fast. A smile stretched across his face like a mask, shaky and too wide.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” he said, kneeling beside you. “It’s just… I get scared, you know? You make me feel things no one else ever has. That’s real, right? You feel it too, you have to.”

He cupped your cheek with a shaking hand, thumb brushing just beneath your eye. “I hear you at night.” he whispered. “When you think I’m not listening. You cry in your sleep. You say my name—you need me.”

His face inched closer to yours, breath warm and sour. “That’s how I know we’re right. You’re breaking now—but it’s okay. Love takes time, you’ll see soon enough.”

You said nothing, sitting frozen in that spot for what felt like hours. You were still beneath his touch, praying for him to leave, for the door to shut again. But he didn’t, not this time.

He crouched beside you, hands folded neatly as if he were trying to look nonthreatening. His lips curved into a soft smile, but his eyes didn’t match—too wide, too bright, twitching just slightly at the corners.

“You’re doing better,” he said, voice low, almost cooing. “I can feel it. You’re starting to calm down, starting to see me.” He reached out and gently massaged your hair at the scalp.

“I knew you’d come around eventually. You just needed some time, some silence, some—some real love for once.” His hand lingered on your face, stroking your cheek like he was petting something fragile and breakable. You didn’t dare move. Then, his voice dropped into a whisper.

“You don’t even realize how lucky you are, do you?” He stood up sharply and started pacing, fingers twitching, his breath speeding up as his smile faded into something vacant.

“I cleaned for you, I watched you—every single day. Do you know how careful I was? How long I waited?” he hissed, hands gesturing wildly now. “And you—you act like I’m some kind of monster.”

He stopped mid-step and turned to face you again, that broken grin returning to his lips.

“But I’m not. No, no, no— I’m not the bad guy here,” he said, tapping a finger to his temple. “I’m the only one who’s ever paid attention, the only one who cares.”

He crouched beside you again—lower this time, close enough for you to smell the sweat on his skin, to see the blood vessels flaring in his eyes. “I’ve seen how the world treats girls like you,” he whispered. “Like you're nothing but an object—a toy..”

Suddenly, he slammed his fist into the wall beside your head—hard, loud enough to make you jump and cry out. “I gave up EVERYTHING for you!”

You flinched, hands trembling violently. The rage vanished from his face just as quickly as it came. His breathing slowed, and he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering closed like he was savoring the moment.

“You make me better. Even when you’re scared. Even when you don’t say a word—I feel… complete.” He stood again, nodding, staring up at the ceiling like he was receiving instructions only he could hear.

“I’ll bring you something tomorrow. Something new, something beautiful. Maybe white lace, you’d look like an angel in it.” He paused in the doorway, back still to you. “Get some sleep” he said, too softly. “You’ll want to be perfect for the ceremony.”

He didn’t explain what he meant—he didn’t need to. The lock clicked, and for the first time, you let yourself cry freely. Not out of panic, but out of pure, helpless dread.

Because now it was clear; tomorrow, something was going to happen, and whatever it was wouldn’t be something you’d walk away from.

You didn’t sleep, even when you closed your eyes, your mind kept spinning. Your body ached from the cold floor, wrists raw from the old, rotting rope. Every creak of the pipes, every flicker of the bulb made your stomach turn.

"Ceremony."

The word echoed over and over in your mind like a siren. You didn’t know what he meant—wedding? ritual? a fantasy he’d been building in his head for weeks? Whatever it was, it felt final.

You stared at the locked door, trying to calm your breathing. He was sleeping, he had to be. You’d heard his footsteps grow distant, heard the soft squeak of a mattress near you. Wherever he stayed when he wasn’t down here.

You couldn’t wait anymore. You felt the panic rise in your chest again, heavy and bitter like vomit. But you swallowed it down, you couldn’t give up.

Your wrists burned from the rope, the skin rubbed raw and tender, but no matter how you twisted or pulled, they wouldn’t come free. You’d tried for hours—quietly, patiently, rubbing the knot against anything with an edge. It didn’t loosen. If anything, it only dug deeper.

Looking around the room, your eyes scanned every corner. The shelves, the pipes along the ceiling, the single bulb flickering overhead, and then—the door. The hinges, they were on your side.

Your fingers trembled, bound and awkward, but you shuffled toward the shelves, dropping to your knees. You couldn’t grab much with your hands tied, but after a few frantic tries, you managed to catch a piece of thin metal—something rusted and sharp.

You dragged it toward you, nearly cutting your palm as you adjusted your grip. Then, shuffling to the door, you leaned sideways and started jamming the tool against the bottom hinge. You couldn’t do it fast—your hands were too restricted—but the screw started to move just slightly.

A spark of hope flickered as you kept going, teeth clenched, body shaking. The sound of metal grinding filled the room in short, sharp bursts. Every noise made you freeze, but nothing came.

Then, just as you were beginning to shift the second screw— footsteps sounded through your ears. Fast, heavy, and directly above you.

You froze, pulse thundering in your ears. Dropping the piece of metal, your body instinctively curling up, as if hiding could somehow undo what you’d just done.

Silence, then: “You’re awake.”

His voice came through the door like a cold wind, too calm to be safe. “You haven’t been sleeping,” he continued, slower now, amused. “That’s okay. I couldn’t sleep either. I was too excited.”

You stayed completely still, heart racing, chest heaving with shallow breaths. He was silent for a moment, then spoke up gently “You know, I really hoped you’d behave.”

The door handle turned. “You were doing so well.”

You started shaking, inching backward as fast as you could with your bound hands and trembling legs. The metal tool clattered beside you, useless now.

The door creaked open, and there he was, standing in the doorway like somebody summoned him. He looked down at you, eyes wide and glistening with something that almost resembled heartbreak. His smile was gone.

“Were you trying something?” You slid back slowly, eyes fixed on the door. You didn’t answer. The doorknob turned slowly, and you realized—he'd never gone to sleep.

He didn’t move toward you at first—just stood there, scanning the room as if he needed to memorize it.

Then he looked at you. Not that wide, boyish smile he used when he was pretending to be gentle—no, this one was thinner, cracked around the edges, like something rotten sat behind his teeth.

“I watched you breathe all night” he said softly, his voice disturbingly calm. “Every rise and fall, like music.”

He took a few slow steps closer, crouching near your feet but not touching you. His eyes darted along your face, hungry, glassy, burning.

“You don’t get it yet, but I’ve loved you for so long, loved you so hard.” He laughed to himself, a dry breath that held no joy. “You were mine the second I saw you.”

You flinched, and he leaned in just a little closer, eyes never leaving yours.

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispered. “I’d kill for you. I’d rip my fucking heart out if it meant you’d just look at me the way you look at strangers on the street.”

His tone shifted again, suddenly bitter. “But you never saw me, did you? You just smiled and led me on like I was nobody.” His jaw clenched. “I sat on buses with you, ate at the same places, walked behind you to your house so you'd be safe.”

He looked down at his trembling hands. “I didn’t even touch you. Not once. I waited, I gave you time—I earned this.” His eyes lifted again, dark and wild.

“You think this is wrong? You think I’m crazy?” he hissed, the words shaking. “No no, what’s crazy is you walking around like you’re not the most important thing in the world. What’s crazy is you thinking someone else could ever love you more than I do.”

He stood suddenly, hands in his hair now, pacing in a frantic circle. “You were out there talking to strangers, laughing, breathing near other men like it didn’t mean anything—but it did. It did.”

He turned on you again, rage flickering behind the tears in his eyes. “You don’t understand what it does to me when I see that. When I imagine you in someone else’s house, someone else’s bed—”

He stopped, swallowed, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “But that’s okay, because I’ve got you now. No more mistakes, no more distractions. You’re gonna love me—I’ll make you love me.”

You stared, frozen in place, your bound hands useless in your lap, lungs barely moving. Then he dropped to his knees again, crawling toward you, gaze hollow but oddly soft.

“You don’t even have to say it,” he whispered, his face inches from yours. “I’ll wait as long as I have to, and when it finally happens—when you finally get it—it’ll be perfect.”

His voice cracked. “I just want to be inside your head,” he whispered, eyes wide, unblinking. “So deep you can’t hear yourself think without hearing me.”

Then, quieter, he spoke “I want to be the reason you stop sleeping. The voice behind your eyes, the ache in your ribs. I want to take up so much space inside you that there’s nothing left for anyone else.”

He leaned closer, inches from your face now. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “I can feel it already. It’s starting, isn’t it? The way your heart beats faster when I’m near. Even when you’re scared, you’re still beautiful.”

He stared at you for a beat longer, then pressed a kiss to your bound knuckles. It wasn’t tender—it felt like branding.

Then he stood, and just like that, the heat in the room vanished. He turned his back to you, voice now light, like he was discussing something casual.

“I’m going to cook you breakfast tomorrow,” he said cheerfully, like you hadn’t just watched him fall apart in front of you. “Something warm, maybe eggs, or oatmeal. Something soft for your stomach.”

He started walking toward the door, humming softly to himself. It was off-key and slow—almost childlike. “Oh,” he added, just before slipping out, “you’ll wear something different too. I’ve laid it out already. It’s… more fitting.”

The door creaked shut behind him and you were alone again. Except you weren’t, not really. His presence clung to the room like humidity—thick, sticky, and impossible to breathe through.

Your stomach twisted at the thought of the clothes he mentioned, of what tomorrow might mean. You lowered your head, ropes burning against your raw wrists, trying to keep your breath steady. But deep down, a small voice was screaming; You were running out of time.

Time blurred as the air turned stale. You lost count of how many hours passed. You closed your eyes and forced your body still, hoping your mind would follow—but every flicker of darkness behind your lids was worse than what you could see. You kept imagining him standing over you—watching, smiling.

Then suddenly, the bulb buzzed to life, blinding in the pitch-black room. You flinched instinctively, body curling into itself as the sudden brightness cut through the thick fog of exhaustion.

Footsteps followed. They were those same slow, measured steps you'd memorized—and grown to hate. He was humming again, like a child playing pretend. You heard the keys jingle just before the lock twisted.

Myung-gi stepped inside with a tray in his hands. A bowl, a glass of water, and what looked like a slice of toast cut into a perfect heart. “I made breakfast” he said softly, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Setting the tray down in front of you like he was offering peace, his gaze scanned your face, trying to read your expression like it held a secret. “I hope you like it” he added, “You should eat before we get you dressed.”

Your stomach turned. You hadn’t seen what he laid out, but the way he said it made your whole body tense. Turning your face away from his hand, you pressed your cheek to your shoulder.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, in a much quieter voice, he said, “Don’t do that.” It was so soft it didn’t register as a threat until you looked back up and saw the way his face had shifted. The smile was gone again, jaw tight like it was about to break.

“I said I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he murmured, eyes darkening slowly. “So don’t make me.”

He stood abruptly, dragging a small chair from the wall and setting it in front of you, backward. He straddled it, arms crossed over the top, chin resting lazily on them like he had nowhere else in the world to be.

He reached down and picked up the toast heart, holding it between two fingers like a strange offering. “Eat.” he said softly. “You’ll need it.” Then he grinned, “We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

He stood slowly, walked over to a drawer by the far wall, and pulled something out—carefully folded, wrapped in plastic. A pale pink dress. “I want you to wear this,” he said, walking it over and setting it neatly on the tray. “It’s important for today.”

Your stomach turned just looking at it. “Can I… have privacy?” you asked, voice shaking.

He blinked, and for a long second, he didn’t move. Then something strange flickered in his eyes—like surprise, then delight. “Of course you can,” he said softly, almost too softly. “You’re still my girl, I trust you.”

He crouched and slowly undid the ropes around your wrists, fingers brushing your skin longer than necessary. You bit down the panic, keeping your breathing even, waiting for your moment.

Once free, he stepped back. "I’ll be right here" He said, turning around in a corner to shield himself from your body. "Just shout when you're done."

As soon as his face was completely out of sight, your mind exploded with clarity. A voice screaming inside you; run.

Your body moved on instinct. You didn’t even look at the dress, you didn’t even feel the floor under your feet. You bolted.

Across the room, through the hallway.

The front door, the exit.

You grabbed the handle with both hands, heart exploding in your chest. But there were locks, so many locks. Bolts, chains, a twist bar, a digital keypad. Your fingers trembled as you fumbled with them, hands slick with sweat.

Then behind you, the sound of footsteps—fast. You turned around quickly, chest heaving from adrenaline.

Myung-gi stood in the hallway, panting raggedly, hair a tangled mess. His pupils were blown wide, shirt half-unbuttoned as he stood barefoot. He looked like something hollowed him out and stitched the pieces back wrong.

"Why," he said, voice shaking with rage and disbelief, "would you make me do this?"

You backed against the door, scrambling with the top lock.

But not fast enough.

His hand shook as he raised the gun, face trembling—not with sadness now, but pure hysteria. “You weren’t supposed to leave,” he whispered.

And then—

‘BANG!’

The shot rang out, deafening. Pain exploded through your leg, red-hot and instant. You dropped to the ground screaming, the impact making your head snap back against the door.

Blood smeared under your thigh as your body curled up in agony, your hands instinctively trying to hold the wound, stop the blood, the burning.

He was walking toward you now. Slow, measured. His eyes were wet with tears, smile gone. But something stood out—the gun still in his hand, and the expression in his face that looked nothing like love anymore.

Reaching down and snatching your unwounded leg in a tight grip, Myung-gi started to drag your body through the house. Nails in the floor dug into your back and ripped skin off as you screamed, grabbing onto anything you could—hoping, praying to make the dragging stop.

Catching a glass vase in your hands, you acted on pure instinct and flung your arm forward, chucking the glass straight at his head.

“Fuck!” he shouted, stumbling back and clutching his head with his free hand. Blood leaked through his fingers as you kicked your leg violently, desperate to break free.

But he was stronger, manlier. Gripping your ankle even tighter now, Myung-gi looked back at you with blood dripping down his face. Every bit of softness he once had was gone—replaced with pure, wild insanity.

Tilting his head slightly, he pulled the gun from his back pocket again and, without hesitation, fired a bullet straight through the center of your palm.

You let out a lung-rupturing scream, staring at your hand—now gushing blood, a ragged hole burned through the middle. You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You screamed, cried, let everything out. Every inch of your body burned with pain. You felt like you could pass out—you should've passed out—but you didn’t.

