#ateez dark

[hwaightme]

Curiosity

⚫ pairing: editor!yeosang x ...who knows? ⚫ genre: sci-fi, speculative fiction, noir, dystopia, mystery, angst ⚫ summary: What does it take to be the perfect citizen? This dream is just a pill away, giving the employee - opportunity, and society - efficiency, precision, and profit. But as Kang Yeosang, an editor working a dead end job, stumbles across a dissident manuscript, he cannot help but give into dangerous curiosity. ⚫ wordcount: 15.9k ⚫ warnings/tags: language, pg16?, political drabble, faking emotion, discussion of death and su!cide, mass psychosis, control the population, mention of food/eating, woo is a pothead, family drama, explicit discussion of medication/drugs, dark futurism, people living like automatons, propaganda, fake it 'til you make it, yeosang hiding true self, hints at a storm to come, 1984 energy ⚫ a/n: Hello <3 this is a total experiment. Love all feedback, asks, reblogs, notes and wishing you the best time of day <3 Big hugs!

Get up at four in the morning. Automatically shave and brush teeth. Get dressed into the regular grey on white on grey combo. Drink some water and ingest a few bites of stale break. Drive to work.

The office is already busy – as usual. Most colleagues who he had said goodbye and wished a good night to were in the same places they had been. It seemed that even their eyes had not moved a single time. Completely trained on their computers, papers, holographic projectors… Yesterday’s meetings were still in progress in the glass cabinets.

Log onto the system. Get handed a stack of work. Plow through it. Go home. Collapse.

And the routine began again the next day. This was how Yeosang’s last few years of life after university had been. Working for the same company and never getting promoted. His health getting progressively worse. But no worries about that; he had his whole existence insured!

Anything to keep him at his desk for as long as possible. Perhaps if the perks offered by this organisation had been in place a few decades earlier, it would have had the highest competition for employment. But in this day and age, it was comically mediocre. The offering of health insurance was a given now that ‘the pill’ was about as commonly used as a smartphone. Moreover, each business, that could afford it, had paramedics on site constantly.

Yeosang was not sure whether it was for the diligent employees or for people like him. Perhaps it was all a front and there was no support network. It could be that the only reason why he made it this far was because of some odd form of luck and not the services. Sounded about right. Why would the bosses waste resources on the likes of him? He should have died out with the others of his ‘kind’ a long time ago.

To be frank, he had nearly cracked on multiple occasions; he had even bought the godforsaken pills once. Had the packet lying on his coffee table, had stared at it, counted and recounted the drug. Read the description and warnings included. But he was above that nonsense. He added that packet to the rest he had acquired over the years, now beginning to pile in the depths of that one cupboard above the fridge.

Perhaps he was paranoid. That possibility could not be excluded. Look at the millions surrounding him, all benefitting from the very thing he was afraid of taking! With its help, they could achieve great things. Discover, innovate, and create. Better than any artificial intelligence could. One might say that this was the counterattack by humans against their own creations. Establishing who was the master. Both could work tirelessly, but only one had the higher conscious.

At this point, Yeosang was not sure which was more human. Whenever he tried to engage in small talk with the others, they just shot him a blank stare and mumbled a ‘huh is that so’ or a ‘oh that is interesting isn’t it’ on a good day. At least with a robot he could discuss anything, from the local council elections to the weather in Kathmandu. So that was how his coffee breaks went. He spent exactly two minutes chatting to the shiny barista – just enough time to finish his rich espresso and get back to his desk without being reprimanded. That was the most ‘real’ interaction at work.

It was his fault that he felt bored. He could be like everybody else and not feel the need for simple pleasures. But something inside of him, a tiny, barely audible voice in his head, cried out that he was better than that. He managed to go all the way from primary school to university and even get a job without relying on energy stimulants, so why begin now?

Was the ‘Workaholic Movement’ finally getting to him? After seeing its propaganda plastered on almost every wall, on public transport, in stores and advertised by anybody and everybody who wanted their thirty seconds of fame… he would have to be deaf and blind to not be affected. Even then, even if his senses would act as his saving grace for a time, the conglomerate of organisations that had banded together for this work revolution would find a way to tattoo the message inside of his head. Egging him on. Take it, take it, take it…

If being braindead was what the people wanted, Yeosang could give it to them alright. He had perfected the glossed over fisheyes and the mindless typing away at his computer. It required a ridiculous amount of strain and drained him to almost nothing by the end of the day, but ‘adapt or die’, right? He had gotten so good at faking, in fact, that even his managers stopped caring about his lack of community spirit. They just assumed the pill worked on him a slightly different way. And that was that. Don’t bother the guy, and he will not bother you.

After four hours of editing yet another non-fiction manuscript that talked about the wonders of modern society now that everybody was focusing on work, work, and more work, Yeosang was beginning to lose his faith in humanity, again. It was the fifth one of this type he had to look at this week – and it was only Tuesday. Tragic where society had ended up. He clicked on the period symbol and the spacebar with particular frustration and leaned back into his office chair. He stifled a yawn and blinked away hints of midmorning fatigue. Time to get some coffee and greet Teo – a play on the Korean pronunciation of the word computer, taking its ending syllable. Yes, he gave the barista a name, and no, he was not fond of personification. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

He put his suit jacket, which was hanging off the chair, back on to not attract more attention than required– everybody else somehow managed to look pristine like expensive cars at a showroom. Some had outfits so impeccable, they looked glued on and ironed out on the individual. Not that they would care or take the compliment, they had no basic needs.

Taking a leisurely stroll down the large office corridors was one of Yeosang’s favourite pastimes, albeit he could not dedicate more than a few seconds to it. People watching was a strange activity in the modern world. Everybody’s lives were supposed to be similar enough that there should be no need to see how others function. That was what made it enjoyable for the young editor – a sort of taboo, a dirty little secret he had with himself.

Mina from the software engineering team was pushing on her forty seventh hour now. The timer she had at her desk was ticking away. Then she would give herself an hour break and start the cycle again with a fresh new pill.  Those were the people that got promotions, not Yeosang. Of course, her outfit was more professional than his too. Why do they try so hard to look good when they are out of it for the majority of the time?

“Good morning, Teo. How are you today?”

“Good morning, Yeosang. I am fine, thank you. Would you like your usual espresso?”

“You know it. Tell me, am I fashionable?” he stood and crossed his arms, watching the robot begin preparing his drink.

“I am afraid I am not qualified to assess human qualities.” Teo cleaned the drip another time for good measure before setting the cup down.

“Oh, come on. This is a super easy, bland, and superficial thing. Go on, hit me with the sad truth.” The barista did not respond straight away. Instead, it gave the illusion of giving its full focus to the coffee machine. Yeosang rocked on his feet, waiting. He was genuinely curious.

“I am going to have to disappoint you there,” Yeosang raised his eyebrows and his lip twitched 

“Oh, come on, man, you are no fun! Ah, well, at least you make damn good coffee.”

“I am, indeed, no fun. I am a barista. And thank you.”

That was the extent of the conversation Yeosang managed to get out of the poor android before his drink was ready. Usually, when he was not working, the robot remained on idle mode, thus returning to a mute state. It was just Yeosang and his own thoughts now. He took a sip of the espresso – utter perfection. He had to give it to technological innovation; the scientists knew how to teach a metal can to make coffee alright.

He checked his wristwatch. There was just under a minute before he had to quit lazing around and go back to work. Nobody else in his team had gotten up once. In record time Yeosang finished his drink and disposed of the cup by throwing it into the automatic dishwasher ‘tunnel’. Really it was a transportation system for dirty kitchenware, and not the most efficient, considering that on his floor it was almost always only Yeosang keeping it in operation, but whatever makes the company look more important…

It was a race against the clock. When passing by the printers, Yeosang took a few pieces of blank paper to make it seem like he walked out with real productive intention, and not to indulge in a hit of caffeine. It is not like anybody would stop him to check what was in his hands. A colleague walked past him, carrying at least ten folders that were filled to the brim but not showing any signs of struggle – Yeosang refrained from asking if they needed any help; it was obvious they could handle it themselves, and were an independent worker.

Even when the break was long forgotten and yet another section of a new bureaucratic ass-kissing manuscript had been edited, Yeosang was still uneasy. A general feeling of being let down, but how could that have arisen? He regurgitated nonsense editing feedback without thinking. It was all the same anyway. The same mistakes, the same weak arguments being made in favour of the Workaholic Movement, the magical medicinal substance that could quench an individual’s thirst, satisfy their nutritional needs, maximise their functionality and diminish their time dedicated to nothingness to null. Nobody was sure as to who exactly, why, and how had invented the ‘workaholic’ pill – a term coined by the media that now became a common phrase. But the market for this piece of scientific magic sure looked promising. Skyrocketing sales, insane demand, and equally unexpectedly insane supply.

That’s right – the reality that Yeosang found himself in, made him uneasy. He had grown up in a world where people no longer relied on their own strength to achieve things – they had chemicals do the hard things for them. His classmates, instead of spending eight hours sleeping, did extracurricular activities and gained work experience that Yeosang could only dream of. They were on it night and day. Always writing, reading, number-crunching… Only those who wanted to break into the acting world could sit down to rest – if their roles required them to.

His co-workers were exactly the same. Their whole lives were only in this office. Well, who was Yeosang to judge their ‘lack of a life’ when he was not exactly a representative of the enviable life. At least those colleagues of his did not have an awareness of how painfully average they were. He had to stare at himself and his averageness each morning, and notice just how pallid he had become, and how he was slowly fading into the tiled walls of his bathroom. If he were to become a wall his quality of life would probably get better. Already blended in, and always doing his job. Finally, mom and dad would be proud.

His parents were astonishingly fast and efficient workers at their prime. They had raised the sales of the company they worked for to impossible heights, singlehandedly. That was when they had been awarded the honourable title of ‘Distinguished Workaholic’s. Something millions dream of getting. All while, ironically, not allowing their own son to micro-dose to power through middle school. Yeosang had felt slightly betrayed – his parents, at the forefront of the movement, loyal to the message of the government and the goal of the drug, and yet they were denying him that very same thing. His father would constantly tell him that he did not need that pill at such a young age, that he was strong enough. They would sit for hours on end each evening, working through homework and projects together. His father would much rather spend that much time grinding through impossibly boring tasks instead of just giving in and handing his son the quick and easy solution.

It was then when Yeosang had started to suspect that not everything was ‘sunshine and rainbows’ with that pill.

The International United Workers Organisation, along with the International Heath Fund and a myriad of research institutes, both private and public, had joined forces to create the solution to problems that did not seem to exist. They had, after years of silence and secrecy, shaken the world. In most countries, there had been hints in the press at an innovation unlike any other. People were buzzing, so when the news had finally been released, there was a metaphorical explosion that covered the planet. These organisations, these developers whose names shall never be known, had made history. Every form of media was broadcasting the news to anybody who was alive to listen. This pill would solve the ‘inefficiency crisis’ – so they called it.

Suddenly, people with the right finances began searching for this chemical miracle. An operation of this scale must mean that this is a real problem, right? Everybody had begun to question themselves, whether they were giving their all and living to the fullest. It became a craze, an epidemic which had singlehandedly taken control of the entirety of the human race. It was almost as if the advertisements had hypnotic properties; or perhaps, it was merely a clever manipulation of natural curiosity, leading to an addictive trap.