The pain pulsed through your body like electricity, every heartbeat sharpening it. Your leg was useless. Your hand, ruined. Blood smeared across the floor beneath you. Yet still, Myung-gi held on.

Without a word, he started up again, pulling you across the floor like a rag doll. His face was blank now—no trace of rage, no joy, just a cold, eerie stillness. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, you swore you saw pity.

You screamed again as your back scraped along the wooden floor, nails coming from the ground ripping your skin like paper.

You reached for furniture, walls, anything, but nothing helped. He dragged you through the hallway, past the shattered vase and overturned chair, past the kitchen where the breakfast still sat—untouched and already going cold.

You knew where he was taking you. The door you'd been trapped in for days, never having a second of daylight; the basement.

“No” you choked out, voice nearly gone. “Please—please, Myung-gi, stop…”

He didn’t answer, just pulled the door open with his free hand, revealing a narrow staircase swallowed by shadows. It smelled like mold and metal, damp wood and bleach.

Your body thrashed weakly, but it was no use. You were already half inside.

The stairs creaked as he hauled your limp body downward, one step at a time. Your broken hand hung uselessly at your side, blood dripping with every jolt. Your vision was swimming while the cold air swallowed you. Soon after, the door creaked shut behind him, plunging you both into darkness.

The light buzzed to life above you with a loud, electric snap. The basement was worse than you remembered—maybe because now you were seeing it knowing what was coming. The chair was still there, so were the ropes.

Myung-gi let go of your leg and stood upright, breathing hard. He didn’t look at you for a long moment. He just stared ahead, silent, hands twitching at his sides.

“You’re pretty fucking bratty,” he said again, voice lower now, teeth clenched. “Did all this for you. Everything.”

He took a few slow steps towards the far wall where a row of tools hung neatly—like part of a workshop. You hadn’t noticed them before, or maybe your mind had refused to.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths as you watched him select something. His hand hovered, then closed around it.

An axe.

Large and slightly rusted—like he’d used it once and put it up for display. Your body went still. Myung-gi turned towards you once again. now dragging the blade behind him. The scraping sound it made against the cement floor was slow and rhythmic—almost teasing.

“I didn’t want it to be like this” he said, voice shaking. “You made me do this. I love you—I love you so much it hurts. But you don’t listen, you just keep running.”

You tried to crawl backwards using your one good arm, your wounded leg dragging helplessly behind you. “Please.” you rasped. “Please help me... You don’t have to—”

But he was already lifting it.

And before another word could leave your lips, the blade came down—fast and jagged, slicing across your chest with a shallow slash.

You couldn't even scream. Frozen in pain, you laid still in the same spot. Breathing—barely, but still alive nonetheless. You stared up blankly at Myung-gi's blurry face, silently pleading for the torture to stop.

His eyes twitched, unfocused, almost dazed as he stared down at you—like he couldn’t believe what he’d done. Like you were the one who forced it to happen.

Then, slowly, methodically, he adjusted his grip on the axe. With one last inhale, he brought it down again—this time lower, heavier, landing hard in the center of your chest.

Your body convulsed violently, the air ripped clean from your lungs. You didn’t feel the sharpness as much as you felt the weight—a crushing force that cracked through your bones like old wood.

Blood spilled out in waves now, warm and endless, pooling beneath you like a dark halo. Your body began to shut down, nerves firing in chaotic bursts, every part of you pulsing with agony.

You weren’t moving anymore.

No twitching fingers, no pleading breath, no more glassy, blinking stares. Just stillness—silence. Blood reached the bottoms of his feet, warm and sticky. The sound of it dripping echoed in the basement like a slow, ticking clock.

Finally, Myung-gi dropped the axe. It hit the concrete with a dull, wet 'clank', but he barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on your body—limp, twisted, a lifeless version of everything he once adored.

He dropped to his knees beside you. For a moment, he didn’t speak, just stared. Then, carefully, he reached forward and rubbed your bloodied face with his hand

"You're so beautiful." he spoke, smudging crimson around your cheek. "It's so peaceful when you're quiet, isn't it?"

He laughed, but it cracked halfway through, twisting into a sob. A sudden, sharp sound tore from his chest as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder, shaking.

“I didn’t mean to do it like this...” he gasped, voice breaking apart. “You were supposed to see me—love me. Not leave me.”

His hands clutched your body, pulling you into his arms. Blood soaked into his clothes, pooling in his lap, but he didn’t care. He rocked you gently like a doll, murmuring apologies between dry, choking breaths.

“I didn’t want to.” he kept repeating. “I didn’t want to, I didn’t want to…”

His voice broke into silence, only the hum of the basement light remained, and the sound of him holding something that could never hold him back.

"Don't go yet… please" He begged, staring down at your cold, bloody body. Tears fell from his face onto yours as he sobbed loudly, snot pouring out of his nose. "I need you forever, even if it's only a part of you." He couldn't bear the thought of losing you completely, clinging to any remnant he could find.

Looking at the shredded pieces of skin and meat hanging off of your chest, Myung-gi sniffed softly. There was a way you could be closer to him than ever—inside of his body.

He bent down quickly, taking the fragments of your chest inside of his mouth. It was bitter—sour even, just like you before your demise. He kept chewing, crushing the rubbery bits of body between his molars.

His mouth was littered with the taste of blood—but none of that mattered. It was yours. The act felt like a final, twisted embrace. A desperate attempt to keep you with him always.

But it wasn’t enough. Even if it dulled the ache for now, he knew it would crawl back—hungrier, louder, more feral than before.

His hand trembled as he reached for the gun lying on the floor beside him. The metal felt weird against his skin—cold, distant, like it belonged to someone else entirely. He pressed the barrel to his temple, breath shuddering.

Silence pressed slowly, just him, the gun, and the weight of everything he’d destroyed. Closing his eyes with a slow, trembling breath, he pulled the trigger.

The blast shattered the silence, echoing through the basement like the end of a symphony. His body dropped beside yours with a heavy thud—limp and final.

Blood spilled out, meeting yours in the middle, mixing into the cracked concrete like a signature neither of you could take back. Two lives, forever tangled in violence and delusion.

As the last of his breath slipped away, a single tear traced down his cheek and fell onto yours. It lingered there—quiet and cold. Myung-gi died with a smile, satisfied by the twisted peace he'd crafted—because in his mind, you were his forever.

But your peace would never come, not even in death. Because even in the afterlife, you were still bound to him—tethered to the madness he called love.

Forever.

[igorluvr]

‘BETTER THAN HIM | se-mi x fem!reader

PAIRING: se-mi x fem!reader

CONTENT: hurt/comfort, angst & smut, kissing/making out, dryhumping, fingering, cheating?, oral (reader receiving), overstimulation

SYNOPSIS: after getting into an argument with your boyfriend during your sleepover, your bestfriend decides to help you feel better in a different way than you expected.

AUTHORS NOTE: first wlw fic i wrote pls be nice… also this mayyy or may not be based off true events, me and my hg be getting into some crazy shit at our sleepovers 🤗 anyways enjoy !!

words: [2.5k]

“FUCK!” you shouted, throwing your phone onto the bed in frustration.

“Honestly, if he’s still mad, just break up with him already. You guys have been at it for almost an hour,” Semi said, popping a few chips into her mouth as she scrolled on her phone.

You dropped your head with a groan. “No, you don’t get it! He’s just so stubborn sometimes. I’m trying to communicate but he won’t listen.”

For the past 45 minutes, you’d been arguing with your boyfriend— and getting absolutely nowhere. It had started over something small: an Instagram post.

You had somewhere to be earlier that day, and while getting ready, you realized you looked really good. Naturally, your boost in confidence made you want to take a few pictures and post them. Not for anyone else— just to appreciate yourself.

But, like always, your boyfriend had a problem with it. Apparently, it was an issue because “other guys will see,” and he claimed you only posted it for their validation. You wanted nothing less than another man’s attention, and it hurt that he even assumed that.

You offered countless solutions— even offered to take the story down entirely— but the damage was already done. He was already mad, and nothing you did could fix it.

“He’s acting like a little bitch— it’s embarrassing. I seriously don’t get what you see in him.” Semi muttered with a shrug.

You threw your head back in exasperation. “Stop, he’s really sweet most of the time.”

“And what about the times he’s not?” she shot back.

You collapsed into the pillow and turned your head toward her. “It’s only bad when he’s upset about something… he just gets worked up easily.”

“That’s not getting worked up easily— that’s manipulative.” she said bluntly. “You shouldn’t have to kiss his ass just to have a peaceful day.”

You sighed at her words but you knew deep down she wasn’t wrong. It was a never-ending cycle—barely a week went by without you having to bend over backwards to soothe his ego. As much as you tolerated it, it was wearing you down.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Semi continued. “Seriously. You're the perfect girlfriend, and he still finds shit to complain about. Who else would deal with his behavior and still love him unconditionally?”

You didn’t respond to Semi. Not because she was wrong, but because hearing it out loud made it harder to keep pretending you were okay—that this relationship was still something worth fighting for.

Your eyes burned, but you refused to let the tears fall. Instead, you curled into yourself and stared at the ceiling, blinking hard, letting silence swallow the you.

Semi eventually put her phone down. “Hey,” she said softly, moving closer. “Don’t let him do this to you.”

You bit your lip, voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted him to love me… the way I love him.”

There was a beat of silence, then the sheets shifted as Semi reached out and brushed your hair back. Her touch was gentle, lingering— something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“It’s okay. His love isn’t worth it anyways.” She said, wiping the stray tears off your cheek. “You have a big heart, you just give it to the wrong people.”

Her words turned the faucets on your eyes even more. She saw right through you— and you didn’t know if you were thankful for finally being seen, or disappointed you let yourself be so vulnerable.

Her presence was warm, grounding. When you looked up at her, she wasn’t judging you. She just looked sad— for you. The dim lighting around the room sharpened her features as she hovered over you, closer and more intimate than you’d ever been.

You exhaled shakily. “I don’t want to cry about him anymore.” you whispered. “I just… I need to think about something else.”

She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated. Eyes searching hers, voice low. “I just need a distraction. From him— from everything.”

A pause. A deep, silent pause.

Her fingers threaded gently between yours— as if she were scared you’d float away. Suddenly, she leaned in. It was quick, like she was chasing the moment before it slipped from her grasp.

As her lips met yours, you felt a firework go off in your chest. It felt like all your problems disappeared, and you had nothing in the world to worry about.

Her thumb brushed your cheek as she deepened the kiss, now careful and slow, her lips moving like she was learning you—memorizing you.

You kissed her back with all the ache in your heart. With all the confusion and the quiet yearning you didn’t know had been growing between you for so long.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, breath shallow.

Those same eyes that once stared at your friend with adoration, looked right at her with nothing but love. She had been the only one there for you no matter what, and she always knew how to comfort you.

Maybe it was the state of vulnerability— maybe it was the fact that you felt truly seen for the first time in years— but something in you flipped. Looking up at Semi, you could tell she felt it too.

Semi let out the softest sound against your before her hands gripped your waist with even more urgency. Then, in one swift motion, she flipped you over, guiding you so you were straddling her.

Your thighs fell open over her lap, your hands braced against her chest. You stared down at her, breath unsteady and heart pounding as the shift in position sent a flood of heat straight between your legs.

“Semi—” you whispered, your voice caught between hesitation and desire.

Her eyes locked with yours, dark but steady. “Shh, it’s okay” she murmured. “Are you comfortable with this?”

As you let out a whiney “yes”, her hands slid under your shirt, palms dragging up your sides as she pulled you down again, your mouths colliding with a new intensity.

The kiss was still careful— but deeper now, hungrier. Her tongue dragged along your bottom lip, urging you to open wider, your bodies pressing together like they were aching to disappear into one another.

You rocked against her without thinking, the friction sending a quick gasp from your throat. The thin fabric of your sleep shorts and her pajama pants did little to muffle the feeling— it was all heat and pressure and desperate tension.

One of her hands found the crook of your back, guiding your hips into a slow, deliberate grind against hers.

It was slow—messy. Like you’d been waiting your whole lives for this moment. Your hands tangled in her hair as she pushed you down, making you grind even harder—pulling a moan straight from your throat and into her mouth.

The kiss was intoxicating. You could spend hours in that same position, studying each other’s mouths as you backed yourself onto her, over and over again.

But suddenly, her lips pulled away from yours with a soft pop, her eyes flicking downward as her expression shifted.

Her hands, once clinging to your back, moved to your waist as she sat you upright. In one smooth motion, she tugged your shirt off and tossed it aside.

Wearing nothing but a bra underneath, you barely had time to react before Semi hooked her fingers beneath the band and lifted it, freeing your breasts.

Then she gently pushed you back down, pressing your bare chest to hers. As you laid there, stomach to stomach, she lowered her mouth and took one of your breasts into it, licking slow, hot stripes across your skin.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips, your back arching into her touch as she traced dizzying circles around your nipple, her other hand finding the second breast—rolling it carefully beneath her fingers.

Your head shot back in pleasure as your hips rolled into hers. A low moan escaped her throat, muffled against your skin. You could feel the vibrations travel straight through your chest, making your body twitch with need.

Suddenly, Semi flipped you around once again, softly placing your head down on the pillow below you as she hovered over your face.

"Fuck, you're so pretty..." she murmured, her voice warm and slick with lust as she kissed a trail down your sternum. "He doesn't deserve all this."

You whimpered, caught between embarrassment and raw desire, your fingers tangling in the sheets. Then, without warning, her hand dipped lower—skimming over your stomach before slipping past the waistband of your shorts.

Your breath caught. “Semi—”

“Shh” she whispered against your neck, teeth grazing the spot that made your thighs clench. “Let me take care of you.”

You did. You let her pull your shorts down your legs, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. When her fingers finally slipped between your thighs—you gasped, grabbing at her shoulders as your hips jerked.

She smiled, almost wickedly, as she dragged her fingers through your slick heat. “God, you’re soaked.”

Your whole body trembled as she slid a finger inside, followed by another, curling just right—just enough to make you see stars. "Keep looking at me," she whispered, and when your eyes met hers again, the intensity in her gaze nearly undid you.

“Please…” you breathed, not even sure what you were begging for anymore. She kissed you again, deep and slow, fingers never relenting.

Your moans spilled freely into her mouth as she swallowed every sound you gave her, fingers thrusting deeper, knuckles brushing places that made your toes curl.

Your thighs tensed around her hand, your body arching, desperate and trembling. She was unrelenting—curling, twisting, fucking you slow and steady like she knew exactly what you needed. Like she’d been memorizing your body long before tonight.

“S-Semi, I’m—” you choked out, breath hitching as your nails dug into her shoulders.

“I know” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Don’t fight it. Let go for me, baby.”

With a final curl of her fingers and a firm press of her thumb, your vision blurred.

You shattered—hips jerking, mouth falling open in a silent cry, heat ripping through your core in violent, pulsing waves. She held you through it, her other hand gripping your waist, grounding you as you fell apart.

And even as you came down, gasping and twitching, she didn’t stop. Her mouth moved back to your chest, tongue flicking lazily across your oversensitive nipple as her fingers slowed, dragging every last aftershock from your trembling body.

“S-Semi—fuck, wait—too much,” you whined, trying to twist away. But she only smirked, her voice low and smug against your skin. “Thought you could take it, baby.”

You shook your head, dazed and overstimulated, but still aching in that deep, dizzy way. Still clinging to her touch. She pulled her fingers out with an agonizing slowness, bringing them to her mouth and sucking them clean—never breaking eye contact.

“Taste so good” she murmured, voice low and warm as she licked her fingers clean—slow, deliberate. Her eyes never left yours, dark with desire, but soft around the edges.

You were still breathless, your thighs trembling from the high she had already pulled out of you. But the way she looked at you—like she was nowhere near done—sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.

She kissed your inner thigh once, then again a little higher, her breath brushing your skin. “Just relax for me, okay?”

You nodded, barely able to speak.

Semi guided your legs open with gentle hands, her thumbs stroking lazy circles into your skin as she settled between them. Her lips trailed soft, reverent kisses from your knee to the crease of your thigh, patient, savoring every inch of you.

“You're so pretty like this,” she whispered, her breath warm against your cunt before she placed the softest kiss right on your clit. You gasped, arching onto her slightly.

She smiled at the reaction, then dipped her head again—tongue tracing slow, teasing strokes between your folds, as if she had all the time in the world. Her hands came to rest on your hips, grounding you, holding you in place without force.

Her tongue moved with purpose but tenderness, curling and licking slow circles that made your eyes flutter shut. She moaned softly against you, sending gentle vibrations through your body, and the sensation made your breath hitch.

"That's it..." she murmured, voice low and steady between soft licks. "Just let me take care of you."

Your hand found her hair, fingers curling in without thinking—more for something to hold onto than to guide her. She was already tuned into every reaction you gave, adjusting her pace with each shiver, each breathy moan.

You felt her mouth seal around your clit, the suction light but unrelenting. Your hips rolled instinctively into her touch, and she welcomed it—humming softly like your pleasure was a melody she already knew by heart.

“I—I’m… fuck—“ you whispered, voice barely audible, overwhelmed by how good, how gentle it felt.

She responded with a kiss to your clit and a quiet, “I know.” Her hands rubbed your inner thighs with tenderness as she slightly increased her pace—adjusting her mouth to your body's responses.

Your fingers tightened in her hair as your body arched, overwhelmed by the warmth building in your stomach and the dizzying pleasure of her tongue. Every movement, every flick, every hum of hers seemed crafted just for you. She made you feel worshipped, adored—even with your legs shaking and your thoughts reduced to pure feeling.

When it hit—when your orgasm rolled through you, quiet yet all-consuming. You let out a soft, breathless cry—body trembling as you melted into the bed.

Semi didn’t stop right away. She eased you through it gently, mouth slowing with care as her hands rubbed your thighs until you softened beneath her completely. Only when your body gave a tired twitch and your breathing grew shallow did she finally lift her head.

She pressed a kiss just above your mound, then another on your stomach as she moved up your body. Her hand brushed the hair from your face before she nestled beside you, pulling the blanket over both your bodies with a soft hum.

You were quiet for a moment, your head resting against her shoulder, her fingers tracing mindless shapes into your spine.

“…Thank you,” you whispered, eyes heavy, voice hoarse.

She kissed your forehead softly. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to.”

You nuzzled closer to her warmth, leg slipping between hers. Everything felt hazy, gentle, safe. Her skin was warm against yours, heartbeat a slow lullaby beneath your cheek.

She held you like she didn’t want to let go, her touch light but firm, grounding you as sleep began to tug at the edges of your body.

“You okay?” she murmured quietly.

You nodded into her chest. “Yeah… more than okay.”

A small smile tugged at her lips as she tucked the blanket up to your chin. “Good. Then sleep.” With her arms wrapped around you, her scent lingering in the air, and her body curved perfectly against yours, it didn’t take long.

You drifted off like that—bare skin to bare skin, hearts steady, wrapped in a warmth that didn’t just touch your body, but held your soul.

[igorluvr]

౨ৎ - 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊 (smau) ─── in which, you call the squid game girls by their full name cw f. reader, established relationship, crack, fluff, jokes (nothing serious!), i made ji-yeong's surname since she doesn't go by any in the show starring kang sae-byeok (067), ji-yeong (240), kim jun-hee (222), se-mi (380), kim young-mi (095), cho hyun-ju (120), kang no-eul (011) a/n trying to relief stress from s3 by writing cute txt messages from my favs, i'll be posting more in a few mins hehe ~

rest of the smau will be under the cut ♡

01. kang sae-byeok, player 067 & 02. ji-yeong, player 240 ₊˚⊹

03. kim jun-hee, player 222 & 04. han se-mi, player 380 ₊˚⊹

05. kim young-mi, player 095 & 06. cho hyun-ju, player 120 ₊˚⊹

07. kang no-eul, guard 011 ₊˚⊹

[igorluvr]

‘BACKSTAGE | choi su-bong x reader

PAIRING: thanos x reader

CONTENT: maybe enemies to lovers, tiny angst, choking/neck grabbing, dirty talking, spit, fingers in mouth, mouth covering, face grabbing, mirror sex, semi-public, praise & degrading, squirting, orgasm denial, overstimulation

SYNOPSIS: years ago, you and su-bong hooked up briefly— then he vanished. now, he’s suddenly back for a comeback gig, and when your eyes met mid-concert, the tension reignited. sharp, hot, and begging to be resolved.

AUTHORS NOTE: why do i always come up with the NASTIEST smut... anyways written for req by @thanosspills, i hope u enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it !

words: [5.3k]

STARING up at the stage, all you felt was rage— pure, simmering hate. There he was, rapping like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t left you stranded after you laid yourself bare for him years ago.

Sure, you were both young and reckless back then, but even you knew what he did was cruel. No matter how famous you are, it could never excuse vanishing without a word. No goodbye, not even a text.

You weren’t just some groupie. What happened between you was rough, spontaneous, unforgettable— the kind of night people fantasize about when they’re lonely. You thought he felt it too.

But he disappeared, and the silence was louder than anything he’d ever written. You used to idolize him. Now, he made your skin crawl in disgust.

Still, you thought about it constantly. Replayed every second, every breath.

Maybe he didn’t like it.

Maybe he regretted it.

And then, as that night looped once more in your head, he looked right at you—eyes locking like a match to gasoline. The fire in your hearts exploded as you both stared intently.

At first, his eyes locked on you like a magnet, relentless and steady. But suddenly they blew wide as his face turned beet red.

His lips faltered—just for a second. One line dropped short as he stumbled over his lyrics. The mic lowered an inch before he caught himself, dragging his gaze away like it burned to look at you. Like the memory hit him just as hard.

But it was too late— you saw it. The guilt, the lust, the recognition.

Your jaw clenched. You should’ve looked away— should’ve walked off, pretended like you didn’t feel it too. Tried to ignore that ache that sat low in your stomach, sick and pulsing. But you didn’t.

Because fuck, he still looked good. Sure, he was a little older— broader in the shoulders, jaw more defined. But he still had that same face that lured you in, the same lips you used to trace with your tongue. Now those lips were twitching, smirking—like he knew what he was doing to you.

Backstage cleared out fast after the performance. Everyone buzzed about his comeback but you didn’t hear a word of it. Your ears were ringing from adrenaline and unresolved fury. Then suddenly—

“Still mad at me, baby?”

The voice came from behind, low and gravelly, cutting straight through the noisy hum of the hallway. You froze until a hand brushed your side.

Slowly turning around, you were met with the man you hated more than anything on this earth. He stood close, eyes dark with a smirk that made your blood boil.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” You spat, but your voice wavered—you hated it.

He cocked his head, stepping in until your back met the concrete wall. “Why not?” he murmured, voice thick with fake innocence as he inched closer. “You liked it last time. When you were dripping all over me—begging.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, shooting a gaze sharp enough to cut skin. "That was the past, Su-bong. Stop bringing up irrelevant shit, especially in public," you hissed, darting a quick glance around to make sure no one was listening.

"Didn’t seem irrelevant when you were staring like you wanted to rip my clothes off with your teeth,” he shot back, a smirk forming at his lips. “But okay.”

You scoffed, turning away in annoyance. “I never did that.”

He stepped right back into your line of sight, forcing your eyes to his again. “So you’re telling me that when you saw me on stage, you didn’t feel anything?” His voice dropped as his head tilted, watching you close.

Silence.

You wanted to say no— wanted to shut it down and scream that he was delusional, but nothing came out. Because deep down, you knew you wanted him back, and you didn't want to give up the chance to finally have that.

He read it instantly. The twitch in your brow, the breath you held. “Fine, be stubborn.” he muttered, turning on his heel.

Your heart dropped then and there. After all these years, after you finally found him again, there he was— walking away just like before. A pit formed in your stomach as you watched his figure grow smaller with each step.

But then suddenly, he stopped at a nearby table. His eyes flicked down as he picked something up—a lanyard.

Turning slowly, he faced you again, that same smirk from before crawling back onto his face. The distance didn’t matter—you could feel the heat behind his stare like he was inches away.

He made his way back towards you, twirling the lanyard between his fingers as he held eye contact. “If you’re gonna keep lurking backstage like you own the place...” he murmured as he got close again, “might as well make it official.”

Before you could speak, he reached up slowly and slipped the lanyard over your neck. His fingers brushed your collarbone, then your throat. He let them linger, pressed just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Come by later, or don't. It's up to you now.” he said lowly, eyes trailing down your body like he was undressing you with every glance. Then, he turned and walked away—unapologetically, like he already knew you’d follow.

You stared down at the tag on the lanyard, inspecting the design.

'V.I.P' stared back at you like a loaded gun on a table—waiting for you to pull the trigger. You almost laughed. Of course he gave you this. Not a pass— a challenge. A warning disguised as access.

By the time you blinked out of it, the hallway was empty. His presence was gone, but the heat between your legs persisted. You clenched your thighs together, scowling at yourself, but your feet were already moving.

It wasn’t until you were standing outside his dressing room that you realized what you'd done. The door was cracked open like he expected you, like he knew you’d come.

You slipped inside quietly. It was dim, private, thick with tension the moment you crossed the doorframe.

He was seated on the couch, head tipped back, shirt damp and clinging to his chest with sweat. When he heard the door click shut, he didn’t even turn around, just spoke.

“Took you long enough.”

You swallowed hard. “Don’t flatter yourself.” But your voice was breathy, betraying you.

He chuckled deeply, standing up to turn around and face you. His eyes were dark—like he'd been waiting years just to look at you like this again.

Making his way to you, Su-bong grabbed something off the cluttered table—a thick black wristband, slightly distressed from use. He rolled it between his fingers as he approached, head tilted, lips curled just barely into that crooked, infuriating smirk.

His eyes grazed over you, slow and unhurried, like he had all night to look. Like he was already tasting you with his eyes.

“You’re really still mad, huh?” he murmured, voice smooth like honey laced with poison. “But you came anyway, that says more than your little attitude ever could.”

He held the wristband up like it was some kind of offering. “Remember this?” he asked. “You wore it that night, kept it on while I fucked you face-down.”

Your stomach flipped and he saw it—how your lips parted just slightly, how your breath caught in your throat.

“Yeah,” he chuckled under his breath, stepping even closer. “But then you left it like it didn't matter."

His hand reached for yours, deliberate and slow. He slid the band over your wrist, tugging it up until it rested snug against your skin.

“Still fits. Still mine,” he said softly, letting his thumb brush across the inside of your wrist. “Even if you pretend you're not.”

Your chest rose with a shaky breath. You hated how calm he was. How in control, like he knew your body was already betraying you.

He leaned in, lips ghosting along the lobe of your ear. “You gonna keep pretending? Or should I remind you what it feels like to spend the night with me?”

His other hand reached up to cup your face—thumb tracing your bottom lip, eyes dark and lustful. A small whimper of desperation escaped your mouth, causing him to smile and step closer. “God, you're loud, I loved that. Always needed my fingers in your mouth just to shut you up.”

You flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“I missed that little choke in your breath,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Missed how you’d pretend to hate me while riding me so deep you couldn’t speak.”

Then finally, he grabbed your jaw fully—fingers gripping, guiding your face to look directly at him.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, tone low and cruel and knowing. “Say the word. Otherwise, I’m taking my time with you tonight."

You swallowed your pride, pushing your hate aside as you were relieved you got the chance to experience him again. "No—Don't stop, please." Your voice came out quiet, breathless, but the second those words slipped past your lips, Su-bong's expression changed.

That smug grin disappeared and got replaced by something darker— hungrier.

“Say it again.” he said, not as a demand, but like he needed to hear it. His grip on your jaw tightened slightly, just enough to make your breath catch again.

Your lips parted shakily. “Don’t stop.”

His thumb slipped into your mouth before you could say anything else, pushing past your teeth slow and deep, pressing down on your tongue. “Mm,” he hummed, eyes flicking down to watch you. “That’s better.”

You sucked instinctively, earning you a sharp inhale through his nose, a low 'fuck' under his breath. Thanos let you take his thumb deeper, spit pooling against your tongue, your cheeks hollowing around him like muscle memory had never faded.

“Still such a pretty little mouth,” he muttered. “Made for me.”

His free hand slid down your stomach, palm dragging slowly down your sternum before stopping at the button of your jeans. He didn’t undo them yet, though. Just rested his hand there—heavy, intentional.