Yeosang had been three years old when KALIN-X went into widespread commercial production – two years after the official release. His parents had already been fairly frequent users by that time due to his mother’s professional affiliation with the IUWO. With more and more workers giving their lives to being under the pill, his parents began taking them more often. The majority of his early childhood had been spent with a drugged up nanny who seemed to never need sleep. When his parents did visit – never more than an hour, he could barely recognise them. Their faces were not as friendly and as loving as they had once been. By age six, Yeosang had stopped calling the two ‘mother’ and father’. They had turned into Missus and Mister Kang. And this was considered to be a resounding success and a result deserving celebration.

Primary school had passed rapidly; it was barely even a memory now. The majority of kids were just like Yeosang – abandoned, but still ‘loved’. It was normal to refer to the homeroom teacher as the parental figure, and some kids even stayed at the facility overnight. But most importantly, the children ‘micro-dosing’ was still a tiny minority. Without any definite evidence that the drug did not have any adverse side effects in young kids, even the heavily using parents did not dare to subject their precious sons and daughters to the life of a walking experiment.

Yet, as the years went on, so did the percentage of micro-dosing peers in Yeosang’s life. By middle school, the tables had turned, and he was in a small group silenced sufferers. They had found in one another support and reassurance. Until new findings came in and promoted KALIN-X for students. Then, Yeosang was left alone. No matter how much he begged his parents to just let him be, he had used the argument that they were ‘never there’, he was denied the easy way out. His mother and father were adamant on him finding his way through school using his own brain power. At that same time, both of them had received the ‘Distinguished Workaholic’ award. They had even made an appearance in the local news – the district of the city the Kang family was registered in had been joyous. The community reputation was now one of the best. They were congratulated by all, except their own son.

Needless to say, it was perplexing that two Distinguished Workaholics put prohibitions on their child in terms of pill use. Instead they began to talk and work with him more. Power through challenges together. Anything so that he would not fall victim. Was he isolated? Was he over protected? Yeosang had no answers for that. But what his parents’ actions did, was, on the one hand, they made him think for himself. He had the opportunity to see a world beyond KALIN-X, understand the past and appreciate to what heights society had evolved. On the other hand, he ended up not knowing how to view himself. At best he was mediocre. There was nothing that he could possibly stand out in. That might as well be his special skill. Being nobody. He could appear and disappear without a trace, be forgotten in a matter of seconds.

His situation would make anybody assume that he would have an inflated ego; a high sense of self and a tendency to see himself as superior. Well, that was impossible. Just being able to say ‘I don’t need drugs to get me through high school and university’ was not enough. Yeosang could guarantee that his class and course mates could all do that too. It was just they wanted everything to be done efficiently, and since the opportunity was there, they took it. He was holding the others up constantly. He was the problem.

University had been a particularly dark time. Being from a small school, nothing could have prepared him for the sheer size of the community and the invisibility he was going to have. If he was transparent before, now he was formless and equivalent to air. The majority of people that were in that same place, learning and living their dream he would never get to know. So many faces he would never see.

He would have ‘talked to somebody’ about his worries, but the counselling service ceased operating as soon as the percentage of micro-dosing members of the student body had reached ninety percent. It was hopeless. He fell and fell. Deeper into a realm he had been on the border of. It was all he knew for the duration of the study. He was used to solitude, but the change after change had done it. He cracked. After that, there was darkness.

Yeosang did not remember then he bought the packet, but he woke up with it in his hands. He was lying on the floor of his tiny single dorm, curled up, with his simultaneous release and demise in an iron grip. What was he doing? He checked the number of pills; one missing. This was a problem. A giant problem. What had happened?

 He had stumbled out of his room like a bear after hibernation. Staggering, stumbling from left to right, he grabbed onto the walls. Fellow students peeked out and stared at him, wide-eyed. Yeosang was lost. Stopping at the door of one of the people in his course, he knocked violently and loudly. It creaked open, revealing a timid figure. He could not remember what this guy’s name was for the life of him, so he just asked:

“What… happened?” since when was his voice so rough and croaky? It only made the listener terrified for his life. Yeosang’s eyes were bloodshot, face almost grey, lips dry cracked and bleeding, hair a mess. He wanted answers, desperately. “I said, what happened?” his voice had now turned into a shout, and he had his hand on the door ready to force it open if his peer decided that he had enough.

Thankfully, there was no need for tackling and the guy gave in.

“You… took it…”

“Took what? Don’t babble! What did I take?”

“The pill… KALIN-X… you… you took it…” that was enough. Yeosang was mortified.

“For how long was I out?” he was barely emitting a whisper, a huge contrast that kept everyone observing on their toes.

“About… three days…” Yeosang did not want to hear anymore. He took out the pills from his pocket and shoved them in the general direction of his acquaintance. It ended up right against the other’s chest. Yeosang was looking down. Waiting for the other to take it. When he didn’t, Yeosang let his anger take the better of him.

“ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU WANT? YOU LIVE FOR THIS AND I AM GIVING IT TO YOU! TAKE IT! TAKE IT, YOU BASTARD!” He threw it into the young man’s room and slammed the door shut. As he turned around, he saw all doors close quickly, and heard them being locked. Hilarious. These manic addicts being scared of the one kid who wasn’t. Not a pretty sight, huh? Who cares?

Yeosang went back into his room and almost immediately fell asleep.

He slept on and off for two days. According to his personal tutor, he had done all of his coursework for the next month so he could skip a few days no problem. He had also completed a few exams early so that was set. Such a fool… how did he allow himself to do this? His parents would notice. They would be disappointed in him. The one thing they had told Yeosang not to do, he had done. But he was in a place where there was no other option, except, perhaps, ending everything altogether. But he was too young, so he chose the next ‘best’ thing.

That was Yeosang’s first and last experience with KALIN-X. He had found that one dose resulted in cravings for more and more, and he had to physically restrain himself to not burn the dorms to the ground in a search for a fix. It was unbearable, but he had to be silent. Nobody should be aware of his moment of weakness. It was a misstep that he should not have made. He had no recollection of what he had done. His real self was far from whatever he was doing. It did not exist. If he were to be asked about any piece of coursework he had done in that three day time period, his mind would draw a blank. Even though he had attained a much higher grade than his average.

Return to average. That was what he needed. He had to come down from this despicable high and dissolve back into the crowd. So that is exactly what he did. Finished university without any more events or hiccups, took up a generic job, and for the last few years had dedicated himself to not be different. It was safer that way. Now he knew that when people were on KALIN-X they were not rational. They were as close to machines as humans could get. Functioning not because they had the choice, but because they were being dragged by invisible strings. Millions, billions of puppets surrounding Yeosang. So, what was the rational thing to do? Pretend to be one himself.

His managers seemed to like it. They let him get on with his work without being constantly monitored, a luxury not given to those who were open about not using the pill. There were also The Tainted; a completely different class of human, in the eyes of the directors and CEOs they were a wholly distant breed. Both types were quickly disposed of. They were seen as a stain that the company wanted to wipe away, to not ruin their image of having the hardest and most loyal workers – born, living and dying while being the perfect tool. How could they have people who were non progressive? Worse, what if rumours began to spread that they were employing Tainteds? That would lead to a bad name, and imminent closure.

Yeosang had a colleague who was a Tainted once – only for a month. He was not sure how she passed the screening process, but she ended up working in his team. Very diligent and ambitious. Willing to do anything. She could edit just as well as any of the druggies, if not better. Somehow, she managed to make lifeless texts fresher, and gave the author an emotive voice; like they were actually fascinated by what they were writing about. That was what made our boss suspicious. She was not dispassionate and passive enough. He had been the one to appeal to Human Resources to check her profile in more depth, including old medical records and more… As soon as the results came in and her (according to them) dark secret was revealed, she flew out just as suddenly as she had joined. She had been given the mark of a Tainted by a series of certified professionals; doctors specialising in worker health. She was an individual ‘immune’ to the effects of KALIN-X. The dosage did not alter the lack of reaction in her, either. It was as neutral as water. She was completely unreactive, and thus, uncontrollable. No business needs people who could not be controlled when they so desire. So, she was erased from the world. Yeosang did not see her ever again after that.

Another thing that Yeosang had noticed was that it was not difficult to command people under the medication. If one was eloquent enough, they could merely convince the subject that whatever they want done is a matter of life and death. And off they go. So, all those years ago at university, Yeosang had put himself in that much danger without realising! He thought the so-called Tainted to be lucky. She could not be subdued. Could be herself to the fullest. It was awe-inspiring. Not so in the eyes of the law and industry, of course, but it had struck Yeosang with more force than any pill propaganda could. So, he vowed to live without a single tablet or pill of that poison.

He wondered if what had happened was unfair. In the past, before KALIN-X had existed, this would have been considered to be discrimination, lack of opportunity… and many more reasons. But now, in a near ideal equal society, what was this? Was this meant to be? Did it have to be accepted? Yeosang had no idea. It was obvious that the higher ups were afraid of having a person like that lady in the workplace. In their minds, she could be a bad influence. An agitator. She had nothing to lose, so why not try to ruin a system from the inside? Logical fears, and yet, she had proven to be so dedicated that it was odd to have her fired. They probably found it strange that a regular person not under influence was finding this job fun. That was why they left Yeosang alone – he had mastered the ‘I do not care a single bit about what I am doing but I am doing it because I totally adore this nation and the idea of working’ look. It had taken him a few years to master and adapt it for various unique events, but so far he had never fallen under suspicion.

In addition, they would be disappointed to find nothing on him being a potential Tainted, since he knew from first-hand experience that he was part of the average majority, who do not need to up their dose, who do not need supervision, who simply get knocked out and become little busy bees. Just like everybody else; a little mousier, outwardly dour. He had chosen to evolve with the time, like a plant growing taller and taller to reach the sun. He had wanted to have at least a little bit of it, even if it meant constantly wearing a mask.

Yeosang was scrolling through the second manuscript for the day – barely any variation from the first, when his thoughts drifted, and he remembered that ‘Tainted’. How many years had it been? One? Two? Yes, he was confident it was two. Where had she ended up after her dismissal? He could only guess. The majority of Tainteds, even those with spectacular higher education and spotless backgrounds went into manual labour, often going out of the city to farms or factories. Somewhere where there was no image. Where they were employed without a contract, paid a minimum wage on a good day, and extremely exploited. He hoped that that was not her fate. She had presented far too delicate, too metropolitan an appearance to allow for the mind to even imagine here out there. It would be better if she had moved to a less strict country and found a life there. Even an activist, or any career that was against the government suited her more. It was a little fantasy of his to pretend like he might have come across someone like a revolutionary in his life. Her eyes had possessed a twinkle the first time she walked in. Ready to tackle any challenge and move on to the next one with success after success. Who said she could not embrace it?

If only Yeosang could allow himself to be like that, then maybe he could see himself as more than an empty space. But it was safer to be air than a scalding hot fire. It was tempting to send everything and everyone to hell and to embrace his true nature, but his survival instincts and rigorous self-training would never allow such a thing to happen. KALIN-X now ruled the world, so he had to accept his role as a mere peasant and plough his metaphorical field – editing non-fiction books about this king, every day until he stopped breathing. What a horrifying fate he had selected for himself.

Hours went by. He intentionally skipped lunch to please his boss, who had been going in and out of meetings, therefore passing by Yeosang’s desk far too many times for comfort. Luckily, leaving the office was no problem at all. There was a routine test fire alarm two hours after the usual end of the workday, so after filing out he could slip away unnoticed.

As soon as he managed to get himself into the nearly empty metro, he sighed deeply. Exhaustion climbed onto his shoulders and pulled him into a short anxious slumber, vanishing on instinct right before his stop.