“You know what I thought about all this time?” he asked quietly, pulling his thumb from your mouth and dragging it across your cheek wetly. “How you used to sound when I covered your mouth—how your eyes would roll back when I made you hold your moans in.”

His fingers dipped just beneath your waistband, teasing the skin beneath. He didn't move yet—just watched you squirm.

“You wanna be good for me?” he whispered, forehead pressing to yours again. “Then shut your mouth and keep your eyes on me.”

As he slipped two fingers back into your mouth, the hand at your jeans finally moved. He unbuttoned them slowly, never once breaking eye contact, and slid his hand inside. Not rushed, just deep—knuckles pressed against you through your soaked underwear.

Then as his hand covered your mouth, fingers still inside, he started rubbing just enough to make your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he breathed, jaw clenching as he felt the heat between your legs. “There she is.” Teasing you through your wet panties, Thanos dipped down and latched his mouth onto the crook of your neck.

He sucked on your skin mercilessly, like he didn’t care if it left a mark—like that was the point. Growing harder with his mouth, his fingers started moving faster in your pants.

You moaned louder, the lewd sound muffled by his hand. You could feel yourself growing more needy with each growing second, bucking into Su-bong's hand until suddenly, his hand stopped.

“You gotta take what I give you, baby.” His voice was low and cruel, like it turned him on to see you fall apart under his control.

You whimpered beneath his hand, hips stuttering from the sudden lack of friction. His fingers were still pressed there, still warm, but unmoving—and that was worse. The teasing, the denial, the way he stared at you like he owned your need.

“Don’t grind on me like some desperate slut,” he growled against your neck, voice muffled by the skin he’d been sucking raw. “You want more?” You nodded quickly, eyes low, still locked on his like a magnet.

“Use your words.” He pulled his hand from your mouth—wet fingers dragging down your chin and across your throat, slow and filthy. “Come on, let’s hear it.”

“Please,” you breathed. “Please touch me.”

He clicked his tongue, tilting his head with a fake, cocky disappointment. “Already begging? Thought you’d last longer than that.”

Still, his fingers finally moved. He slipped past the soaked fabric, sliding two fingers through your folds with a dizzying slowness. “Fuck,” he hissed, brows twitching. “You’re soaked.”

You bit your lip hard, trying not to cry out as his fingers circled your clit just once before dipping lower again. Teasing, never enough.

“You missed this,” he whispered, mouth brushing your jaw. “Missed how mean I get when you’re this wet. Don’t lie.”

Your hands gripped his shirt, desperate for something to hold onto. He chuckled and leaned in close again, lips brushing yours but never kissing.

“I’m not gonna be gentle with you, baby,” he said softly, cruelly. “Not after the way you looked at me tonight. Not after you showed up with that attitude and those fuck-me eyes like you didn’t want this the whole damn time.”

Then, suddenly, he pulled his hand from your pants and shoved the same fingers back into your mouth—coated in your slick. “Clean it up,” he ordered. “Show me how good you taste.”

Your tongue swirled around his fingers as your eyes fluttered shut. Moaning softly onto him, you swallowed slowly, savoring the moment.

"So sexy." Thanos mumbled, running his hand down your waist as you sucked his fingers relentlessly. “Fuck… just like that.”

You felt his breath on your cheek, his body pressed close behind yours. The air between you burned—hot, heavy, filled with things neither of you were saying.

He slowly took his fingers from your mouth with a wet drag, letting them trail down your chin as he stepped back slightly. “Up,” he said. Quiet, yet firm. “Come here.”

You followed, dazed and aching, as he guided you a few steps across the room. The vanity mirror caught your eye before anything else—the soft light glowing around its edges, your reflection flushed, pupils blown wide. You looked wrecked already, but he wasn’t even close to done.

He stopped you in front of it, hand still at your waist. “Look at you.” he said, voice low in your ear. “See what I do to you?”

His hands ran over your hips before bending you over with practiced ease. Your chest hit the vanity, hands bracing yourself on either side of the mirror as he came up behind you. He kicked your legs open with one knee, just wide enough.

His palm flattened against the small of your back, pressing you down slightly. Not rough, but just enough to make you submit—to let you feel how much stronger he was.

"You know what I missed most?" he asked, voice lower now, almost reverent. "The way you arch for me the second I put you like this. Like your body knows who it belongs to."

You let out a shaky breath, heat crawling up your neck as you looked yourself in the mirror—lips parted, pulse fluttering at your throat. Su-bong bent over you slowly, dragging his lips across the shell of your ear.

“I used to fuck you right here, didn’t I?” he whispered, hips pressing against your ass to let you feel his hard length straining against his jeans. “Right in front of this mirror, made you watch the whole thing, watch as you came undone.”

You whimpered, back arching just a little more as his hands gripped your waistband, tugging your jeans down over your hips, like he wanted to unwrap you inch by inch. He let out a hiss as your panties came into view, soaked and clinging to you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, trailing his fingers up the inside of your thigh. “You’re already a mess.”

You felt his hand slide up your back again until it wrapped around the back of your neck. It wasn't tight, not yet. Just there.

“I’m gonna ruin you in this mirror,” he whispered. “And you’re gonna watch every last second."

His hand stayed at the back of your neck, thumb grazing the base of your skull as he leaned in, pressing his chest to your back. His other hand reached around, cupping you through your soaked panties—fingers slow, almost lazy, as he dragged them over the damp fabric.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “You’re practically begging and I haven’t even pulled these off yet.”

Your breath hitched, body trembling slightly under his touch. In the mirror, your eyes met his; dark, feral, steady. He was watching you like a man starving, savoring every second of your unraveling.

“I want you to see it.” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “The way you fall apart for me, how your thighs shake before I even stretch you open.”

He tugged your panties down in one smooth motion, letting them fall to your ankles. You stepped out of them blindly, grasping harder against the edge of the vanity. His hand returned between your thighs, now skin-to-skin, fingers gliding through your slick folds with a slow, practiced precision.

“Fuck…” he muttered, jaw tightening as he circled your clit. “You’re dripping for me like you need me to fuck it out of you.” A moan slipped from your lips, hips twitching back against his hand.

“Keep your eyes up,” he ordered, pressing a firm kiss to the side of your neck. “I want you watching when I break you.”

Then, in a snap, he shifted. One arm wrapped around your stomach, pulling your body flush against his. His other hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so you were forced to meet your own gaze in the mirror.

“Look at that face, look how desperate you are for me.” he growled, the gravel in his voice dropping low and dirty. You could barely breathe. Every word was a match struck against your skin.

And then, without warning, he bent you back over the vanity, one hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades, the other gripping your hip tight. He slid his fingers between your legs again, but this time, there was no teasing.

He shoved two fingers inside you—deep, fast—drawing a strangled moan from your lips as your legs buckled slightly.

“There she fucking is,” he hissed, hand clamping over your mouth as your cries escaped. “That sweet little cunt I used to wreck.”

He pumped his fingers faster now, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room, hips grinding hard against your ass as his breath grew heavier behind you. You could feel how hard he was, how badly he wanted to lose control—but he didn’t, not yet.

“You're gonna come just like this.” he growled, voice shaking with restraint. “Bent over, drenched around my fingers and staring at yourself like the filthy girl you are.”

You moaned helplessly into his palm, your thighs trembling, the pressure building too fast.

“And when you're done,” he added darkly, removing his hand from your mouth to grab your face and turn it toward him, “I'm gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget anyone else ever touched you.”

His words set off a switch in your body. Suddenly, your orgasm hit you, crashing over your body in hot, blinding waves. You gasped his name, voice shattering and back arching as pleasure surged through you in deep, pulsing shocks.

Su-bong did't stop, though. His fingers kept working you—faster, deeper—drawing out every last spasm like he refused to let you come down just yet. He pressed into your spot again and again, wrist slick, grip unforgiving.

You whined, body shaking, fingers clawing at the vanity for something—anything to hold onto.

“I wanna feel you come until you cry for me, you hear me?" he hissed. Show me how bad you need me.”

You couldn't respond, could barely think. All you could do was feel it—your body helpless under his hands; dripping, sensitive, wrecked. And still, he kept going.

“You look so fucked-out already,” he muttered, staring straight into your reflection. “I haven’t even been inside you yet.”

Finally, his fingers slowed—drawing one last shudder from your overstimulated core before slipping his fingers out of you, wet and glistening.

He held them up between you and the mirror, watching a string of slick stretch between the two as he smirked.

“Filthy,” he whispered. “Just how I like you.” Then he reached down, unbuckled his belt with one sharp pull, and kicked his legs wider behind you.

“Bend back over for me, baby.” He lined himself up, one hand on your hip, the other gripping the back of your neck again, eyes still locked with yours in the mirror.

“Are you okay? You ready?” Su-bong asked, genuine concert shining through his rough exterior as he checked on you.

With a low 'yes', you nodded— a green light for him to keep going, because at this point—it would hurt you more to stop.

Su-bong exhaled sharply, jaw flexing as he adjusted his grip on your hips. His cock dragged against your folds, slick and hard, teasing the entrance with maddening precision.

“Good girl,” he muttered, guiding himself in inch by inch—stretching you open with delicious pressure. His breath caught as he sank deeper, watching every twitch of your face in the mirror, every tiny gasp and flutter of your lashes.

You whimpered, the stretch almost too much after how sensitive you already were—but it was so good, and he knew it.

“Look at you.” he breathed. “Taking me like that… fucking perfect.”

His hips pressed flush against your ass, fully buried now. He stayed there, still for a moment, letting you feel how he filled you completely. His hand smoothed over your back, steadying you.

“I missed this pussy,” he whispered, voice shaky with restraint. Then, he pulled back just slightly, rolling his hips forward again—slow, deep strokes that had your knees threatening to buckle all over again.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan, and Su-bong leaned in over you, teeth brushing your ear. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You’re gonna feel this for days.”

Each thrust stayed slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch. Skin slapping against skin, the wet sound of your bodies meeting echoed through the room like sin.

And then, without warning, he snapped his hips forward—once, hard—pulling a ragged cry from your lips.

“Too much?” he asked, still holding you firm. You shook your head fast, eyes red and glassy in the mirror, lips parted with desperate breath.

That was all he needed. Su-bong growled under his breath, grabbing both hips this time, and slammed into you with a deep, brutal thrust.

You gasped, one hand flying to grip the edge of the vanity. Then he did it again. And again.

His rhythm shifted—no more slow teasing. He pounded into you like he needed to claim every part of you, your name lost in the broken moans falling from your mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, teeth clenched, sweat starting to drip from his brow. “You’re milking my cock—fuck—you love this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer, could barely breathe.

His hand came up again, wrapped tight around your throat from behind—pulling you back into him with each thrust, forcing your eyes open toward your reflection.

“Don’t look away, I want you to see what I do to you.” he growled, pounding even deeper into your guts.

You practically screamed into his hand as he repeatedly slammed into that dizzying spot deep inside you, each thrust stealing the air from your lungs.

Your vision blurred, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your body jolted forward from the force of him. But Su-bong didn’t let you fall—his grip on your throat held you steady, keeping you upright and exposed, bound to him, the mirror forcing you to watch every second.

“Look at you,” he growled into your ear, pounding mercilessly into your soaked cunt. “Fucking drooling, legs shaking— you look ruined.”

Your moans had turned into whimpers now, breath caught in your chest as your body slipped further and further out of your control. You were unraveling fast—sweat on your skin, spit on your chin, the burn of overstimulation already morphing into something dangerous.

“You gonna come again?” he hissed, voice cracking. “I can feel it—gripping me so fucking tight.”

You couldn’t even form words. Your entire body was locked up, overwhelmed, your orgasm building violently under the surface. More intense, more urgent than anything you’d felt before.

“Let it out.” Su-bong snarled. “Cream all over my cock—make a fucking mess.”

His hand moved from your throat to your mouth, covering it just as the next thrust hit your spot dead-on—and that was it.

You screamed into his palm as your body snapped. Your climax tore through you like lightning, and this time everything gave out. Your legs, your breath, your restraint. Your whole body felt weak as your orgasm ripped through you.

A hot gush of liquid shot from your core, splashing against his hips, the floor, the vanity, soaking everything.

Su-bong froze for a second.

Then let out a long, guttural, “Fuck…” like he’d just watched something divine. He looked down, still inside you, watching your slick drip down your thighs and pool beneath your trembling knees.

“Shit.” he muttered, pulling you back against him. “You squirted all over me.”

You were shaking, chest heaving, eyes glassy with exhaustion and bliss. But he wasn’t done admiring you. He pulled his soaked cock out just slightly and rubbed your release up your inner thighs, watching you twitch from overstimulation.

“Didn’t even know you could do that,” he said, voice low and awed. “But fuck, baby—you just made a mess for me like a fucking dream.”

Then he leaned down, kissed your shoulder, and whispered: “You've got one more round in you, don't you, baby?”

Panting heavily, you nodded as you leaned on the vanity for stability. Your legs felt like jello—mush under your body as they shook violently.

"So pretty, my girl." His voice was rough silk, full of need and reverence, like he couldn’t believe the sight of you beneath him—wrecked, twitching, completely his.

Your legs were still shaking when he reached down and scooped you into his arms again. He didn’t even ask this time, just carried you across the room and dropped onto the couch with you in his lap, your body folded against his chest.

“You're gonna take me again like this,” Su-bong muttered, flipping you gently so your back hit the cushions. “Staring straight up at me.”

He climbed over you, slotted perfectly between your trembling legs, dragging the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance. Your breath hitched as your hands gripped the sides of his neck, legs falling open wider.

“Good girl,” he muttered, then pressed in again—slow this time, but heavy, stretching you full with one deep thrust. “Still so fucking tight.”

You moaned, and he caught it with his mouth—his lips messy and rough, kissing you like he needed it to breathe. When he pulled back, his hand gripped your jaw, firm and unforgiving.

“Keep those eyes on me,” he said through clenched teeth. “I wanna watch the exact second you come.”

His thumb traced your bottom lip, then pushed past it, dragging your mouth open wider. You were panting now, barely able to form words. He hovered above you, hips rolling deep and slow, breath hot against your cheek.

“Open your mouth.”

You obeyed, tongue out slightly, lips parted. Suddenly he spat into your mouth, hot and dominant. The warm slick hit your tongue, and your eyes fluttered as you swallowed it down without hesitation.

“God, that’s it,” he hissed. “You’re fucking perfect like this.”