It was easy to locate the apartment building where Wooyoung lived. Shabby and run down, it was in one of the poorer districts, and even there it stood out like a sore thumb due to its dirtiness and air of having been neglected for many decades. This building could be said to accurately describe those who lived in it – abandoned by society and left to their own devices. Most had turned to small crime, unregistered or illegal manual labour, or burying oneself and hiding behind thin walls. A human rat, barely living to scurry around, only sustenance being the glow of the street through shabby, dusty blinds.

The main entrance had a permanent leak from an exposed rusted pipe, prevented from leaking by a kindly donated blue bucket, while the elevator had been turned into a combination of a pigsty and a public restroom. If one wanted to use the indoor stairwell, they would have to watch out for forgotten bin bags, contents rotting away, and puddles of viscous liquid within cracks in the stone chipped with age. Bannisters crooked and handrails covered in splinters, one could see multiple attempts to mask the misery with cheap white paint, which had never been able to properly dry in this rancid, humid chamber that had not seen the light of day. Sticky patches of it had formed droplets on the sides, mixing with mould and hanging like miniature ornaments. This place was poetically revolting. It suited Wooyoung just fine.

Yeosang’s friend of many years had never aspired to become anybody. Without even the tiniest goal, he rolled along with the current like a pebble on the riverbed. The only things he felt strongly about was non-conformism, passive activism and demanding that employment be a choice. The two young men were similar, in a sense. It was just that Yeosang hid his contempt for societal structure terribly well, while Wooyoung took a toddler’s approach and threw tantrums whenever possible.

Wrapping his trench coat tighter around him and holding the edge of the collar to his nose, Yeosang made his way up the emergency stairs – now being used as the regular point of entry. The metal beneath his feet creaked and rattled, displeased at the efforts it had to go through to stay upright and working. About time for it to retire, but who had the finances to save a building that should have been demolished years ago? Definitely not the residents.

There was no reason for him to be there, except to check that his friend still had a pulse. Their dynamic was rather habitual as of late – before, they were connected by university life; same group of friends, same stories circling around… nowadays it was a fear of ending up alone that kept Yeosang attached to this layabout. That was right – Wooyoung, a hard worker’s closest friend, was a ‘good for nothing’ in the eyes of the community. He did not want to participate in the hustle and bustle, claiming that any form of work was not for him. He insisted that KALIN-X only gave him a headache and avoided the majority of widely supported community and service plans. Radically opposite from Yeosang, who did everything in his power not to stand out.

The unemployed fake philosophy and conspiracy theory enthusiast liked the sound of his own voice, and could spend hours circulating on and on through the same topics – society being trash, innocent and naïve citizens being brainwashed by the evil people in suits and with heaps of money in their pockets, how unfairly he was being treated and how he totally deserved better, how we had a lot of talent but there was nowhere where he could use it… it continued pretty much the same, only with slight variations to vocabulary and excuses growing more creative each time. But Yeosang did not mind listening to this. He treated it just like white noise on television. At first it was jarring and unbearable, but once it faded into the background it turned into a form of ambiance and an element of a routine for unwinding. Meditation through listening to nonsense to take a break from other nonsense. Logical enough.

Door number thirty-nine, using the third stairwell. The building had sixty identical apartments, split into blocks with fifteen flats each. Wooyoung lived in the third one. The door was barely distinguishable from the walls, having never been cleaned. So thickly coated with dirt that its white colour had been forgotten, replaced by a brownish grey. All the rage, from what it seemed. Almost all entrances were like that, some carelessly lined by miscellaneous objects – a broken bike, an armless doll with its face and body scarred with a black marker. Its eyes were rolled back; even objects had no desire to associate themselves with this place.

Wooyoung had a basket for umbrellas standing outside of his apartment. It was screwed to the floor and to the wall – if it were not, it would have disappeared within a few hours of being brought there. For that same reason it always remained empty, since those who visited were experienced enough to know better. This was not a neighbourhood where people left their doors unlocked and greeted one another with wide smiles, watering the flowers on their balconies. Could not be further from it.

After knocking three times, five times, Yeosang decided that it was alright to enter. His friend was either off his face or could not be bothered to answer the door – usual things, really. It turned out to be former, as the stench of marijuana reached Yeosang’s nostrils within seconds of entering. He could practically see the clouds of smoke piling and dancing at the ceiling. It was as if Wooyoung’s pad had accumulated all of the city’s fog.

“Hey, you in there?” Yeosang asked, squinting and looking around. He could not stand the smell and coughed. Waving his free hand, while the other was gripping onto a standard black leather briefcase, he crept forwards to the centre of the studio. He had to cross the whole room to get to the big window.

“Hey man…” his friend trailed off, obviously just back from another dimension.

“How many time did I tell you, if you are going to be smoking that stuff at least open the bloody window!” he chided, rushing to let some air in. It was not much cleaner, but less drugged up.

“Okay, mom.” Wooyoung drew out the vowels, his head falling to one side and glossed over eyes staring in the approximate direction of the window.

Yeosang sighed and massaged his temples with one hand. He loosened his plain grey tie and ruffled his dark hair. Why did he come here again? Oh yes, to ‘relax’. Somehow, babying his friend around was more enjoyable than staying at work. He took out a wet tissue and wiped the windowsill – it was just about the cleanest part of the apartment, and only because Yeosang needed to leave his briefcase somewhere, and ended up choosing the one his friend would never bother with. The documents and manuscripts in there needed to survive another day without being rolled up into a joint; or whatever Wooyoung would want to do with them.

He had not eaten, that was for sure. With minimal skills for independent living, Wooyoung relied on store-bought meals to sustain himself. His cupboards were stuffed with convenience store quantities of instant food: ramen packets, crisps… anything that could survive an apocalypse if need be. There was also a flimsy drawer with plastic cutlery and napkins from fast food places, a grand variety of sauce packets as well as some banged up cups for them. Yeosang checked the fridge, sighing when he saw the pot of soup he had cooked last time in the same exact place. It had to have gone bad by now. One whiff of the contents was enough to confirm the hypothesis. Down the drain it went. Rather analogous to how Wooyoung was spending his days. Nothing productive. If only he were to find something to do... Yeosang shook his head. He was beginning to sound like his autonomous ‘barely human’ co-workers. Thinking that getting a job is the only way for somebody to have a high quality of life.

Look at this friend. He could spend as much time as he wanted in his home; if he so pleased, he could roam the city for as long as he liked, forget about what was ‘the norm’ and what was ‘looked down upon’ and just do what he desired to do, all on a whim. To be frank, Yeosang was slightly jealous – on multiple occasions, he thought of leaving his workplace and becoming a layabout too. He would have to downgrade from the skyscraper he lived in and move away from that district for good. Spend all of his days in some shack, maybe move in with Wooyoung. The further he pondered the matter, the more relieved he was that he was good at faking. By restating the consequences of giving it all up, Yeosang just managed to remind himself why he was pretending to be someone he was not.

Having his residence be at a very particular address had given Yeosang quite a few benefits before. Because now, almost all purchases had to be made through an identity card in order to prevent certain types of illegal activity (though Yeosang was convinced that it was all part of a mass surveillance plan), the workers at chain stores and high-end restaurants could see the district in which he lived. It was one of the most popular for ambitious youth; with high-rise apartment complexes with concierges, security guards, gyms, pools and more, it was the modern dream. Ironically enough, the majority of the residents barely spent time in their beautiful residences. On multiple occasions, Yeosang had to give directions to workers who were looking for their own apartment. That, in turn, made him feel slightly guilty that he had the opportunity to be within his rented walls, sleep on a comfortable double bed, have a glass of water while watching the sun rise from his bedroom window, and watch the sun set while sitting in his living room or cooking up a late dinner in his kitchen.

He had never invited Wooyoung over, out of fear for being detected supporting a layabout’s lifestyle. It was commonplace to spread rumours; and once one person started talking it could grow exponentially to millions. There were gossip discussion forums online where anything and everything was discussed, and neighbours in the last few years had become more vigilant than any security system. Thankfully, they never lied or exaggerated. Why? Because they, too, were being watched.

But it was better to be safe than sorry. Come back later to cause less raised eyebrows and then in a few hours disappear again. The surveillance in his friend’s district was practically non-existent, not having been upgraded from a few cameras inside a store here, or a simple antique CCTV camera outside a bank there. Everything was on the brink of self-destruction anyway, so it was obvious that the government just did not wish to waste resources on a place that was crumbling uncontrollably. They would rather wait until it turned into fine dust and give way to grandeur, sophistication and sustainable innovation.

While scavenging for any forms of ingredients, Yeosang wondered what building would be put on the site of the wreck where his close friend lived. Would it be a high rise residential? Or would it be a segment of a department store, its glass proudly shining? This whole neighbourhood would have to be uprooted, demolished and erased for the ground to even stand a chance of fitting the rest of the city. This was a district left behind, along with the people in it. With bated breath, those same politicians who were promoting equality and diversity, and were investing millions into development of their supposedly beloved city, were waiting for the inhabitants of this forlorn piece of collected infrastructure to slowly die off.

Somehow, the contents of Wooyoung’s cupboards perfectly embodied what it was like to be in this borough. Stale bread, with the pieces deeper into the bag turned disgustingly warm. Tiny ecosystems blooming on the crusts. A reasonably well-preserved carrot – a few things would need to be cut off, but overall, not bad. Some rice; since two months ago, when Yeosang cooked with it last, the amount had not changed. Had his friend really been eating and, better yet, surviving off the ramen this whole time? But the number of packets had not changed either… how was this guy alive?

“Hey. Hey. Hey! Wake up!” he shouted, having approached Wooyoung until he was only an arm’s length away. The young man lazily tilted himself up into a more appropriate sitting position, but soon enough let himself slouch forwards. He covered his eyes with the palms of his hands, and let his skinny fingers press on his ears.

“C’mon… why you got to do that, man… my head…”

“Is ‘bout to be bashed in if you don’t stop your nonsense this instant!”

“Okay, mom!” Wooyoung rolled his eyes and fell onto the couch, nuzzling into the grimy pillow that had not lived the best life.

Unlike the rest of his body, his hands were soft and smooth. A trapped pianist who was living in the wrong time. He would have been a genius, otherwise. Such comments only fed his friend’s over-inflated ego, so he refrained from even mentioning it. Even though Yeosang did agree, those fingers, on the thinner side, not having known hard labour and not worn out, would have looked spectacular floating above the keys. Such a shame that their owner was who he was.

“Have you been wining and dining out every night?”

“What’s it to you? Bro, you are messing with my vibe, can you just-” Yeosang took one of Wooyoung’s arms and pulled him up. He could barely hold himself up while standing. It was evident that the world was swimming for him. Could he even see Yeosang’s face?

“What the hell did I tell you about eating through money like that? Your benefits are low anyways, but you are just making the situation so much worse!”

“Look,” Wooyoung stated coldly, suddenly sobering up. “I did not ask for you to come here and give me a lecture on how to live my life. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out. I will be all the merrier. Go back to work, or whatever you do nowadays.”

He was taken aback. Did his friend really mean that? Oh, what had he done? The bag of rice in his hand felt heavier than before, and Wooyoung’s gaze had, in a fraction of a second gained a threatening judgemental glint. After a minute, Yeosang cleared his throat, and gave a one-word agreement. His friend was right. This was a waste of time.

“Okay.”

“Yeo… Hold up, Yeo? Where are you heading? Don’t play me like that man! I was joking, wait!”