Then his thrusts picked up—deeper, faster. He gripped your face with both hands now, holding you still as his thumbs pressed into your cheeks while his cock slammed into you over and over.

“You feel that stretch?” he growled. “That’s me ruining you from the inside out.”

You whimpered, body starting to jolt under him again, your orgasm rising too fast to fight. Su-bong leaned in, forehead pressed to yours, still gripping your jaw.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “Come with my spit in your mouth and my cock in your guts. Show me it’s all mine.”

And with a scream, you did. Your walls clamped down hard around him as your nails digged into his back, every part of you tightening as you came undone again.

“F-fuck—” he gasped, and then he was gone too—hips jerking before pulling himself completely out of you and shooting hot ropes of cum onto your stomach with a low, broken moan. Su-bong collapsed onto you, chest right on top of yours as you straddled his body below him.

You stayed like that; pressed together, panting, shaking until your heartbeats finally started to slow. His hand stayed on your face— gentle now.

Thumb stroking your cheek, eyes locked to yours like he couldn’t bear to look away. “Still with me?” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You nodded slowly, dazed and completely spent.

“Good.” He leaned down and kissed you again—slower this time, softer. And for a moment, the whole world disappeared.

Su-bong stayed draped over you for a moment longer, the heat of his skin against yours anchoring you, keeping you in the moment. His breath ghosted along your neck, slow and steady, as his fingers gently threaded through your hair.

Neither of you spoke. There was no need to.

Finally, he lifted himself just enough to look down at you—his hair messy, lips swollen, and brow damp with sweat. His thumb brushed lightly over the corner of your mouth, wiping away a streak of spit from earlier.

His eyes softened, like the fire had dimmed into a slow burn instead of an inferno. “You okay?” he asked again, quieter now.

You nodded, voice barely there. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

He kissed you again—this time not to dominate, not to possess—but slowly, like he was checking you were real. That this hadn’t been another memory he’d left behind.

Then he stood up, tucking himself back into his pants quickly, and grabbed a pack of tissues from a nearby shelf. Wordlessly, he crouched between your legs again, his touch tender now as he carefully wiped your stomach clean, murmuring a soft 'sorry' when you flinched at the sensitivity.

You couldn’t help but watch him—this man who had just wrecked you beyond belief, now wiping you down like he was afraid to hurt you. “You didn’t have to,” you whispered, smiling down at him.

“Yeah,” he said, tossing the tissues aside. “I did.”

He helped you sit up slowly, then reached down and grabbed your panties and jeans from the floor, holding them out to you. “Can I?” he asked, fingers grazing your thigh.

You nodded.

He helped you step back into them carefully, hands steady, gaze respectful. He didn’t rush it or say anything cocky, just took care of you.

Once you were decent again, he sank onto the couch beside you. For a long moment, he just looked at you. Like he didn’t know what to say. Like maybe he didn’t want this to end with silence this time.

“You were all I thought about” he said quietly, eyes dropping to his lap. “After I left—after I fucked it up.”

You turned toward him, heart still pounding—but this time, not from lust. “You didn’t just fuck it up, Su-bong. You disappeared.”

He winced slightly, then nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Silence stretched between you again. But now it was heavy with everything unsaid—everything both of you had buried for years.

Finally, he looked up again, voice raw. “Can I see you again? Not like this. I mean… can we talk?”

Your breath caught, throat tight with emotion. You weren’t sure what came next. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t just remembering him. He was here.

And maybe—this time—he meant to stay.

[igorluvr]

i stand on the fact that every eddie munson fan is now a thanos fan

[igorluvr]

i LOVED power so much!! I was wondering if you would be open to writing a thanos smut fic?

ofc lovely !! i’ll tag u as soon as it’s done & link it below, tysm for requesting 🤗

[igorluvr]

Home sweet home - t.o.p x reader

Genre: angst, comfort

Plot: yn and seunghyun broke up☹️ (include the break up), months later, seunghyun shows up at her door and kisses her.

I'm so glad I got to be a part of this writing challenge!!

@igorluvr

"You don't get it!" His words were sharp, cutting through my skin like razors. "Yes I do! You could've said no! That you have a real girlfriend!" I reply, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "No. I'm supposed to be dating another idol. Not some-" he pauses "some what, seunghyun?" He goes silent. "A normal person." He says before shutting the door and leaving. I was stood there, tears falling onto my shirt. He was gone.

--

Months pass. I hear nothing from Seunghyun personally, but I see pictures of him and his new "girlfriend" everywhere. He had written a new song and it already had so many streams. I click play on it. It was called "무대 밑에 널 숨겼어(I hid you beneath the stage)" the opening lyric "I told you it was fake, just a script. Just a name" with that, I knew it was about me. Tears start to fall as I listen to the song. A knock on the door snaps me out of my daze.

I get up and open the door. My face falls. It was Seunghyun. "Why are you here?" I stutter. He shrugs "I can't live without you" his eyes soften. "Im not "with" the other idol anymore" he continues. I press my lips into a thin line. "Seunghyun-" I sigh, but he cuts me off with a soft kiss. I was shocked at first, but I lean into it after, kissing back. We pull away after who knows how long.

"Im home" he says, resting my forehead on his. I smile and kiss him again. And it was all okay.

[igorluvr]

when you feel insecure ✩ choi seung-hyun

warnings: negative body image / self-talk.

a/n: you are loved and beautiful and i love all of you wonderful people! (seriously, every single one of you) lmk if you guys want jiyong/daesung versions!

also i am traveling for the next couple of weeks so if i’m a bit slow on uploading new works thats why!

 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

you stood in front of the mirror in what used to be your favorite dress. it was a black, silk dress that you'd worn on your first date with seung-hyun. somehow, it'd been forgotten over the years, tucked away in the back of your closet. unfortunately for yourself, you decided to organize the closet and stumbled upon the dress.

it didn't look the same. when you'd worn it two years ago, it fell off your body naturally, hugging your every curve and draping over you like liquid velvet. you didn't feel different, but in the dress you looked different. every single insecurity that seung-hyun had kissed away over the years was now coming back, like floodgates had been opened and they couldn't stop.

your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the bedroom door as seung-hyun stepped inside the bedroom. as soon as he saw you, his eyes widened slightly in surprise, the reason he'd come into the bedroom suddenly forgotten.

you braced yourself for the worst. for a slight frown, a nose crinkle. "i don't remember the dress looking like that on you." for a breakup, even.

"i haven't seen that dress in a while, aein," seung-hyun said instead, stepping a bit closer to you, "you look good."

but it was your face that frowned slightly, nose crinkling, as you looked up at him. "i think i'm gonna get rid of it." you murmured.

"why?" he asked, gently resting his hands on your hips and pulling you closer. "didn't you wear that on our first date?"

you couldn't help but smile softly at that - the fact that he remembered, arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close. "i don't like the way i look in it anymore." you murmured, head resting on his chest, like it was too embarrassing to meet his gaze as you uttered the words.

but seung-hyun didn't push, that was never like him. he let you rest your head on his chest, one hand coming up to absentmindedly play with your hair, the other still on your hip. "why not?"

"i just look... bad," you said, the words sounding silly as they came out of your mouth, "i don't know how to describe it, just- this isn't what i looked like on our first date."

seung-hyun leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head at your words before continuing to rake his fingers through your hair. "of course you don't, aein," he finally replied, "but people are supposed to change. and you've only changed for the better."

you hummed in response, clearly not entirely convinced, but enjoying the feeling of him holding you.

after another small moment of silence, seung-hyun spoke up again, "do you remember what i was like when we first met? i was so shy and you were the most beautiful woman i'd ever seen... i don't think i was able to form a coherent sentence in the first week of knowing you."

you smiled softly at that, lifting your head up from his chest to meet his gaze. his hand cupped your face, thumb tracing your cheek softly. "you were really cute," you said, biting back a small smile, "and really awkward."

"i was," he agreed with a small laugh of his own, "i think i've changed a little since then, don't you? i mean, look at me, talking to the most beautiful woman in the world now without stuttering."

your cheeks flushed at the compliment, mumbling a small stop as you laid your head back in his chest.

"we've both changed, aein," seung-hyun continued, "but only for the better. because we're growing together. living life together. and i'm so lucky i get to do it with you."

"you really are a hopeless romantic, aren't you?" you couldn't help but smile as you lifted your head to meet his gaze again.

"i am." he said with a smile, thumb tracing over your features as he cupped your face again.

"thank you." you murmured, gaze soft as you looked up at him. it was unbeknownst to you how he always made you feel better.

he smiled softly, his hand on your waist dropping for a moment as he reached into his pocket for his phone. you watched, a bit confused, as he scrolled on his phone for something, but as soon as you heard a song start playing from his phone, your lips parted slightly in surprise.

seung-hyun smiled at your reaction, both hands coming down to rest on your hips again, now swaying you softly to the music. "this was playing the night i asked you to move in."

"i know," you murmured softly, arms wrapped around his neck, letting him guide you to the rhythm of the slow song, "we have changed a lot since then, haven't we?"

"yeah." he agreed, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. it was slow, sweet - reverential, almost. he held you like you were the most fragile, most beautiful thing in the world. because to him, you were.

"i love you." you whispered against his lips, eyes closed as he swayed you to the song.

"i love you too, aein." he murmured, lips brushing your temple lightly as you danced.

you really were the luckiest woman in the world.

[igorluvr]

TOO BAD

𝓬ontains: f!idol!reader x jiyong. tension. age gap bc it’s by me. suggestive. 18+

𝓷otes: my addition to @igorluvr’s übermensch event ♡

you’re riding passenger in jiyong’s car. heels kicked off, legs crossed on the dashboard, scrolling through your phone, as if you weren’t just grinding on him an hour ago like your life depended on it.

his knuckles were already pale, and still jiyong grips the steering wheel a little tighter.

you’ve got him so fucking bad, you know that? of course you do. he hasn’t spared you a glance— or else he might just veer off the road— but he can feel how your eyes have been flitting up to him behind your phone, a shit-eating grin tugging at your lips.

you’re well aware of what you’re rising in him. it was clear as fucking day, pressed against your ass in front of everybody. and when the song was over, you just laughed it off, pulled him in to a tipsy hug— you know i’m just joking, oppa.

and he would’ve believed it, too— already halfway to cursing himself for being so inappropriate with a younger idol— if only you hadn’t brushed your lips over his neck, breath ghosting over the goosebumps on his skin, and then pulled away from him with a wink. meant for his eyes only.

don’t you fear a scandal? can’t you already see the headlines? you’re way too young to be messing around with an industry senior like that. especially someone like g-dragon.

especially if you don’t mean it.

“you good?” you ask, tone amused.

“mm.”

his voice comes out rougher than he means to. jiyong clears his throat. tries again. “you always dance like that with your friends?”

you sit up. that got your attention.

“why? you didn’t like it?”

his head finally turns to look at you, just once, and then back to the road.

“you know i did.”

there’s a weighted pause as jiyong pulls up to a red light. in his peripheral he watches you watch him.

“but?”

“but you’re young.”

you groan, shifting in your seat so that you face away from him, knees pointed to the door. his jaw tenses.

“you’re... not just some girl at a club. i respect you, i admire your work.”

“uh huh,” you reply, unconvinced. “but you had no issue putting your hands on me when i backed into you?”

“i didn’t have a choice.” he murmurs, nails digging into the wheel cover.

he couldn’t just shove you off— not when you’d approached him on the dance-floor, arms extended and the giddiest smile on your face. it had started out harmless enough.

but that’s not what you wanted anyways. you just wanna watch him squirm, witness the effect you’re having on him. his shame and desire clashing in front of your eyes.

“mm, i dunno. you were holding onto me like i’d run off,”

he exhales sharply, forcing a breath through his nose. “that’s exactly the problem.”

“what is?”

“you don’t get it,” he asserts, almost to himself. “you look at me like i’m some fantasy, some.. thing to play with. but if i ever made a move back, you’d feel like you can’t say no.”

you scoff. “wow.”

jiyong risks a glance at you: you’re staring straight ahead now, jaw clenched.

“you really think that little of me?”

“that’s not what i meant.”

“feels like it.” your tone sharpens. “i can make my own choices. i know what i want.”

jiyong stops at another red light, fingers tapping on the wheel now. his blood’s buzzing with adrenaline.

“then tell me,” he says, voice steady now, but barely. “was it real? what you did tonight?”

you blink at him. “huh?”

“you— grinding on me. pushing back like you wanted something.” he purses his lips, already feeling like some perv again, as if your signals were anything but mixed.

his voice drops an octave. “if it was nothing, say it.”

you don’t answer.

jiyong gives you until the car’s moving again— and when the light turns green, his pulse kicks.

“i didn’t think so.”

you shift in your seat, turning back to face him fully. “so what then?”

“then you better tell me what it was,” jiyong says, arm jerking to change gears as he finally pulls the car to a stop in front of your place.

he turns the ignition off, but keeps his eyes down. hands to himself. “because i’ve been trying to be good. to respect you. but if that wasn’t just you messing around—”

“it wasn’t.”

his breath catches. you say it so casually, as if he hasn’t been racking his brain over it for the entire drive.

“it wasn’t nothing, jiyong.”

he looks at you then.

he’s got half a mind to just reach for you, kiss you like how he’s wanted to since the first time you met. can you believe that? he’s wanted you long before you even wanted him.

it’s why he’s not even sure if any of it’s real— if it’s just his mind making sorry hopes.

your head tilts downward, voice firm. “i’ve been waiting for you, you know. to say something.”

when jiyong just stares at you, you exhale a gruff laugh.

“i could tell for ages, jiyong. you could’ve just asked me. i only did that because i was sick of waiting—”

“what are you saying?”

you groan, head falling into your hands at his genuine confusion.

when you raise your head, your face is deadpan. he’s almost worried he’s fucked it all up, until you speak again, voice soft yet certain:

“you gonna keep me waiting, or are you finally gonna kiss me?”

taglist (join here): @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @loveesiren @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @pinkpunkdynamite @heartubeatusalon @mintymuse @madebybec @hydeonysus @szonyix6277 @namgyooner

[igorluvr]

‘POWER | kwon jiyong x reader

PAIRING: gdragon x reader

CONTENT: smut, angst, situationship/toxic relationship, power imbalance, praise & degrading, fingering, dacryphilia (the tiniest bit), accidentally wrote him with a neck fetish or smth idk, bondage, oral & unprotected sex, orgasm denial, knife play, he’s not emotionally abusive he’s misunderstood i swear !!

SYNOPSIS: you knew who he was to the world: confident, untouchable, power incarnate. but behind closed doors, you saw something else— something raw. when he touched you, it wasn't just desire— it was desperation.

AUTHORS NOTE: first smut fic ahhhh 😓 i honestly had sm fun with this what the flip, writing this made me miss my ex #comebackhomebae

also apart of the übermensch series !!

words: [4.5k]

YOU should’ve known the moment the line between love and lust blurred, everything would fall apart. At first, it was sweet, innocent, perfect. But as the months went by, your relationship warped into something more depraved.

Every day, there was a new issue at work. Usually, you’d comfort him and reassure him that it would pass, but over time, he started growing cold toward you. He ignored your messages, passed you without a word— like you were already gone, and every time it happened, a sharp ache spread through your chest.

You kept telling yourself it would get better, but it never did. Whenever you tried to talk to him about it, another argument would start. It was like he didn’t care about fixing things anymore.

So, you ended things. Told him if he wasn’t going to try, then what was the point? What hurt the most was that he didn’t even seem to care. Instead of accepting his mistakes and trying to make things right, he acted like none of it had ever mattered to begin with.

“Jiyong, I can’t do this anymore,” you said, voice trembling as tears threatened to spill from your eyes, throat raw from holding everything in for too long.

He didn’t even look at you. “Do what?”

“This! Us! I’ve tried so many fucking times to get through to you, but you don’t even care!” Your voice cracked as the tears finally fell, cheeks wet and burning. “I understand work is hard, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like I’m nothing. I’m not your punching bag— I’m not just here to take your anger!”

He let out a slow exhale and shrugged. “Then don’t.”

You froze, eyes wide. He didn’t even flinch. You stared at him in disbelief. After everything— after every night you held him as he cried over the pressure, every time you stayed up just to hear about his day— this was his answer?

“If you’re so tired, just leave. What do you want me to do? I can’t change how you feel.” he muttered, still refusing to meet your gaze, as if your pain was a burden to him.

You stepped back like he’d slapped you. “Unbelievable.” you whispered. “Do you even hear yourself? You really don’t give a shit, do you?”

He scoffed under his breath and leaned back, arms crossed as if he'd already checked out of the conversation.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

Your sadness turned into blinding rage. All the late nights, the ignored calls, the way he made you feel invisible— it all came rushing up like fire in your throat. You snatched your purse, your keys, anything that belonged to you with shaking hands.

“I fucking hate you,” you spat, pain laced in every syllable. You didn’t mean it— you loved him so deeply it hurt— but in that moment, you needed him to hurt too. You wanted him to feel every bit of the pain he left you with.

Fuming, you stomped out the front door with your arms full, not bothering to look back. You decided that if he never cared, you wouldn’t either.

That had been a month ago. At first, your breakup went somewhat smoothly. Neither of you called each other— no texts, no profile views, nothing.

But after the first week, none other than Jiyong appeared at your front door, claiming he left some of his things.

Long story short, you ended up doing more than just finding his belongings— being left with countless hickies and rather sore legs. It didn’t stop after that, though. Every couple days since then, Jiyong stopped by with another lame excuse— and you let him in each time. Because as much as you hated yourself for it, having a piece of him still felt better than having nothing at all.

Now, it had been over a week since he last came, and as much as you hated to admit, you missed him. The smell of his cologne on your sheets, the way his voice rasped your name against your skin, the weight of his body tangled with yours like you were something he couldn’t let go of— even if you both knew that wasn’t true.

Your life dulled into a head-throbbing silence after the breakup. No unexpected knocks at the door, nobody to hold as you went to sleep after a long day. It was just you now — you and the thoughts you tried so desperately to outrun.

Hooking up with Jiyong, if even for a few hours, had been the only thing that made you feel alive. It was toxic— you knew it. But he brought you to your highest highs, even if he plunged you into your lowest lows right after.

You stared at your phone, debating whether to break the silence. Just one message, just to see if he’d respond. You hated how desperate you felt, hated that your body still ached for someone who had emotionally abandoned you long before the breakup.

But before you could talk yourself out of it, there was a knock at the door. Your heart jumped, you didn’t need to check who it was— you already knew.

Your hand trembled on the doorknob, torn between shutting him out and the part of you that still craved his touch. Finally, with a shaky breath, you gave in— unlocking the door because, deep down, you wanted this.

He stood there, hood up, hands in his pockets like nothing had changed. “Left my charger,” he mumbled, voice low, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear him.

Bullshit.

You didn’t answer. You just stepped aside and let him in, even though every rational part of you screamed not to. Because even now, after everything, a piece of him still felt better than none.

Walking around, Jiyong entered and exited rooms as if he were actually looking for something— but you knew why he was here. It was the same reason everytime.

You hated how much power he had over you. He literally just walked in your house as if he owned it after a week of no contact, and you just let it happen. It was like he put a spell on you.

Leaving your room empty handed, Jiyong turned to you.

“Can’t find it” He said with a smirk on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Can you help me look?”

You smiled, already knowing exactly where this was going. Your body moved willingly, betraying every protest your mind tried to whisper. You stepped into your room, pretending to search— eyes scanning drawers, fingers tugging open a basket next to your bed, doing anything to look busy.

You told yourself you were only playing along, just going through the motions. But deep down, a part of you wanted this, needed it. Because no matter how twisted he made things, Jiyong was the only one who could make your body forget it all.

You were crouched beside the bed, fingers aimlessly shifting things around when you heard him behind you— voice low, lazy, and dripping with heat.

“You look good like that— bent over.”

A flash of heat rose to your cheeks. You tried to hide the smirk tugging at your lips as you answered, loud and dry. “Whatever, Jiyong.”

But you didn’t move, you didn’t stop him. And he didn’t hesitate.

He stepped closer, voice low and rough. “Can I?”

You swallowed hard, breathless, and nodded. His hand then grazed your lower back, sliding down over the curve of your ass.

His fingers pressed firmly, possessively— like he was reminding you who you belonged to. “I missed this,” he murmured into your ear, lips barely grazing your skin. “Missed you.”

“I need you, now.” you whispered, breath hitching when his hand slipped between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric of your shorts. Your hips jolted instinctively, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

“I know you do, baby.” he whispered, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck, biting just hard enough to make you whimper. “No matter how much you say you hate me.”

You could’ve stopped him, but you didn’t want to— not tonight. Not when your whole body remembered what it felt like to be his. Leaning into him, back arching, your head tilted back to give him more access.

You yearned for his touch, your past issues leaving your mind as soon as he laid a finger on you. He was your weakness, your addiction.

His fingers broke the waistband of your shorts, teasing the skin just beneath as his lips dragged along your neck. The way he touched you made you dizzy— slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you piece by piece.

“Already so wet” he murmured, voice low and smug, fingers now gliding through your folds with a dazing rhythm. “Missed me that bad, huh?”

You didn’t respond— you couldn’t. Your body betrayed you with every shaky breath, every low moan spilling from your lips as his thumb brushed your clit, rubbing tight, deliberate circles that had your hips grinding back into him instinctively.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your spine as he pulled you closer, hand gripping your waist like he was holding himself back from completely losing control.

“God, you’re so needy,” he growled, his voice rougher now, almost breathless. Your moans turned into gibberish and incoherent whines as you felt your stomach tighten familiarly, but just when you thought you were about to fall over the edge, he stopped.

“Do you want this, princess?” He asked, removing his hand from your waist to turn your head towards his. “Say the word, and I’ll make you forget every reason you left.”

All your pride, all the promises you made to never let him do this again, evaporated on your tongue as you spoke up, practically whining, “Fuck—yes, Jiyong, please.”

He smirked, satisfied with your desperation, and in one swift motion, picked you up and threw you onto the bed. You barely had time to react before he practically tore both of your shirts off and latched onto your mouth.

“You beg so pretty for me,” he said, pulling away and panting like he’d just run a marathon. “You always do.”

His mouth found your neck in no time, sucking on that spot he knew drove you crazy, while he fondled your breast using his free hand. With each bite to your neck, he rolled your nipple between his fingers, making you grind up against him out of pure need.

“Not yet, pretty,” he teased. “Gotta get you ready first. Don’t you wanna have fun?” He smiled— just as cocky as he was when you were together.

You whimpered under him, the ache between your thighs unbearable as he continued to toy with your body like it belonged to him— because in a way, it always had.

“Jiyong,” you breathed, fingers curling into the sheets as his tongue dragged lazily along the edge of your collarbone. “Please…”

“Oh? Now you’re polite?” he teased, voice soaked in poison. “Didn’t sound so sweet when you walked out that door, did you?”

His words stung, but the way his fingers slipped between your legs silenced every ounce of pride you had left. He pushed your shorts down your thighs, then leaned back to take in the sight of you— panting, flushed, and needy for him.

“Look at you.” he muttered, dragging his fingers slowly over your soaked panties. “You hate me, right? But your body…” he smirked as he pressed against your clit through the fabric, causing you to gasp, “doesn’t lie.”

The way his fingers circled and teased was enough to have your back arching, your chest heaving as your body screamed for more. Jiyong held your hips down, forcing you to stay in place and endure his restless teasing.

He leaned down again, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me how bad you want it.” he whispered, “Beg for me like you mean it.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to give up your pride— but the words fell out anyway, breathless and broken. “I want you, Jiyong. I need you.”

With that, he yanked your panties down and spread your legs, gaze darkening as he settled between them. “Good girl,” he said lowly, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Let me remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Then his mouth was on you— hot, skilled, relentless. Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his teeth had you unraveling more and more beneath him, gripping the sheets like a lifeline as he devoured you without mercy.

Your thighs trembled as his tongue worked you over with slow, devastating precision. He knew every inch of your body— every spot that made you squirm, every rhythm that made your eyes roll back, and he didn’t let up— not even for a second.

“Fuck— Jiyong,” you moaned, back arching as you tugged at his hair, needing something— anything—to ground you.

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, gripping your thighs tighter as he sucked on your clit just long enough to have your legs threatening to close around his head.

“Oh no, baby,” he muttered, pulling back from inbetween your thighs just enough to look up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark and full of lust. “Keep those legs open for me. You wanted this, remember?”

You nodded frantically, too close to stop, too far gone to care about anything but the knot building inside you— tight, hot, and on the verge of snapping.

He slipped two fingers inside you with no warning, curling them perfectly as his mouth returned to its place between your thighs. His pace was brutal, overwhelming, yet perfect.

“I can feel how close you are.” he muttered against your core. “You gonna come already? Hm?”

A string of broken cries left your lips as your hips bucked against his face. He held you down firmly, tipping you over the edge with a deep suck to your clit that sent your vision blurring.

You came with a gasp, voice catching in your throat as your body flooded with pleasure. He didn’t stop until you were shaking and whimpering from the overstimulation, trying to push him away.

Only then did he pull back, licking his lips with a smug grin like he hadn’t just completely ruined you. “Still hate me?” he asked, voice low and hoarse as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

You blinked up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly, as your lips hung open, unable to speak— because the truth was, you didn’t even know anymore.

Your breathing was still uneven, body trembling from the sensitivity when Jiyong stood slowly, towering over you like he owned every inch of you. His eyes were dark, hungry— but calculated. Like he had more in store.

“You think we’re done, baby?” he asked, voice low and commanding, tugging your jaw up to meet his gaze.

Before you could even answer, he gripped both of your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. His grip was tight, possessive—but beneath it, you caught a flicker of desperation. Like he was afraid of losing you more than anything.

You heard the faint clink of something metal before you felt the cool press of leather circling your wrists. He strapped you to the headboard with deliberate care, then tugged on your arms a couple times, making sure you couldn’t move.

“Jiyong,” you whispered, testing the restraints, “What are you—”

“Shh.” He kissed your temple. “You okay? Are you comfortable with this?” he asked, eyes still on the belt as he pulled it snug.

Nodding quickly, Jiyong made a low ‘tsk’ sound as he shook his head. “Gotta use your words, baby.”

“Yes, please touch me, Jiyong.” you breathed.

A dark smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “That’s my good girl.” He reached into his back pocket and, to your surprise, pulled out a small, familiar knife. Your body tensed, heart pounding in your chest. Not from fear— from thrill.

“You know I’d never hurt you” he murmured, dragging the blunt edge of the blade down the center of your stomach— slow, teasing, just like the other times. “I just like watching you squirm.”

The cold steel drew along your skin, just enough to make you shiver. Then, it slipped beneath the bridge of your bra. With one clean flick, he sliced it straight down the middle— fabric popping loose, freeing your boobs like they’d been trapped for too long.

You gasped, nipples hardening at the air hitting them. Jiyong returned to your neck once again, hands wandering all around your body as if he were admiring a work of art.

“Spread.” he said as he lifted himself from your body, not raising his voice. You obeyed, opening your legs to display yourself for him under the dim lights.

“Look at that,” he whispered, letting the ice cold blade trail up the inside of your thigh lightly. “You let me back in after everything— and now you’re dripping for me.”

He tossed the knife aside safely, then leaned in, his lips brushing your neck as his fingers slid between your legs. But instead of giving you what you wanted, he hovered, traced, toyed.

One finger pressed in, achingly slow— then out. You felt so embarrassingly empty, like there was nothing but air in your body. You whimpered, pulling against your restraints. “Please, Jiyong… please.”

He kissed your throat, open-mouthed and slow, tongue dragging against your pulse. His mouth left wet trails on your skin, giving you goosebumps from the cold air clashing with it.

“You don’t get to come,” he whispered, lips against your ear, “not until I say so. Not until I’ve fucked the memory of any life without me out of that pretty little head.”

Your breath hitched. You hated how much you wanted that.

He moved between your thighs and dragged his tongue through your folds— slow, precise, agonizing. Every movement was calculated, every groan from his throat deliberate— all to make his teasing that much more unbearable.

“You sound so pretty for me.” he spoke, slipping two fingers inside you and curling them just right. “You always do.”

As you stretched out by his thick fingers, your moans increased in volume. And when your body started to tighten; hips twitching, breath turning shallow— he pulled away again.

You cried out, frustrated, desperate.