Yeosang was about to exit the living room, with one foot already at the entranceway, but his friend dropped to his knees and was clutching the briefcase that Yeosang picked up in one swoop, in a feeble attempt to wrestle it out of Yeosang’s iron grip.

“You know I like joking. I was just a little mad that you were telling me off like that again. Sorry, I really should not have said that. It was way too far. Sorry! No need to be so sensitive, you know how I am! Come on! Don’t go! It’s real nice to have you around. You are the only one who visits me these days. Everybody else had forgotten about poor Woo. You are my bro. Come on, sorry!” his poor excuse of an apology had turned into pleas and yelps, not dissimilar to ones a purse-size terrier could make. It made guilt rise in Yeosang’s throat, turn into a lump and spread. It was choking him from the inside, making his breathing shallower.

Look at your friend.

It said.

Look at him, poor boy. He has nobody left in this world except you and you are about to leave. Who is throwing a tantrum now? Be the adult. If you can pretend to be on KALIN-X you can pretend to be a good friend. Pretending is nothing new to you. Since when have you been genuine?

His inner thoughts were unnecessarily hurtful. But valid. When did he allow himself to let go and have no inhibitions? Perhaps when he cried right after he was born. An infant not yet aware that he was breaking rules. Not yet wrapped up and put into the hell’s cradle, rocking side to side to the lulling rhythm of the clock, the news playing in the background.

Yeosang could remember the presenters that he liked when he was a toddler – the only time he could say he enjoyed the silly nonsense called ‘breaking news’ being reported without stopping. There was a man; probably in his thirties, with hair neatly combed back and glasses somewhere between oval and rectangle. His three-year-old self would stand in front of the television and ogle the man. The other one was a female presenter, almost always wearing a white shirt, completed with a new designer scarf. Her hair was the deepest, darkest shade of brown he had ever seen – not quite black, complex, rich, and her eyes were shining no matter what news she was delivering. Those two people made Yeosang want to become a reporter or a journalist. But reality had other plans.

Now he was babying a high friend in his filthy pigsty of a studio apartment. Where exactly did his life take a turn in this direction? He returned to the kitchen without saying a word to Wooyoung, and, defeat written clearly on his face, began to rinse and chop the salvageable bits of carrot and cabbage to mix in with rice. A swift process. He mechanically went through all the stages of preparing the meal. There was no need for him to be invested – he was not cooking for himself anyway. Did not have the stomach to enjoy anything while being surrounded by heaps of grime and decaying, peeling walls.

Time to throw everything into the only pot that had survived the apocalyptic condition of the kitchen – barely any rust and the handle was not falling off. It was only because Yeosang chose it to be his favourite. The rest could not live up to the versatility. This pot could accommodate for any dish, and silently allow the food to broil, not leave anything stuck to it, and allow itself to be washed with a rough sponge and stinging dish soap, only to be put back on the highest shelf hidden away from everything and everyone. Yeosang began to whisper a ‘thank you’ under his breath, not wanting to come off as a rude and ungrateful user. There it was, he was definitely going cuckoo from the constant acting. His real friend was a pot. They probably shared more in common than he did with Wooyoung, funnily enough. If only Yeosang could bring a pot to life, then his life would be completely different, and more entertaining. Maybe he would look forward to his days instead of trying to predict when he would drift off into oblivion.

While rinsing the rice, then turning on the stove and readying the loyal pot, he thought of the news reports he passively listened to while at work. The majority was useless – something or other about KALIN-X. It was basically compulsory to include at least one phrase about the drug in a broadcast, or else the companies valued in billions would not be getting their money’s worth. Other than those, there were stabbings, shootings, terrorist threats, gang violence, sexual offences…

Might be selfish, but Yeosang always wondered how it would be, to have his dead body be shown on the news. His couple seconds of post-mortem fame. The only fame. Would they mention that he was not a good enough worker because of his ‘abstinence’? He could bet they would. Regardless of how he were to pass they would spin the tale in the direction they wanted, to present him in a negative light and glorify anguish. It would be a creative ploy to convince more people to become zombies – something along the lines of ‘look, this kid has gone insane and ended it all, because he was not taking this miracle pill! Order a pack now to be a loyal and diligent worker,’ so on. Lies upon lies for a ‘greater cause’. Advertisements could be spotted everywhere. Even in the most gruesome crime scenes there was a product placement. Decorated in crimson. Bonus points if the logo had red in it. Aesthetically pleasing colour scheme.

No, Yeosang had to go quietly if he ever were to come to the moment of having to flip the switch. It was the perfectly rational thing to do. Disappear and never be found. Like a cat leaving the house when they knew the hour was nigh. He was not working towards anything anyway, so it should be possible. In his position, it was impossible to get promoted or be recognised for anything, so the worker organisations should not pay attention if he were to approach the situation in a smart way. He was stuck in a dead end, where the easy way out was six feet under. The news would not honour his death like those of Distinguished Workaholics if he were to be discovered. The reporters he used to respect and revere as a kid would take his story apart and change it. For once, he would be useful to society, as a bad example, appearing in the headlines and papers as this vermin who had met his end. Malicious grins behind soft lips uttering white noise. Who were they really?

This question would never be answered, for Yeosang had no authority to know. He just had to swallow the information whole and pray that he would not choke. The less he thought and the less he knew, the better. That would mean he could just go with the flow and never be noticed. Be satisfied with his dead-end job, leading to a dead end, but peaceful life. One editor less, one editor more. A pang of guilt hit him in his side. What about his parents? Would they miss him? He had not contacted them in a while, choosing to drown in work and poor excuses for chores.

Many times, Missus Kang tried to reach out to him, and many times he declined or brushed her off with a half-hearted response. Here he was, mildly hurt because of Wooyoung’s outburst, and yet he was mercilessly torturing his own flesh and blood by progressively growing more distant. He should choose a time that is not too busy and visit. A time when they would be at home too. Perhaps Workaholic Recognition Day next week will do? It was a tradition to honour those who ‘paved the way in industry’, so it would make sense. Yes, he should reconnect and be a good son for once.

The vegetable rice was steaming up in the pot, mixing and rising. Yeosang crossed his arms and took a look at his briefcase, which he had returned to the spot he had picked out upon first entering the apartment. It was peeking out from behind the murky coral curtain and dusty grey tulle, completely out of place. He wanted to apologise to the expensive leather for letting it come into contact with that poor excuse of a windowsill. But at least it was clean. He had been forcing himself to view situations in a ‘glass half full’ manner recently; a challenge he took on out of boredom and an attempt to fix his chronic apathy and melancholia. A fake smile would not do much, only remind him that he was acting, like always. In front of everyone. Anyway, his glass was ‘half full or half empty’, and dedicated to the ‘evaluation of the inconvenience something is causing and whether it will be detrimental to his reputation’. The briefcase just had to sit and cope.

Yeosang’s time in Wooyoung’s apartment slowly trickled into one hour, two hours… The food was done, but by that time any hint of an appetite had left his body, and he wanted to escape this den as quickly as possible. He washed his hands, using dish soap since there was nothing else, and dried by shaking them because he could not bear touching the rag that hung off of a plastic hook, discoloured and probably containing its own ecosystem.

His friend had fallen asleep on the sofa, body stuck in a slouch. Hoodie up, enveloped in semi-darkness. His dirty blonde hair made a veil, covering his eyes and going nearly to the tip of his nose. How unprofessional, he should get a haircut – Yeosang caught himself thinking. He was influenced more than he could imagine. But public perception was what it was. He could not deny that his closest friend had the appearance of a hoodlum; a rascal who had never seen the good life, making his wild grins and cheeky smirks all the more disturbing, threatening even.

Not bothered to attempt to wake Wooyoung up from the drugged slumber, Yeosang took his case and made his way to the door. Taking a tissue from the box he had left there a month ago, he grabbed the handle and pulled. It opened with a sigh. With a swift motion the used tissue went into the dust bin, and he was off. Now, his work day was officially done. He tightened his tie again, smoothed out his hair and readjusted the trench coat. Had to look presentable to the masses, or else too many eyes would be fixated on him on the metro.

There were more people out and about on the streets of the district, so he kept to the well-lit roads rather than taking the fast path to the station. If he was fast enough he could make the pedestrian green light. Travelling at a quicker pace than usual, Yeosang strode down the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding groups of youngsters, couples and wannabe gangs who were all talking loudly, laughing and inhaling the fumes of the city.

Soon enough, he was waiting at the platform for the train to carry him north. He had blended into a queue of salarymen reading news on their smartphones, smartwatches, some even taking out their holopads – must be a long journey for them. There were a few holding books – must be working in the literature sector. Yeosang was thankful that he could feel comfortably numb in this group of average people, and they accepted him as one of their own by kindly ignoring him.

When the train doors opened, he climbed on, following the queue and lined up next to the opposite doors. In thirteen minutes, he would step off, walk straight and then right, up the stairs, follow the corridor across the main hall, down to the other platform, get on the train and drift for twenty minutes, letting the train do its job. The seamless work of machinery. This was who would not judge. He sank into the hum of the train and let his vision turn blurry. To others, he looked focused and determined, to himself, he was merely thinking of the contents of his briefcase.

It was more challenging than usual to feign professional indifference. Once or twice the nerves nearly got to him, and an involuntary twitch had almost escaped his self-control. But the fear of discovery was far greater. Even that kind-hearted old lady from floor seven, the one with the dachshund, could tell on him. To anyone and everyone. He moved down the corridors swiftly, head perfectly straight and posture impeccable. A regular robotic office worker coming home from an incredibly long day at work, already wanting to head back. Home by necessity. Nothing to see here. Inside, his heart was racing, threatening to jump out of his chest. With every stride the sound of the pounding got louder and louder, until the only thing Yeosang could hear was the chaotic flow of blood inside his head. It drowned out the footsteps, the rustle of clothing, the distant ding of the elevator… It was only him here. A serene panic.

After what seemed like an eternity he was standing in front of his apartment’s door, unlocking it with practiced autonomy. Counting to nine from the moment the key turned, he gently pushed the door, feeling its sliding motion, slipped in, and shut it, turned and pushed the door closed. Approximately nine seconds was the average amount of time Yeosang took for his leisurely return, nine seconds to be ‘average’.

He sighed, a felt his legs go weak. What came over him? Relief? It would be rational; he had managed to smuggle classified and prohibited manuscripts into his house after all. He rubbed the front of his briefcase and, even though he was in the comfort of his own home, still went through the exact routine of sliding off his dress shoes, placing them into the cupboard, taking off his outerwear and leaving it on the hanger, placing the bag on the bench to his left, and only then ambling into the main apartment.

He walked to the kitchen sink and rinsed his hands. Just like always, the sensor on the soap dispenser only woke up after he waved his hand around like a madman. Nothing ever changed in his home, except when solitude washed over it upon the owner’s departure, and when the lightbulbs flickered on, spotlighting his returning sombre figure. This was why in part, the miniscule problems, the inconveniences, were comforting. Something broken here or there – it felt alive. Problems were something he could metaphorically rely on. It was often the case that problems stayed longer than solutions, so it would be more logical to build one’s plans around the negative rather than the positive, at least that was his way of thinking. Yeosang was really becoming an automaton without needing pills, wasn’t he? Perhaps that was how he would end up on the news: the first ever case of someone having abilities on par with the drugged-up workers, but being a fully functional human, with the id, ego and superego all in check. He could keep on dreaming.

All that publicity would remove all ability to be secretive, however. All celebrities nowadays were so transparent that they were like windows. Like skyscraper, like superstar. Sometimes, the reality shows or daily vlogs were broadcast on the big screens in city squares, the sound coming from them barely audible over the buzz of traffic and pedestrians. Still, with one scan of the code on the bottom left and one could tune in on their personal device, adding to the number of fans, therefore to the number that will appear in the star’s bank account. An efficient system, to be frank. Sometimes there would be giveaways, raffles, game shows, anything to cook up some more e-money and attract a wider audience.

Interactive talk shows and ‘guided vlogs’ were the most popular, however. It was where the audience was an essential member of the broadcast, and the viewers could actively participate (of course after being approved by a group of moderators, the judges, if you will) by either asking questions, making suggestions or flat out deciding for the puppet-like entertainer what they should be doing to improve the show and gain more of everything. It was risky. Riskier than one would think. There were many cases talked about in the unofficial and underground papers of wannabe celebrities, vloggers just starting out and almost famous influencers succumbing to the malicious fans and doing something they instantly regretted.

When passing through his friend’s district Yeosang had spotted a few posters talking of a young lady, twenty one, having been brutally murdered on camera. “Justice for Dasom” – that is what it said, aggressively, in red. Who had put those posters up? Her family? Friends? Those same fans? Yeosang had no idea, but the sheer amount of such occurrences had desensitised him to the miniature tragedies. On a wider scale, did they really affect anything? Did the world change with so-and-so’s departure? Frankly, no. Maybe more people mourned their death than the average person’s handful. But they will be forgotten too. Yeosang was counting on that, so he began to fade away as early as possible, so that his passing would not leave as much as a ripple. The only thing he could wish for was to be replaced as quickly as possible.

Still in his dress shirt and trousers, he was immobile on his L-shaped sofa, staring out into the distance through the floor length windows. Then, his eyes settled on his own reflection. His always perfectly styled hair, his nearly creaseless clothes, his hollow eyes. Carefully designed to be empty. It was at times like this he felt forlorn and useless. Who was he trying for, what was he trying for? It wasn’t like he had a goal in life. Not a lover he could meet with, talk with, adore. Not a family he could deeply connect with and visit without a reason. Not even a vacation to save up for and to plan. The majority of the things people of the past took for granted were now nearly obsolete. Especially holidays. One could have the rest of the mentioned wonders, but only if they still put work first.

He was tiny compared to the city he lived in. A little ant, inspecting the glowing red lights on the horizon. Millions of lives on the palm of a hand; Yeosang’s insignificance was amplified drastically. Was this how the creators of KALIN-X felt? Had this been their goal all along, to stand out from the crowd and be able to grasp it? Change the way the world worked, quite literally… Who and what were they trying for? Was it at all possible to not be hollow?

The collection of ideas, practically sounding like a manifesto that was hidden away in his briefcase, was leading him to question his judgement. Yeosang had always agreed with the aimless way of life that had been drilled into his head since he was young. How else would he move through the years without disappointment? If one were to have set expectations, they were bound to have downfall after downfall. If they were never set in the first place, there could only be successes. Guaranteed satisfaction at any workplace, simply because nobody had any standards.

But this… this manuscript… It was scandalous! Submitted to the editing and publishing house anonymously, it definitely made its way onto his floor by accident. Definitely meant for immediate incineration. And yet, by fate or luck or destiny, it survived and passed all initial screening tests. How? Upon first glance, the messages held within were definitely not for the ‘workaholic movement believers’ nor for those propagating the miraculous powers of the pill.

The author was daring. The author was brave. The author was most definitely unlike anybody Yeosang had ever had the chance of even imagining. From the opening lines there was spirit. A demand for attention. They were confident, unafraid of ever being caught. Was this a figment of his imagination? Was all the pretending finally getting to his head and he was hallucinating the beginnings of his downfall? No, the papers were very real, and the pages had burned themselves into his mind.

Bound by two sheets of A4 paper, the manuscript was beyond ordinary. No one in the office had spared it as much as a glance. As a matter of fact, it had been sitting on one of the tables of ‘open selection’ manuscripts for approximately two weeks, until Yeosang’s boss had picked it up and absent-mindedly left it at his colleague’s desk, who pushed it away when taking out binders and notepads. What if one of the ‘hard workers’ had gotten their hands on it? Would they immediately raise an alarm and security guards in black suits with earpieces and scowls permanently etched onto their face would rush in to dispose of the dangerous material? But most importantly he now was in possession of this potentially incriminating work. He was not a rebel by any means, but curiosity got the best of him, and he had to take the piece home. Smoothly swapping it out for another equally thick manuscript, he left the pro-pill propaganda on his desk like he usually would for something he was working on, while the mystery was with him still, not yet safely, but stored in his case. He had added a few blanks to the ‘presentation’ piece beside his computer to make the two submissions identical; a page counting machine would immediately spot the miniature fraud had there been a different number. Nothing like being too careful. The pill-driven drones sometimes got suspicious.

Yeosang pushed himself off his couch and rolled his head, hearing a few cracks. So young yet exhibiting the physical aptitude of a creaky old door. He must totally be a source of pride for his parents for this… He did not see any of his colleagues ever struggle with pain. Were there suppressants, painkillers mixed in? He could not recall if that was the case, from the one time he lost to the game. His conscious just disappeared. It was ironic that he was now contemplating this, as in the first few paragraphs of the manuscript there was a line that implied just how necessary pain was to feel truly alive. And by that the author was meaning any sort of pain. From a big bruise to a fall out with a friend or partner to the coffee machine breaking.

He wanted to settle down and devour the words as soon as possible, but the fear of being watched was not leaving any time soon. He had to slowly draw the curtains, like he always did, change into pyjamas as always, cook a light dinner, like he always did, make some herbal tea – whichever he was feeling like having, and only then take his briefcase, and with it in one hand and the mug in the other, settle in the armchair in his bedroom. Positioned in a corner, it was impossible for anyone to get behind Yeosang and read over his shoulder. He could see the whole room and observe the entrance. There was no way anything or anyone could be watching in a room he checked every night and every morning.

Once in more loose-fitting clothing and with others prepared for cleaning, he moved towards the kitchen. After browsing the cupboards and fridge gave him no ideas, he chose to fry up egg with vegetables. The more mindless the dinner the better. Tossing the contents of the pan he was cooking in complete silence. The only sounds aside from the sizzling and scraping that echoed around the room were the occasional whirrs of cars zooming down the street outside. Although he lived on the ninth floor, and supposedly had noise isolating glass windows, it was obvious that one could not escape completely. While he was still young, he could live with it. The rhythm of existence of millions outside.

He kept on thinking about the manuscript sitting in the briefcase. How it was positioned, tucked away between random files and his notepad. Should he wear gloves when holding the book? No, since when? It looked ordinary, so giving it ‘crime scene level’ treatment at this point, especially after he had already touched it enough times, would be borderline mad. Plus, if someone were to bust into his apartment right at the moment he was reading, they would undoubtedly question him. No, he had to keep on playing it off as if it was nothing.

The food was tasteless – Yeosang forgot to add any spices and was too easy on the salt. His mind was so far away from the kitchen that his hands got lost and decided not to risk it by adding red pepper flakes. A collection of ambiguous textures was all that was left in his mouth, and he half-heartedly chewed and washed the mass down with water. There was a time when Yeosang would try to impress those surrounding him with culinary expertise, spend hours perfecting dishes and inventing recipes. Some thought he would be a chef and joked that they would be waiting for him to open a restaurant. But that was all it was: a joke. Hours all too quickly turned into minutes, then seconds, then dissolved into nothing. Food became sustenance and nothing more. All forms of dreaming were eliminated at the root and all Yeosang was left with was random kitchenware the purpose and function of which he was not sure of anymore. Who needed a chef in this day and age? Showroom restaurants? They already had the best of the best, and if he were to try to set up a café or a bakery, it would never be successful. Rustic and bohemian social spaces were progressively being eliminated, and that included all privately owned eateries. If one were to name any place Yeosang used to go to as a kid, he could almost guarantee that it was shut down.

So, he had changed focus, not that he had any considerable one to begin with – it was easy enough, seeing as he enjoyed literature from a young age and could dedicate impressive efforts to pondering the alternate meaning to a book, analysing the morals and picking apart the structural and formal techniques in the text. His parents, both far away from the creative arts, allowed him to pursue it since they saw a well-paid future ahead of him. Of course, they had shut down possibilities of being a poet or writer early on, advertising the prestige of being an editor. His kid self… unsurprisingly, fell for it.

The manuscript he had smuggled home was the first time in years when he felt that his career was worth it. He had the chance, the opportunity to see a text like this. It was a rare occurrence, since he was not in the primary handlings department, alas it brought him joy. There were real people, real minds behind some of the texts, and that gave him motivation. Not all of it was nonsense! It was impossible to publish, of course, but at least a handful of people could have the knowledge that there were others who were not convinced and saw through the so-called idyllic conditions. Those courageous souls, spending days typing away at their desks were, without a doubt, not doing it for profit, but for the awakening of others. Passion and drive was evident. They were breathing, blood was coursing through their bodies. Oblivious somnolence was not in their lexicon, for they were abstinent too. Proudly rejecting what communities surrounding them had silently accepted because they did not want to look into it further. Yeosang could finally feel like he was part of something bigger. Like he was standing for something, and not just trying to be unique in a society that was seeking to destroy that concept and state. His resistance was not futile.

A part of him was putting off his reading until much later, unsure as to why. Potentially it could be due to an intrinsic fear of the unknown – there could be something in that collection of words that would be too jarring and astonishing for him. A statement that was so true he would not be able to fully accept it. As an editor, one had to approach every text with an open heart and mind, ready to read opinions conflicting with their own, and go out of their personal way, adopt impeccable professionalism, all in order to support the writer if the work was good enough and agreed with the publicised ethos, general requirements for publication, etcetera. But Yeosang was not in his office, where that façade came automatically. He was not metaphorically feeding off of the nature of his co-workers and mimicking them like a child would their parents. He was in his own four walls, faced with something that may or may not change how he perceived the world he was born and raised in.

The manuscript already had control over him; from the shocking appearance in the office to the attractive anonymity of the author. But on the other hand, it had the chance of disappointing him. All too often, the pieces he had to go through at work started off like the world’s greatest novel or essay, but then that passion, that conviction diluted itself into nothing. All that was left were checklist statements mandated by some big boss up above to make the manuscript ‘good enough’. Yeosang hoped that the writer had enough resilience to write at least a few pages more than the average. Anybody could be regular if they tried. Anybody could become everybody else. It was the strength some people had to openly ‘step out of line’ that Yeosang wanted to catch a glimpse of in the text, for it is something he did not have. It was always a game of averages for him.

He usually took half an hour to eat dinner, if it was something he took time to prepare and wished to be more leisurely. Then, to the hum of the television he would take small bites and chew. For lighter dinners he would sit at the breakfast bar and eat in five to ten minutes. As per usual, he had turned on the radio, not caring much for the music that was playing, and had intentionally slowed his pace to be within the timeframe. There was barely any left, so he took one final sip of water and forced the morsel down his throat.

He gathered the dishes and washed up while counting. He counted his steps without realising. Sat back down on the sofa and tapped his knees. He was too anxious. It was now the time to watch television for some time before retreating to his bedroom and get ready for bed. The daily brainwash was very lulling. So, the couch it was again. Yeosang pressed on the remote and saw an announcer on the new channel slowly appear on screen, but it was not long before he drifted off to a short, restless sleep.