He leaned over you, rubbing slow circles on your clit with maddening restraint, just enough to edge you again and again. “Not yet,” he warned with a smirk. “You wanna come, baby? You’re going to earn it.”

Even knowing how wrong it was, you still wanted him— wanted this. You weren’t giving in, you were choosing it. Nodding quickly, your voice nearly broke as you pleaded. “I’ll do anything. Please.”

“Good,” he said, kissing your bound wrists. “Then stay just like that.”

Fondling with the button on his jeans, he unfastened his pants, dragging them down along with his boxers simultaneously. His cock sprang free, slapping against his abdomen with a wet, heavy sound that made your mouth go dry.

He stroked himself once, twice— slow and controlled, eyes locked on you the entire time. “You see what you do to me?” he asked, voice rough, teasing. “You’ve been teasing me too, princess. All those days without texting me… acting like I didn’t exist.”

He climbed over you again, the head of his cock dragging through your soaked folds but never pushing in. Just enough to make you squirm in desperation.

“But now I’ve got you tied to your bed,” he whispered, lining himself up and gripping your hips. “Now you’re mine again.”

He ran the thick head of his cock through your folds once again, gathering every drop of your slick, making you shiver as he teased your entrance. He didn’t rush it. He took his time— dragging the tip up and down, groaning low in his throat as you whimpered beneath him.

When he finally pushed in, it wasn’t aggressive, he had just the right amount of force that made your eyes water.

A steady, stretching pressure that had your back arching, mouth falling open. He eased in inch by inch, watching every expression wash across your face, his hand rubbing gentle circles into your thigh to ground you.

“That’s it, good job, love.” he muttered, voice rough. “Taking me so well.”

Once he was fully seated inside you, he gave you just a second to adjust— his hand running soothingly over your stomach, your wrists still bound above you, completely at his mercy.

Then he pulled out halfway and thrust back in, harder this time, setting a rhythm that was rough enough to leave you gasping, but not enough to hurt. Every thrust was deep yet controlled, performed to drive you crazy, not break you.

“You feel that?” he growled into your ear, hips slamming into yours with a sharp snap. “Every inch of me inside you, stretching you open. You were made for me.”

You moaned helplessly, legs trembling as he kept going, his grip on your thighs tightening just enough to anchor you in place, to let you know you weren’t going anywhere.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice breathless against your neck. “Say who you belong to.” He dipped down to place wet kisses on your chest, tongue drawing patterns on your skin.

“Fuck— You, Jiyong. Im all yours.” You whined, throat going dry as you struggled to get your words out. Jiyong let out a satisfied hum as he kept going, hips snapping into you even faster.

Tears of overwhelming pleasure welled in your eyes as he hit the spot that drove you wild. Suddenly, he lifted your legs up, pressing your knees onto your chest.

The new angle pushed him even deeper inside you as you cried out in pleasure. You tugged at your restraints as he pounded into you relentlessly.

The sound of the headboard knocking against the wall echoed through the room, but you barely registered it. Your focus was on Jiyong— on the way his body moved against yours like he knew you inside and out, like this was the only place you belonged; beneath and completely giving yourself to him.

Your thighs trembled against his hips, legs still folded against your chest as he buried himself deeper, over and over, with an overwhelming rhythm. Your wrists ached in their restraints, every ounce of control you once had belonged to him now.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice low and dark as his thumb traces firm circles on your clit. “Falling apart just because I’m inside you. Crying for me, begging for me... this is what you needed, isn’t it?”

You whimpered, nodding as your back arched again. The burn in your stomach was unbearable, once again feeling that your pressure in your core. You were close, and he could feel it.

“Not yet,” Jiyong hissed against your ear, slowing down just enough to make you sob out of frustration. “Not until I say so.”

“Please— please, Jiyong,” you choked out, tears slipping down your temples as your body trembled under him. “I can’t... I need to—”

He cut you off with a sharp kiss, biting down on your lower lip before pulling away. “You can. And you will— for me.”

Then, without warning, he shifted his grip, pulled out almost completely, and slammed back into you hard enough to pull the breath from your lungs. Again, then again.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a flood. It ripped through your body with an intensity you hadn’t felt in months— your muscles clenching, vision blurring, cries spilling freely from your lips.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice thick and hoarse now as he chased his own high. “That’s it. Just like that.”

After a few more brutal thrusts, his climax followed. Jiyong's head dropped against your neck, breath hot against your skin as his body tensed above yours.

The room fell silent, filled with your combined panting rather than words. The sheets tangled beneath your bodies like evidence of everything you promised yourself you wouldn't do again.

A heavy ache settled in your chest as reality began to return, creeping in through the cracks his touch temporarily sealed shut. You looked up at the ceiling, wrists still tied, lips swollen, heart pounding for reasons far beyond lust.

After a few minutes, Jiyong finally moved. He slid out of bed without saying a word, pulling on his boxers before disappearing into the connected bathroom. The sound of water running filled the silence, and for a brief moment, you thought maybe he was going to leave.

But he didn’t.

The water shut off, and not long after, he returned— shirtless, damp hair pushed back, a wet washcloth in one hand and one of his oversized shirts in the other.

Without a word, he climbed back onto the bed, gently untying your wrists before wiping you down with the warm cloth. The soft heat of it contrasted with the cool air and the sting still lingering on your skin. He moved slowly, carefully— like he hadn’t just torn you open in every way imaginable.

“Too much?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “No. It’s what I needed.” Sometimes, you hated how tender he was afterward— how it made your chest hurt in a different way. But this time you felt yourself melting into his touch, as if he were healing all your problems.

After cleaning you up, he helped you into the shirt, his fingers brushing your hips as he slid it over your arms. You winced slightly when the fabric grazed a sore spot, and he stilled, eyes flicking to yours.

“Sorry” he whispered, rubbing your skin with his hands softly to ease the pain

You managed a small smile. “It’s okay, I’ll feel better soon.”

Once you were dressed, Jiyong laid beside you again. The space between you was small but felt so much bigger. The silence was heavy with things neither of you knew how to say.

Your eyes wandered toward your ruined bra, the torn fabric laying limp near the edge of the bed. You gave Jiyong a sharp look.

He caught it immediately, smirking faintly as he leaned back against the headboard. “Don’t worry, jagi,” he said. “I’ll buy you five more.”

After the storm of lust passed, he traced circles on your back softly. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he whispered, voice raw and honest. You wanted to believe him, and for a moment, you did.

Unfortunately, you both knew that tomorrow, nothing would be fixed. Nothing would be different. Yet here you were again, wrapped in the same cycle.

He knew how much power he had. The way he kissed you like a promise, only to vanish like a ghost. He always came back. And you always let him.

Neither of you spoke, but the silence said enough.

When you looked at him, neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew. This cycle would repeat, no matter how much you wished it wouldn’t.

You hated him and you hated how happy you were to let him in, but most of all— you hated how you still loved him.

taglist: @breakmeoff @steponupbabe @tabibabib @mintymuse @heartubeatusalon @sternilei @julseysmel

[igorluvr]

‘TAKE ME | kang daesung x reader

PAIRING: daesung x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: after many years of friendship, daesung invites you over to escape the noise of fame. but under a sky full of stars, with emotions stirred by time and distance, he finally confesses what he’s been holding in forever: he’s in love with you.

CONTENT: slowburn?, friends to lovers, tiniest bit of past unrequited love, drinking

AUTHORS NOTE: omggg so so excited to be releasing this!! this is my first ever collaboration series & im so happy to be sharing it with u all!! please check out the full übermensch series and take the time to read all the other lovely fics, please enjoy 🤗🤗

words: [4.6k]

TO Daesung, you were perfect. From the second he first met you, he knew, somehow, in that quiet, irreversible way— that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Even if he couldn't say it out loud back then, his heart had already decided.

The two of you first met when he was still a trainee for YG. You worked part-time at your family's restaurant, just across the corner from his dorm. It was a small, cozy place tucked between buildings, with steamed-up windows and a warm smell that reminded him of home.

After early mornings spent practicing until his legs burned and sleepless nights filled with stress, Daesung often found himself seeking comfort there— not because it was the closest, but because you were there.

There were plenty of other places he could go, but none of them had you. None of them had the way you spoke to him, the way you took notice of every little detail after his long days of work. You didn’t know who he was, not really, but you always remembered his order, always asked how he was doing, aways looked at him like he was a person, not a project.

It was love at first sight. Something about you wrapped around him gently, something soft and calm that his life didn’t have much of. Maybe it was his raging teenage hormones, or the fact that he barely interacted with any girls, but the way you spoke to him— so calm, like you were trying to lull him to sleep with your voice, it enticed him. You made the noise in his head go quiet, you made him feel safe.

He didn’t mean to fall for you— not really. He didn’t have time for that, and he wasn’t supposed to want anything outside the dream he was chasing. But how could he help it? You were there, day after day, treating him with kindness he wasn’t used to. Laughing at his awkward jokes, remembering when he looked tired, handing him extra food without saying anything, just an unspoken understanding.

The other boys noticed before he could even admit it to himself.

“Dae’s got it bad,” Jiyong would whisper behind his coffee mug, smirking.

Youngbae once caught him zoning out, chin in hand, staring at you as you wiped down a table. “Bro, she’s not going anywhere” he joked.

They’d tease him about how long he took to eat, dragging out every bite just to stay there a little longer. And they weren’t wrong.

He was whipped. Still was.

The two of you grew closer as the years went by, naturally becoming best friends after seeing each other so often. You bonded over the chaos of your senior year— school, work, exhaustion— even though one of you clearly had much more on their plate.

You were always amazed by how he managed it all. How could someone live the life of a normal high school student and still train to become a K-pop idol— an incredible one at that? After his late-night practices, when he'd come in sweaty and sore from all the dancing, you’d tease him with the same playful line every time;

"Don't forget about me when you're famous"

But how could he ever forget someone like you? He’d smile, maybe roll his eyes, but inside, your words settled in his chest like a promise he had no intention of breaking. You were the calm in the middle of everything, the person who reminded him of who he was before the world decided who he should be. If being famous meant forgetting you— he'd throw it all away.

You two grew up together, matured side by side. He watched you stumble through your first heartbreaks, watched as each person you trusted let you down. And every time, it cut him a little deeper. Not just because your heart was breaking— but because he knew he could’ve loved you better.

Often nights you found yourself crying to Daesung about the latest boy who ghosted you, or cheated, or treated you like an afterthought. You didn't get it— how someone could be so okay with ruining another person's life.

With tear-filled eyes and a trembling voice, you’d explain that you just wanted someone who would treat you right. But little did you know— he'd been right there, consoling and comforting you the whole time.

One day, just before Daesung headed out on tour for Bigbang’s latest album, he decided to take a rare day off— and spend it with you.

After days of intense practice, recording, and rehearsals, he was exhausted. You were always there to console eachother, so he thought, why not just have a sleepover? He knew how stressful university had been for you lately, and this would be a perfect way for both of you to unwind.

He sent you a quick message, explaining his plans: he’d come over, and the two of you could watch a movie together— maybe even enjoy some drinks. As he started tidying up his place in preparation, a faint smile played on his lips.

His apartment wasn’t exactly messy; in fact, it was the perfect hangout spot. The decorations perfectly reflected Daesung’s vibrant personality with splashes of color scattered across the walls, creating the perfect welcoming atmosphere.

His home was quite spacious, with different rooms dedicated to his various hobbies. No matter how many times you visited, the sight still amazed you— each corner revealing a new aspect of his action-packed life.

While he spent his hours preparing his house, you were preparing yourself. You were spending the night with your fine best friend, for God's sake, you couldn't just arrive look any kind of way.

While he spent his hours tidying up and setting the mood, you focused on yourself. You knew this wasn’t just any casual hangout—you were spending the night with your fine best friend, for God's sake, you couldn't just arrive look any kind of way.

Carefully choosing an outfit that was both cute and comfortable, you styled your hair and makeup to feel confident yet relaxed. Ensuring you had everything you needed for the night, you packed your final essentials and zipped up your bag with a sense of readiness.

As you checked yourself in the mirror, a flutter of nerves mixed with excitement. You took a deep breath, attempting to calm your racing thoughts, then grabbed your bag and headed out the door. The drive felt shorter than usual, every mile filled with anticipation for the intense evening ahead.

When you finally arrived, Daesung was already waiting at the door with a bright, welcoming smile on his face. His eyes lit up as he saw you, and he stepped aside to let you in. The warm atmosphere and his cheerful energy made you feel instantly at ease.

As you stepped inside the house, a homey, inviting aroma hit you, flooding the entrance like a comforting embrace. You didn't know exactly how to describe the smell— it was so comforting, so Daesung.

Basking in the scent of your best friend, a voice suddenly called out to you.

"You gonna come sit down?" Daesung asked, looking at you with that familiar cheeky smile he always had. He stood right infront of his couch, where soft music played in the background, and the lights were dimmed just right.

Realizing that you'd been standing in the same spot for an embarrassing amount of time, you settled onto the couch, feeling a sense of comfort and happiness.

Daesung’s smile widened as he watched you settle onto the couch, the look in his eyes screaming how much he cherished moments like this. The soft music in the background played a slow melody, filling the room with a calming atmosphere.

He reached for the remote, ready to pick a movie, but paused as he glanced at you. “So... what do you wanna watch? We've got Netflix, HBO, Disney+, Hulu, everything really.” he spoke up, looking over to you for an answer.

Weighing your options, you thought to yourself for a movie the both of you would enjoy. After wondering for a moment, then grinned. “How about 10 Things I Hate About You? It's so cute and I could honestly use the laugh tonight” you asked happily.

Daesung's face lit up at the suggestion. “Oh, that’s so good! Alright, let’s do it” he said, eyes bright with excitement as he clicked on the movie.

You both sank into the cushions, the glow of the screen casting a warm light across your faces, feeling perfectly at ease in each other's company. As the film played, you found your eyes drifting to the side of you.

Even though he was your friend, you couldn't get your mind off of how good he looked. The dim lighting cast an orange-ish shadow over his sharp features, blending with the bright glow of the TV illuminating his face. He looked like a piece of art— carefully sculpted with every curve and angle perfectly in place.

You found yourself mesmerized, the soft stillness of the room highlighting how truly captivating he was in that moment. It was so effortless, his beauty— you were jealous of how good he looked without even trying.