His internal clock jolted him awake after exactly twenty minutes – the time he normally spent resting after dinner. It was time. He stood up, turned off the TV and mechanically went to the entrance, taking his briefcase and walking to the bedroom. Stopping by a light control panel he turned off the lights in the living room and kitchen and shut himself away from the darkness. Setting the case against his armchair he moved swiftly to the bathroom, calming his nerves with regular routine. Biding his time, preparing himself, either for greatness or for a great emotional fall.

After walking out, Yeosang stood by the side of his double bed, blankly gazing into nothingness. There was no reason for him to subject himself to such danger. He could shred the pages right now, hide them, burn them, flush them… the possibilities were endless; the main thing was that because he did not fully familiarise himself with the content yet, in everybody’s eyes he was still innocent. No interrogation team would be able to get any information out of him, simply because it did not exist. Safety in ignorance. But he had already come so far, smuggling obviously banned material into his home, might as well give it a read. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity after all.

The sensation was similar to one when he and a few of his middle school friends would sneak out of their houses at night to roam the streets, see the life lit by the hazy moon, see what their parents were hiding from them. Relishing in the feeling of doing something they were not supposed to. Thinking about it now, Yeosang realised how foolish they all were, subjecting themselves to so much danger. It was in that same time period when there was a rise in the frequency of gang-related crime, hate crime and general violence. Many-a-times did they have to run away from a person trying to lure them into a side alley or take the long way home because their gut was telling them the group in front was up to no good. At the time it was a game. It was thrilling. Yeosang had not felt this silly thrill in a long time.

His heart was racing as he opened the leather case and moved files aside with his fingers, reaching in. The papers were heavy in his hand. It amazed him how much power the written word could have. This could potentially change lives! He had to pay careful attention to what has in this. This could be an underground sensation in the making! A black market bestseller! Those were rather trendy nowadays, even with some businesses beginning to officially publish some works that gained wide enough recognition and weren’t too politically charged. That was probably not going to be the fate of this particular work, but now that the manuscript was in Yeosang’s hands, he could see whether his hypotheses were right. With a sharp exhale he flipped the blank page to reveal a lonesome title, printed in the centre in a large font, with no name to accompany it.

All Work and No Play

Curiosity. A search for the tantalising, for nothing will ever be how one wants it. Dear reader will never see the words before them in the same way as another, nor will they, upon giving it the honour of a second glance, see these humble beginnings and trailing thoughts the same way again. But all have come to this page, this attempt at being a daring literary artist, because of one emotion. A sensation intrinsic to humankind – curiosity.

It questions everything, however, we never question it. Odd, is it not? For millennia our kind had built itself up and destroyed itself on the basis of curiosity. Would it be a reflex to combat the unknown? A strategy to expand one’s own mind to the multitude of possibilities surrounding them? The true explanation for curiosity can only be found if one were to be curious themselves, but that defeats the purpose and logic of the search. To define a tool and a state, one must use this same tool and state. According to modern reasoning and the philosophers of today, that is simply not possible and must be avoided, for the greater good.

So, would that not mean that there are now even more opportunities for curiosity to thrive than ever before? Ambiguity breeds the unknown, a monster that strikes fear in every person’s heart. It is with unparalleled passivity that the general population survives, eyes closed to the beautiful world of curiosity. A land of probability and invigorating risk is being progressively eliminated, by what?

If one questions, they must be aware. If they are aware, they are conscious. If they are conscious, they are rebellious. If they are rebellious, they are dangerous. A summary of the average thought process, is it not? I implore dear reader to take a moment to reflect on their daily life and agree to surmise this.

It is almost admirable how, whoever employs this mental chain, is, supposedly, not curious as to what question is being asked, where did it find foundation and how it could be explored. These good-willed citizens are, in fact, defying human nature simply by not being curious, or having the capacity to supress it to extinction. There should be some form of respect for these workers, these members of unions, these speakers, managers, and clerks.

Certain jobs had lost their meaning due to the curiosity as it was before becoming obsolete. Researchers are only searching within the limits, never overstepping boundaries. Developers are working in controlled environments to ideate and create within constraints. Perhaps the most liberating element of these types of employment would not be so-called creative liberty, but cold-blooded optimisation. The eradication of faults until something could be considered perfect, at least for a season. The inclusion of a just noticeable difference to keep clients and customers happy, and the impeccable design of a fault to be fixed in the next series. It was all pre-planned, with no curiosity for what could happen.

Curiosity does not work according to schedule, does not cooperate when one tries to restrain it after it was set free. It has the strength to keep one awake night and day, can be nauseating and inspiring simultaneously and can be demanding as well as reasoned with. It is a force of other-worldly power, one which cannot be explained unless one feels it. So, if dear reader finds that these words resonate with themselves… that means that they feel. They are liberated from being unknowingly numb to life. They can embrace the experiences of every day and appreciate the beauty of curiosity by developing themselves and the world around them.

Where does the oppression come from? What are the invisible constraints one falls victim to, what are the limits that surround a human, a ‘fellow worker’? Dear reader must take a look around and look into themselves. Is there anything that one could single out as the denier of ‘curiosity’? Has dear reader ever been told to not ask so many questions, to accept what was being taught or what they saw or heard or read? All are examples of curiosity being artificially supressed. Why there must be emphasis on artificiality, is because for the existence of one concept there must be the antithesis, the antonym, the counterbalance. There must be occasions when one’s curiosity is voluntarily shut down, and the human mind does not see opportunity for further exploration. The laborious repetitive tasks and particular chores might serve as a meditation, but they deactivate the curiosity. Is this what the ideal state is propagated to be? Overly accepting and allowing curiosity to age until it is senile.

When we were children, we were curious about everything; engaging in bombardment of adults with never-ending questions was a common occurrence and we would not think much of it. Such was nature. When we began to get older, enter the education system and join the community of sedentary, desk-loving lifestyle activists, our natural ability to ask question after question commenced degradation. It was impossible to escape the induced metamorphosis that was the guiding to the ‘right questions’ that one could easily answer. Then, by young adulthood, we have lost the ability to challenge our interlocutors, falling into common patterns, making predictable small talk, and becoming the world’s best listeners, for we now are not willing to speak for ourselves.

Is operating on a set of instructions the new trend? Is the lack of creative liberty worthy of appraisal?

Dear reader, how would you express curiosity in modern life? For, perhaps, now, because of how endangered it is, the remnants are hiding in the darkness of those who are awake.

It was nearly two in the morning when Yeosang felt exhaustion creep into his limbs and his vision began to get blurry. It was not too long left until he was supposed to be waking up, supposedly refreshed, and getting ready for work. Words were echoing in his mind. Curious? Ignorant? The Big Bad Wolf behind it all? It was obvious that the writer had a standpoint that was opposing the one of ‘the general public’, and was attempting, through intentional ambiguity, to begin the classic revolutionary story – the oppressed rising up; those mistreated in one way or another uniting and going against the one who used to be in control. There were no direct references to people inside the text, the implied characters just as anonymous as the author. Only allusion after allusion. It had to have meaning too. A regular piece written by your local agitator would be name-calling left and right, tearing apart official statements, and most importantly, spinning its own lies out of thin air and passing them as gospel, the real truth. Those were always entertaining to read; sometimes, when Yeosang would be going home after visiting Wooyoung, a kiosk that opened only when the owner wished for it to be, would be selling some underground books - a meagre selection of reflective memoirs, obscene one quid manuscripts that ended up in the nearest bin after a quick read, and sometimes, comedy gold.

The work that Yeosang was holding in his hands did not make him want to laugh. On the contrary he was left rather morose after going through the first few chapters. Left with more questions than answers, he pinched the bridge of his nose and skimmed over the open page again. After a whole chapter dedicated to ‘further reading’ that mentioned psychoanalysis, social psychology, behavioural evolution, genetic and acquired traits… if he thought hard enough, maybe some terminology might had made an appearance in a class or a lecture at some point.

He had expected this to be out of the ordinary, but it seemed that a part of him did not hold any hope for secretly published writing. It had become an expectation for him – anything even remotely against heavily advertised values was probably written in one burst and sent out into the great big world without ever being read by the author again. This curiosity business was profound. And the fact that this is the very beginning of original prose lead Yeosang to muse further. Having been split, textbook style, into sections based on human emotion and feeling, the fact that curiosity was placed first out of a grand selection was making the young man wonder. This could be a challenge: if the reader wants to prove that they are, indeed, curious, then they will feel inclined to read on. After one has been called ‘awake’ and has been convinced that by reading this they are attaining freedom, how could they not succumb to the pull of turning the page?

It was not that the sequence of phrases had resonated with Yeosang in any particular way – it was just that they were so unexpected that they imprinted themselves into his short-term memory, and he needed to satiate himself with more. It was a break from his regular routine; one which he sank into and began to live through mindlessly. This gave him his thought back, even if only for a few hours. After washing up one more time Yeosang returned to his seat, picked up the manuscript and read on.

Some parts read faster than others. There were elements that did not add any flavour or meaning but were colourful enough to keep the encyclopaedic recount of humanity going. He completely forgot to make any notes, merely devoured page after page. At that point in time the only thing troubling Yeosang was how he was going to appear at the office in the morning and how much coffee he should ingest before leaving his apartment. Trivial matters compared to the turmoil in faraway lands that he saw on television, when he was lucky enough to skip promotional messages.

After a few more pages and five stifled yawns Yeosang rolled his shoulders and set the manuscript aside. Nodding to himself he looked at the collection of papers once more and stood up to stretch. Time for a coffee break. Walking slowly to the kitchen the young man was operating fully in the dark; he did not need to see more than the silhouette of the coffee machine, the buttons, lit up and blinking. The aroma filled his nostrils and he shut his eyes.

Curiosity… At this moment, there was no need for curiosity, it would be ‘inefficient’. Yeosang exhaled sharply and smirked to himself. He could not help but be critical; years of studies instilled in him a distrust of any new literary movements and out of ordinary thought. So, he tried to conjure up criticism for the obviously illegal work. What was the purpose of this manuscript? There was no moral, like in old fairy tales, no explicit political message, not even a main character that the reader could relate to or judge… The peculiarity of the writing style made Yeosang fall deep into thought. Even though the manuscript was not perfect, there was something there. Something that had the potential to ingrain itself in the reader – could it be novelty? Intrigue? He was conflicted. For the first time in a while, he could not assign a label to the work.

He waited until the last drip fell into the cup before picking it up and taking a small sip. The same coffee that he had nearly every day. What else did he expect? More often than not, when people expect change, they get static. Like looking into a refrigerator, closing it and then opening it again thirty seconds later, hoping for something new to magically appear. This was a move Yeosang had seen in a late-night comedy show recently – an exclusive live audience recording which he had managed to get tickets to by sheer luck.

When coming back from visiting Wooyoung there was a flash sale going on at the transit station – a tiny pop-up booth that had just opened. Frankly, it was suspicious, but the tickets were real, and the price was fair. So that was how Yeosang ended up watching a series of stand-up comedians performing skits centred around the theme of ‘early twenty first century’. Live was simple back then. They did not have to worry about constantly working. They had time to look inside refrigerators for minutes on end. Perhaps a primitive example of hope, creativity, and curiosity.

His musings returned to the manuscript. He felt like he was catching the drift of the author, thinking of examples of elements of human nature. Go him. He was awake, he was fully functioning. Might as well take the title of philosopher and father of all thought, right? No, his job did not permit him to be aware. Too bad. Work would undoubtedly be more unbearable had he approached it with curiosity.

Some voice in his mind was actively protesting the desire to know what more was held in the manuscript, wishing to stick by the rules and exist in harmony with others. It was the same voice that had been operating his robotic side, allowing him to remain in line, in uniform. Gave him his present life.

If only it was not as exhausting, then said inner voice would not have existed in the first place, and Yeosang would have been first in line to optimistically conjure up plans for coups, propaganda campaigns and the seizing of power. After all, he did have the symptoms of not being entirely average, with his avoidance of KALIN-X. And out of the ordinary people, according to romanticised logic, had to do out of the ordinary things.

Alas, he had a stable job with a stable income to go to in the morning, he had been avoiding suspicions from his neighbours with near award-winning skill. It would be cowardly to jolt away from routine, no matter how tedious, at the first breeze of thought that did not coincide with that of the ruling power. He had been born out of line, meant to struggle as he had been. Like a cog in the machine that acted in place of a time bomb – he had no clue when he was going to burn out. But it was not his present self’s problem. He was surviving. He needed to survive.

But curiosity was a virus that took over an organism painfully slow. In stages. And without realising it, Yeosang had started a countdown. It was only a matter of time before ‘the cat’ would risk it all, just to satiate itself, hoping that, for once, the phraseological fable would fail to predict the outcome of giving in.

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰: 𝗛𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱

Word Count: 4.3 K (I told you, It's been in my head for a long time)

Warnings: Jeong Yunho x sub!fem reader, Haunting Adeline AU, DUB-CON, partial somnophilia, unprotected sex, olfactophilia (scent play), sexual persuasion, stalker!yunho, oral (fem receiving), possessiveness, nipple play, jealousy, fear play, manipulation, kissing, biting, marking, praise (princess, good girl etc) and body worship.

Warning: 18+ only of course. This is a DARK FIC and it contains taboo and dark depictions of abuse that could be triggering. If you choose to read further, then you have heeded this warning and I hold no responsibility for your emotional well-being.

No sound was more loud and teeth-chattering than the wind howling

The night used to be your friend, a safe space, a creative outlet for your inner world and thoughts.

But now it felt like it was taunting you, teasing you as you held the coffee mug in your frozen hands, forcing yourself to stay awake as the minutes felt slow and agonising.

You prayed for the comfort of being alone now knowing you weren't...ever.

For He was always there.

Another rose was found on the coffee table this morning, all fresh and pruned with the thorns removed and a piece of paper wrapped around the stem.

The delicate handwriting revealed the next mission of this uninvited presence and it caused you to feel a sense of uneasiness you've never felt before.

My patience is running thin. I'll be with you tonight, my princess. Yunho

You silently walked over to the window that was uncovered by the drapes, watching the raindrops fall on the glass as you peered outside to gaze at the shrubbery and looming pine trees.

You hid in the shadows, trying not to reveal your face as you peered out the front of your domain, no sign of civilian life around you at all.

There was fear inside of you, fear of your safety and for your life sure but there was anticipation and curiosity.

Probably a lot less fear than you should have for the stalker who's found you, isolated you and admittedly-cared for you.

Your eyes lock onto the shadow formation in the bushes, your heart racing as you found your dark knight.

His tall, lithe build standing there in the heavy rain, covered in black and the hood of his parka covering his face except for a small sliver that revealed the plumpness of his lips and defined cupid's bow.

The one that has been sending you roses month after months, all pruned with pieces of paper tied around the stem.

The one that has been leaving nicely-packaged gifts on the empty side of your bed, all wrapped in crimson paper with a pretty rose on top.

All containing gifts of the highest quality such as perfume, a silver necklace with the 'Y' initial, makeup, sanitary products (how did he even know when your cycle was?), panties.

The latest one was an oversized plain, black t-shirt that smelt of musk and cologne, it smelt like he had worn it, slept in it...some perverted part of you wondered if he had worn it whilst jerking off with you in his mind- what was he even thinking about doing to you?

All the messages he gifted to you all revealed the same desires but with sickly, sweet words.

How he yearns for you. How he loves you, how he just wants to protect you, care for you, be your safety net from the cruelty of the world.

His desire to take you, claim you, ravage you, to bend and mould you to his will.

It felt like you were being courted and hunted for at the same time, were you to be his Queen or a gilded bird locked in a cage?

The reality of the situation quickened when the shadow form moved, your eyes locked on how his lips turned into a twisted smirk and he lifted his right hand to offer you a slow, taunting wave.

You quickly dashed away from the window without bothering to close it, running to the middle living and dropping yourself in front of the glowing hearth- wrapping the blanket around your shoulders further tightly around your body.

Ring the police, scream, run...why aren't you doing this? You hadn't even locked the doors...why? What's wrong with you?

The truth was this man brought out a perverted joy in you, the joy of being wanted, of being pursued, a temptation stirred in your belly at what could happen tonight.

He wouldn't kill you (at least you hoped) and you were tired, burnt out, lonely...maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to let him in?

The thoughts were too much for your sleep-deprived brain to cope with and in front of the hearth with a pillow on the floor and your blanket wrapped around you.

You fell asleep.

You lost the game.

The room was steeped in darkness, the only light a faint sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. The air was thick with the kind of stillness that made everything feel suspended in time.

Yunho stood silently near your feet, watching you scrunch your nose up cutely whilst you were asleep on the floor with the hearth flame slowly turning into ash.

He had been watching you for what felt like hours, the corners of his lips curled in a faint, almost tender smile. There was something intoxicating about your vulnerability, the way you were completely unaware of his presence. You were so peaceful, so trusting in your sleep, and it stirred something dark and possessive within him.

Yunho moved closer, the floorboards creaking ever so slightly under his weight. His breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers hovering just above your skin. He could feel the warmth radiating from you could almost hear the blood pulsing just beneath the surface. The urge to touch you, to claim you as his own, was overwhelming. Yet, he held back, savoring the moment, relishing in the power he had over you.

But he resisted, choosing instead to let his fingers trace a delicate line down the side of your face, his touch as light as a feather.

Your skin was soft, impossibly soft, and he could feel you shiver under his touch, your body reacting even in sleep. It was intoxicating, this power he held over you, this control. He could do anything—anything—and you would be helpless to stop him. The thought sent a thrill down his spine, dark and thrilling, as he leaned in even closer, his lips hovering just above your ear.

“Mine,” he whispered, the word barely audible, but it sent a shiver through you, your body instinctively curling in on itself, as if trying to escape an unseen threat. Yunho’s smile widened, satisfaction and something far darker curling in his chest. You were his, in every sense of the word, and tonight he would make sure you knew it.

As if sensing the shift in the air, your eyes flutter open, groggy and unfocused at first. You blink, your vision clearing, only to find Yunho’s face inches from your own, his eyes dark and intense, filled with an emotion that sends a chill down your spine. Panic surges through you as you try to push yourself up, but Yunho’s hand is already on your wrist, holding you in place with a grip that is firm yet strangely gentle.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, but there’s a sinister edge to it, a promise of something far more dangerous lurking beneath the surface. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic rhythm that matches the fear rising within you. But there’s something else too, something that makes your pulse quicken for an entirely different reason. His gaze is intense, burning with a possessive hunger that makes you feel both terrified and inexplicably drawn to him.

“What do you want?” you breathe, your voice trembling as you search his eyes for any hint of mercy, but all you find is that same dark intensity, a need that matches your own but twisted into something far more dangerous.

Yunho’s smile is slow, almost predatory, as he leans in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You. I want you, all of you. And I’m not letting you go.”

The words send a shiver through you, a mix of fear and something far more dangerous, something that makes your pulse race with a heady mix of terror and desire. You know you should fight, should scream, should do anything to escape his hold, but all you can do is stare into his eyes, trapped in the dark, magnetic pull of his gaze.

And then, with a gentleness that belies the darkness in his eyes, Yunho releases your wrist, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pulls back slightly, giving you just enough space to breathe, to think, but not enough to escape. The room feels colder without his touch, and you realize with a start that a part of you misses the warmth, the connection, no matter how twisted it is.

“What are you going to do to me?” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your fear mixing with a curiosity you can’t quite suppress.

Yunho’s smile is slow, almost lazy, as if he has all the time in the world. “That depends on you,” he replies, his voice soft but filled with a dangerous promise. “But one thing is certain—you won’t ever want to leave me. Not after tonight.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and full of meaning, as Yunho’s gaze holds yours, daring you to resist, to fight, even as he knows you won’t. Not really. The darkness in him calls to something deep within you, something you hadn’t known existed until this moment, something that responds to his possessiveness, his unyielding desire to claim you as his own.

And as the tension thickens between you, you realize with a start that you’re not entirely sure you want to resist. Not when the alternative is losing yourself completely to the dark, twisted allure of Yunho’s obsession.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, but there’s an edge to it, a raw, unfiltered need that makes your breath catch in your throat. “I’ll take care of you my princess, I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted… if you let me.”

His hand moves to your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse, feeling the frantic beat of your heart beneath his touch. You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” Yunho whispers, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “For you. You have no idea how much I want you.”

His dark hair frames his lashes and enhances the intensity of his gaze, the parka gone from his shoulders and now replaced by a black, long-sleeved henley shirt and his cheeks flushed red with desire.

His other hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, his touch firm yet gentle, as if he’s afraid you might disappear if he’s too rough. But you’re not going anywhere—you can’t, even if you wanted to.

There’s a moment of hesitation, a brief second where you could pull away, where you could resist the pull of his gaze, the magnetic attraction that binds you to him.

'How I needed you'

His lips brush against yours, soft and tentative at first, and whatever resistance you might have had crumbles beneath the intensity of the moment.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, filled with a hunger that Yunho has kept restrained for far too long. His hand moves from your neck to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss, and you find yourself responding, your body leaning into him, craving the warmth and the connection despite the fear that lingers in the back of your mind.

Yunho groans against your lips, the sound vibrating through your entire body, sending a rush of heat pooling in your lower abdomen. His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you even closer until there’s no space left between you. The kiss becomes more urgent, more demanding, and you can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you try to process what just happened. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes half-lidded, dark with desire as he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, the words a possessive growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “Say it.”

There’s no hesitation in your response, the words tumbling from your lips before you can even think to stop them. “I’m yours.”

Yunho’s eyes flare with satisfaction, and then he’s kissing you again, harder this time, his hands roaming your body with a need that borders on desperation.

He drapes his body over yours and cements you to the floor, his body providing all the heat you needed as he kisses down your neck, his teeth clamping down on the skin and leaving a mark.

A dark chuckle leaves his breath as you moan at the sting, the sensation changing as he licks over it to soothe the pain before averting his attention to the base of your throat.

You could feel how hard he was as he grinded on your thigh, it aroused and terrified you about how big he felt, your imagination betraying you as the thought of how you would take him made your mouth water.

Fuck, you hoped he was nice enough to prep you or would he be mean and expect you to take that thick cock of his without any prep at all?

His hands tug at the fabric of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one fluid motion. You shiver as the cool air hits your skin, but the chill is quickly replaced by the heat of Yunho’s touch as his hands explore every inch of you, memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice husky with desire. “So perfect.”

The praise sends a flush of heat through you, your body arching into his touch, craving more.

Your thoughts were undone when his hands cupped the curve of your breasts, squeezing them gently and kneading the flesh as a moan echoed from his throat.

'So soft, so full, just like how I imagined them princess' His voice was deep, raspy and filled with need as he leaned down and wrapped his lips around the bud, his tongue swirling and suckling as he kneaded the other one with his fingers.

Yunho could be buried in your tits all day and it would feel like heaven to him, his teeth scraping the edge as he pulled away with a thick, sucking noise before moving on to the other.