Suddenly, his gaze shifted from the screen to your face. You whipped your head around quick enough to get whiplash, not wanting to get caught staring. Your face heated up as embarrassment flooded your stomach.

A low snicker erupted from Daesung, followed by a most likely fake cough, presumably to cover his laugh. But you knew him well, too well.

Internally facepalming at getting caught admiring him, you kept your eyes glued to the movie, careful not to sneak any glances. As the movie was about halfway done, you felt a subtle shift on the couch beside you. At first, you didn't think much of it— thinking maybe it’s just your imagination— until it dipped again, more noticeably this time.

Giving a quick glance to the side, you see Daesung staring at the TV, just a little closer than before. You brush it off, thinking maybe he adjusted for comfort. But then, he shifted his position once more, inching even closer.

Now, your arms are almost pressed together, the contact almost unavoidable. You would've been lying if you said you didn't like the feeling of him being on you. I mean, come on— he worked out almost every day; his arms were practically perfect. Who would give up the chance to be near them? The warmth, the strength— it’s hard not to notice, and honestly, it’s kind of distracting.

Watching the remaining of the movie as it his touch was normal was a chore, but you finally got through it. When the slow, hazy hour finally ended, you were once again lost for activities to do. It was nearing 10pm and most of the activities around you were now closing so you brainstormed things to do.

"Hmm… how about going to a bar?" Daesung suggested.

"Nah, too many creeps," you objected, causing a low hum of agreement from him. "Maybe we could go in your pool?"

He laughed and looked at you slyly, "Yea, if you wanna catch hypothermia. The water's meant for blazing hot days, not cool nights."

You frowned in response. After about 10 minutes of bickering over what to do, Daesung finally came up with a good idea.

"We could do karaoke and drink? I have a machine with all my songs on it, just have to plug that baby up and we'll be set." Eyes lighting up as he spoke, Daesung looked at you for confirmation.

As much of a horrible singer as you were, you couldn't deny how fun karaoke sounded. Giving a quick nod, you agreed. He bolted out of the living room and into a faraway closet to fetch the machine.

If there was one thing about Daesung, it was that he loved karaoke. He didn't even need to be drunk to enjoy it; he just loved showing off his amazing singing skills— as humble as he may be.

Returning with an expensive-looking karaoke machine, Daesung found the nearest outlet and immediately plugged it in.

"You can pick our first song, I'll go get the drinks!" he shouted, already zipping around the corner to the kitchen. His excitement put a smile on your face; it's always a great sight to see when he's passionate about something he loves.

As you scrolled through the songs on the touchpad on the touchpad, you picked one of your favorite song's from Dae; "Look at me, Gwisun" Something about the song gave you a rush of energy— which was exactly what you needed right now.

Selecting the song, Daesung returned with a handful of bottles and placed them on the coffee table.

"So, what'd you decide on?" He asked, popping off the caps of two of the drinks, and handing you one. Smiling at him mischievously, you covered the screen up with your hand to hide the title.

"Dunno. Get a mic and sing with me, it'll be a surprise" You exclaimed, snatching him by his arms over to you and handing him one of the microphones. He was caught off guard by your tone, laughing to himself and straightening out his shirt.

"Okay, okay. I guess I'll see what you have planned." He spoke sarcastically, "Hope its nothing too extreme, wouldn't wanna make you cry from my... beautiful vocals" You scoffed at his fake arrogance, nudging him playfully on the shoulder.

As you clicked the play button, the upbeat trot melody of the song immediately kicked in, instantaneously bringing a goofy grin to Daesung’s face. His eyes lit up with recognition, and he let out a dramatic gasp.

“You did not pick this!” he said, already bouncing slightly on his toes, the rhythm infectiously catching on. You raised your mic like a game show host. “Oh, but I did. And you better bring the drama, D-lite.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With an exaggerated spin, he threw one arm into the air and belted the first line with all the flair of all his performances. You burst into laughter, barely able to sing your parts from the way he over-exaggerated each lyric, complete with fake tears and a hand clutched dramatically to his chest.

The living room transformed into your own private concert, with all neighbors forgotten as the both of you sung at the top of your lungs. You two twirled around the coffee table like it was a stage, drinks forgotten, caught up in the ridiculous joy of the moment.

Daesung gently cupped your face as he sang the chorus, the repetitive phrase echoing through the house as he leaned in closer, eyes locked with yours. The world around you blurred into the background— just his voice, his touch, and those eyes holding you still. Your heart skipped a beat, then began to race, as if it suddenly understood something your mind was only just beginning to grasp.

His eyes were mesmerizing— so warm and deep, like melted honey lit by stage lights. They were full of joy and comfort, making your breath hitch with each passing second you looked at him. Watching him twirling around singing in his element brought you joy like nothing else.

And in that moment, staring into them, it hit you.

You liked him.

Not just as a friend, not just because he made you laugh or brought you drinks or sang off-key just to make you smile. You really liked him— too much to ignore.

How have you not seen it before? All the times he'd comforted you when you cried in his arms, or when he showed up to your dates when you'd been stood up. This whole time, the perfect man was right infront of you, and you were too blind to see it.

By the time the final chorus came around, he was both nearly out of breath from laughing and dancing, voice cracking from laughter and shouting the lyrics. Daesung fell down on the couch, dramatizing his exhaustion.

You flopped down beside him, tossing your mic onto the cushion. Both of you were panting from the effort, cheeks flushed and sides aching from laughter. Daesung groaned dramatically, tossing his head back over the armrest. “I would go for round two, but I think I pulled something.”

You laughed, still a little breathless. “You pulled drama, that’s what you pulled.”

He grinned sideways at you, his eyes gleaming. “What can i say, I live for the stage.”

You reached forward and grabbed your drink from the table, taking a long sip to cool down. “We deserve a toast or something.” you said, raising your bottle. “To our debut group— Bigger Bang?”

The both of you laughed at the name as your bottle hung in the air. Daesung raised his bottle in kind, clinking it against yours. “To Bigger Bang” he declared with a fake seriousness, “who sang their hearts out and left no neighbor undisturbed.”

You both took another sip, the buzz of the music giving way to a softer energy between you. After a few quiet moments, Daesung stood, stretching his arms overhead. “It’s a nice night, wanna go outside for a bit?”

You nodded, grateful for the chance to cool down and maybe sort through the mess of feelings swirling in your chest. “Yeah, I could use some air.”

You both stepped outside into the cool night, drinks in hand. The sky was surprisingly clear— stars scattered like glitter across a black sheet. It was the kind of sky that made everything feel a little more cinematic than it had any right to be.

Daesung led you to the small patch of grass near the side of the house. He plopped down and patted the spot beside him. “Come on, let’s stargaze and pretend we know constellations.”

You sat next to him, close enough that your shoulders brushed slightly— even more than earlier. That quiet warmth returned again; comfortable, but buzzing with something unspoken.

“There’s Orion,” he said, pointing upward without looking. “I think.”

You chuckled at his sorry attempt of pointing out constellations. “That’s a plane.”

“Oh.” He squinted. “Well, it’s flying very confidently. I respect that.” With his words, Daesung held up a salute to the plane, as if it could see him.

You laughed, leaning back on your hands, letting your gaze settle on the stars. The air was calm, filled only with the sound of insects and the occasional distant hum of traffic.

For a moment, you let yourself watch him instead of the sky. His face was relaxed, eyes reflecting the nightfall and lips parted just slightly like he was lost in some quiet thought.

You realized then that you didn’t need to say anything yet. The feelings were there, but they were safe for now— growing, blooming slowly under the stars, like they had all the time in the world.

Daesung turned his head and caught you looking. He didn’t tease or smirk— just smiled, soft and genuine. “What?” he asked, voice low.

You looked away slightly, heart thudding again. “Nothing,” you said, smiling to yourself. “Just... thinking.”

He didn’t press you. Instead, he leaned back beside where you laid, arms behind his head, eyes on the stars. “This is nice.”

“Yeah, it really is.” you said quietly. You couldn't tell which looked better; him or the sky. The scene around you was so captivating, so beautiful. You weren’t sure if it was the drinks or your newfound love, but it felt like everything was moving slower than usual— like your mind wanted to stretch this moment out for as long as possible.

Daesung sighed softly beside you, letting out a small breath as he stared up at the sky. “You ever think about how weird it is… how quiet everything gets at night?”

You turned toward him, smiling faintly. “Yeah, it’s kind of nice.”

He nodded, but there was something in his voice— something shaky. Like he was tiptoeing around saying something he'd been holding in for years. Fidgeting with the edge of his bottle, he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I uh…” he started, then stopped, chuckling to himself. “Man, this is harder than I thought.”

You tilted your head, a little confused now. “What is?”

He let out a nervous laugh, avoiding your gaze for a second. “Saying stuff that actually matters, I’m usually better when I’m yelling nonsense into a mic.”

You bumped his shoulder gently, trying to encourage him for whatever he was attempting to say. “Hey, you’re doing fine. Just say it.”

He paused, glancing over at you. His smile was small but genuine— one of those quiet ones he gave when he wasn’t putting on a show.

“I just… wanted to tell you something,” he said. “Something I’ve kinda been… carrying around.”

Your heart picked up, but you didn’t move. You waited.

He stared back at the sky again, like it was easier to talk to than you right now. “You’ve always been important to me, like seriously. You’re one of the first people who really saw me… not just as the guy who jokes around all the time, but every part of me. I don’t know when it happened exactly, but… things started feeling different.”

He looked over at you again, this time holding your gaze, even as his foot was lightly tapping against the ground with nervousness.

“You’re really beautiful to me,” he said, slightly rushed like he had to push them out before he lost the nerve. “And not just like 'oh, you’re pretty’, I mean, everything about you. The way you talk, the way you care about people, the way you look when you’re trying not to laugh at my jokes…”

He trailed off, scratching the side of his face in embarrassment. “Ahh, this is so embarrassing. I sound like a teenager.”

You couldn’t help it— you laughed, soft and warm. “Hey,” you said gently, poking your knee against his. “That was actually really sweet." He looked at you again, still fidgeting, his smile shy now.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… I like you,” he finally announced. “Like, really like you. And I don’t expect you to say anything back, I just… thought you should know. Because if I didn’t tell you now, I don't think I ever would.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, and for a moment you just stared at him, stunned by how much he’d meant every single word. Looking over at him, you saw tears quietly slipping down his cheeks, catching the starlight as they glistened against his skin.

You didn’t speak right away— just reached out and took his hand in yours. His fingers tensed slightly at first in surprise, but then relaxed around yours, his palm warm against your skin.

You smiled at him. “Thank you so much for telling me, Dae.”

He exhaled, a soft sigh of relief leaving him. “You’re not gonna run away screaming then?”

You laughed again, squeezing his hand. “No, dummy. I was hoping you’d say it.”

His eyes widened a little, then lit up with that unmistakable glow— the one that could warm up the coldest room, even when it was just the two of you under the stars.

He let out a breathy laugh, but there was something lingering in his eyes. Something deeper. “Can I tell you one more thing?”

You nodded, heart thudding again.

“I think I’ve known since the first time I met you,” he said, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “You were always so nice after my practices, just completely unaware of how much you were about to flip my whole world upside down.”

Your breath caught as he smiled faintly, but nervously, like he wasn’t sure if he was saying too much.

“I thought it would go away. The crush or the nerves or whatever it was. But it never did. You kept showing up—more you every day—and I kept falling harder.”

He turned fully toward you now, one hand gently brushing your cheek, thumb grazing just below your eye as if memorizing the way you looked under the starlight. “I hate how quickly time keeps passing.” he whispered. “It only makes me crave more.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes locked on his, every other sound in the world falling away.

“I’m tired of guessing,” he muttered, voice barely above the soft breeze of the wind. “So just tell me, are you mine?” He leaned in, forehead gently resting against yours, breath in sync with yours.

“Cause I’m yours.”

Your answer wasn’t in words— it was in the way your hand moved to his jaw, the way your fingers grazed his skin with a tenderness you’d been holding back for too long. The way your lips met his in a soft, quiet kiss beneath the sky.

He kissed you like you were the secret he’d been keeping in every song, every glance, every laugh shared between you.

Your lips mingled gently, like time itself had slowed down just to let this happen right. There was no rush, no desperation— just a steady, lingering warmth that settled between you, pulling you both deeper in a moment that felt entirely outside of everything else.

You could feel the slight hitch in his breath when your nose brushed his, could feel his hand slide behind your neck, holding you there like he was afraid you'd fade away. The kiss deepened just a little, as if he were savoring the taste of something he’d waited so long to finally touch,

Not rushed. Not unsure. Just right.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads resting together, you let out a soft, almost weightless sigh. “I wish this could last forever,” you whispered.

Daesung opened his eyes, and there it was again— that look. Honest, warm, and maybe a little nervous. “It can.” he said quietly. “Do you… wanna make this official?”

You blinked, heart stuttering at the simplicity of it. “Are you asking me out?”

“I mean, yeah” he said, smiling shyly. “Like, as in... real dates, matching outfits, me annoying you with good morning texts— the whole thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, smile stretching so wide it almost hurt. “You’re so corny.”

“And irresistible,” he added, nudging his nose against yours. You kissed him again, just briefly— playful this time, full of new beginnings.

“Okay,” you murmured, your heart soaring. “Let’s make it official.”

Daesung grinned like a kid who just got his favorite toy. “I’m dating the most beautiful person in the universe,” he whispered to himself, taking in your whole face as you lay beside each other. You turned your head toward him, cheeks still warm, eyes meeting his in the quiet glow of the night.

“And I’m dating the biggest goofball on Earth,” you teased, voice light— but the way you looked at him said everything else: I’m happy. I’m yours.

He laughed softly, nudging your shoulder with his. “Goofball, huh? Well you better get used to it, I plan on annoying you for a long, long time.”

You smiled, resting your head against his arm. “I’m counting on it.”

Above you, the stars blinked like they were in on the secret. The night was still, the air cool, and time, for just a moment, felt like it had paused just for the two of you.

No flashing cameras, no stage lights— just you, Daesung, and something real finally beginning. And beneath that quiet sky, side by side with fingers barely touching, your forever finally began.

taglist: @breakmeoff @steponupbabe @tabibabib @mintymuse @heartubeatusalon @sternilei @julseysmel

[igorluvr]

happy fathers day to this daddy

[igorluvr]

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