His lashes fluttered and his moans were beginning to sound like music to your ears, your hands gripping the surface beneath you as you stifled your moans, though you weren't not sure why- no one could hear you.

He pulled his mouth away from your swollen bud before reaching up to gently tilt your chin down so you could see him, his pupils blown-out and dilated- who was fucked more, you or him?

'Don't silence yourself- I need to hear you princess. You can try and fight this but I see the way you respond to me. You crave this as much as I do, even if you won't admit it'.

Your body shivered at those words as Yunho placed kisses down your naval, biting the skin every so often so your body was a myriad of his kisses and claims.

A squeal left your body as Yunho roughly pulled your hips to him, grabbing the fabric of your thin leggings and tearing the material near the crotch region.

You were fascinated at how he could tear the fabric with his bare hands, watching the veins in his hands, neck and forearms dance as he pulled the material roughly down your legs.

'I never want you this clothed when you're with me princess, I'm going to steal all the pants you own. Want you easy and pliable for when I come to your room and fuck you senseless every night'.

Yunho's eyes turned predatory and wild as he buried his nose in your panties, his hands holding down your hips and fingers kneading into the flesh.

The tip of his nose rubbed your clit through the material and your cheeks reddened at the sound of him inhaling your scent, a deep guttural groan resounded through the room.

"Mmm, you smell so sweet, baby. I could stay between your legs forever," Yunho growled, his voice rough with desire. His hands tightened around your hips as he pressed his nose harder against your clothed core, the warmth of his breath sending shivers through your body.

Your back arched involuntarily, a gasp slipping past your lips as he dragged his nose down, teasing the edge of your panties with his tongue. "You're trembling already, princess," he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk. "I haven't even started."

Yunho’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was dark, hungry, and it made your heart race in your chest. "Gonna ruin you, you know that, right?" His voice was low, full of promise, and it sent heat pooling between your thighs.

With your panties tossed aside, he wasted no time, his mouth finding its place against your bare skin. His tongue flicked out, teasing your clit, while his grip on your hips kept you pinned firmly in place. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve alight with pleasure as he worked you over with expert precision.

"Yunho..." you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as your body began to quake beneath him. He hummed against you, the vibrations only adding to the intensity of your pleasure.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he groaned between licks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I could make you come like this, princess, but I want you to beg for it first."

Your body bucked against him, desperate for more, but his grip tightened, keeping you in place. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Say it," he commanded, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me how bad you need me."

Your breath hitched, every part of you aching with want. "I need you, Yunho. Please... don't stop."

His eyes darkened even more, satisfaction washing over his features. "Good girl." Then, without warning, he dove back in, his tongue and fingers relentless as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, the room filled with the sound of your breathless moans and his low growls.

You were lost in the haze of pleasure, your body trembling uncontrollably as he devoured you, your release building until it was impossible to hold back. With a final cry, you shattered, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as Yunho held you through it, his mouth never letting up until you were completely spent beneath him.

Panting, you stared up at the ceiling, still dazed from the intensity of it all. Yunho wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking as he crawled up your body, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

"That's just the start, princess," he whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. "You better be ready for more."

Yunho pulled back from the kiss, his lips still hovering over yours, but his eyes were blazing with something darker. His fingers trailed over your flushed skin, gripping your throat just tight enough to send a pulse of fear through you, but it only heightened the intensity of the moment.

"You think this is enough?" he growled, his voice dripping with an edge of dangerous obsession. "No, baby, I’m not even close to being done with you. You’re mine, all of you. I don’t care who’s looked at you, touched you before. From now on, I’m the only one who gets to claim you."

His hands roamed possessively over your body, fingers digging into your skin like he wanted to leave marks—like he wanted to brand you as his. "I’m going to make sure you feel me everywhere," he whispered, leaning in to nip at your ear. "You’ll wake up every morning aching for me, and no one else will ever satisfy you the way I do."

He leaned down, his tongue darting out to lick the sweat from your neck before sucking hard on the sensitive spot beneath your jaw. The bite of pain mixed with pleasure sent a shockwave through you, your body reacting instantly, but Yunho only grinned, like he could feel your helplessness.

"You think you can get away from me?" His voice was a low growl as he pressed his body flush against yours, trapping you beneath him. "You think you have any choice but to need me? No, baby, you belong to me. I’ll make sure of it."

His eyes flashed with something feral as he dragged his fingers down your body, his nails scraping just enough to leave faint red lines on your skin. "I’ll steal every last piece of you until there's nothing left for anyone else. You won’t be able to think about anyone but me."

He ripped his shirt off with one swift motion, revealing the sculpted muscle underneath, and his hands went to the button of his jeans, his gaze never leaving yours. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he said, his voice gravelly and raw. "You're going to beg me, over and over, for more, and I’ll make sure you're dripping with nothing but me."

He leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "You're not going anywhere, princess. You're mine. And I’m going to remind you of that every night, every time you try to breathe without me."

His grip on you tightened, and his lips curved into a wild smirk. "I’m going to make sure you never forget who owns you."

He had you locked underneath him, using his frame and height like the gilded cage he wanted to contain you in. He needed you to understand the size of him, his height, his strength and how he could overpower you in every single way.

Your eyes opened to see his shoes thrown on the floor and Yunho pulling down the zipper of his jeans, both of you naked and the hearth silhouetting Yunho's frame.

He looked like Hades who had crawled out of the shadows, an unworldly beauty only enhanced by the onyx of his eyes which were filled with an insatiable need, a need to brand you with his soul or whatever you were willing to fucking take of his.

His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he pumped himself, your eyes widening when you saw how big he was- long, thick and girthy and your mouth became dry from the thought of it inside you.

"I’m going to make sure you feel me everywhere," he whispered, removing his hand to move your legs around his hips, "You’ll wake up every morning aching for me, and no one else will ever satisfy you the way I do."

You flinched at the feeling of the tip of his cock near your entrance, his other hand planted against the side of your face, his breath ghosted over your face he murmured against your lips.

"Tell me you're mine again, princess. Say it'.

Your pulse raced, the intensity of his words wrapping around you like a vice. "I'm yours, Yunho," you gasped, your voice trembling with both fear and need.

He thrust into you without warning, the possessiveness in every movement making your mind spin. Each thrust was a declaration, a reminder that Yunho wasn’t just taking you—he was claiming every part of you, stamping his presence on your body, heart, and soul. The world outside faded until there was nothing but him, his heat, his grip, his hunger.

'Ahh, you feel like heaven' He moaned out in ecstasy before kissing you feverishly, the swipes of his tongue matching the pace of his hips 'you're my heaven'.

A changed position has you beginning to drool for him as he drops this knees down, grabs your thighs and pushes them towards your chest, angling his hips higher and grinding over your clit.

'You're my life, I'd live for you, I'd- ahhh! I'd kill for you, I'd murder everyone in the whole world if it keeps you safe and with me'.

The overwhelming intensity of his movements drove you to the edge, and soon you were unraveling beneath him, your body quaking as he pulled you deeper into the ecstasy.

As you cried out his name, your voice hoarse from the pleasure, Yunho groaned, his own release following not long after. He held you tight, as if letting you go now would be impossible.

Yunho’s grip remained firm as he buried his face against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. The way his body pressed into yours felt overwhelming, suffocating even, as though he was trying to imprint himself on every inch of your skin.

When he finally pulled back, his breath heavy and eyes dark, Yunho stared down at you with something that made your blood run cold. His thumb traced your lips, slow and possessive, his gaze never wavering. "You can try to get away," he murmured, his voice low and almost too calm. "But no one knows you like I do. No one will ever have you like this."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in your chest like a vice. His lips ghosted over your ear, the air between you thick with tension. "I’ve been watching you for so long... you can’t escape me now, princess."

The possessive tone in his voice was chilling, his eyes wild with a dark obsession. There was no softness here, no tenderness—only the certainty that he wasn’t letting go.

"I’ll always be watching. Always." His grip tightened slightly as if to remind you that he was never far away.

Happy surprise party gift to you from me! This is a sneak peek into next month's Kinktober and the fics won't be as long as this but thank you to everyone who supported me with posting this- I'm about to go to sleep because I'm so nervous.

I'm going to include my taglist and ppl who commented on my post regarding this fic- only read if you're interested.

Taglist: @mykryptonitelight @cursedeastern @sugarnspice630 @ja3hwa @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @umbralhelwolf @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @gyuhanniescarat @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @hologramhoneymoon @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @laylasbunbunny @anyamaris @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @i-love-ateez @michel-angelhoe @northerngalxy @justaaveragereader @silentreaderthings @daddysspecialdollyworld @abby-grace @wisejudgedragonhairdo @smilefordongil @writhingwrecked @hongthoven @almightyddeonghwa @planet-dawn

[nick-web]

𝄲⠀✉️𝃣𖹭⠀⠀❟⠀⠀𝓈𝖾⠀⠀𝗏꯭𝗈𝖼ֵ𝖾̂⠀𝅥⠀𝙼𝙴⠀ִ⠀ᴬ𝒸꯭ᴴᴬ⠀⠀ִ⠀﹚⠀𝖻𝗈𝄳𝗇𝗂𝗍᪾⍺⠀𝂴⠀𝐗𝐗𝐈⠀ְ

⃝✉️⠀ְֺ⠀⠀𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗊𝗎𝖾⠀ִ⠀𝄲⠀므믹⠀𝅥⠀ִ𝚂𝚄𝙰𝚂⠀ִ⠀𝑚𝑎̃𝑜𝑠⠀𝅛𝅛ִ𝅥⠀𝅭⠀𝖾𝂅𝗆⠀𝗆ֺ𝗂𝗆⠀⠀𝄢ִִ⠀⠀♡⠀ִ⠀ᴵ⠀

ᴱᵁ⠀ֺ⠀❟⠀⠀𝄃𝄃𝄃⠀⠀🧾𝄲⠀𝗌𝖾𝗂⠀𝗊ֺ𝗎𝖾ֵ⠀𝂴⠀𝚅𝙾𝙲𝙴̂ 𝄳⠀𝅼⠀𝖾́ 𝗎ּ𝗆⍺⠀𝗆꯭𝖾𝗋꯭𝖽ֵ⍺ֵ⠀⠀ﴴ⠀יִיִ⠀ᴾֵᴿᴬ꯭ ᴹᴵ꯭ᴹ⠀⠀

⠀𝄳⠀ֵ⠀📵⠀𝃣᳞⠀݁⠀⠀ᴺᴵ꯭𝒸ᴷֵ ⠀ᵂᴱᴮ⠀ֵ⠀⠀𝄲⠀יִיִ⠀𝂅 𝖽꯭𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖼𝗈꯭𝗉𝗒⠀믄

[piervour]

美術教師 ㅤ? ! ? ㅤ𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄 ' 𝗌

𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾ㅤ𝗈𝖿ㅤαㅤ𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽ㅤ𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋

ㅤ

情熱 ㅤㅤ🦉 ㅤㅤ#αr𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼

ㅤ

𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾ㅤ𝗆𝖾ㅤ𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋ㅤ𝗁𝖾α𝗋𝗍

𝟤𝟢𝟢𝟤ㅤ✶ㅤ 伝道者ㅤ☕

ㅤ

𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲ㅤ [ … ] ㅤㅤ情熱 ㅤ𝟢𝟫

http://⠀⠀𝟭.𝟴𝟯⠀⠀⠀ㅤ𖤓ㅤㅤ嫌悪ㅤㅤ

[ … ] 天使

𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 ?

𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾

𝖯𝖡𝟤

嫌悪 ✿

𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗌 ✶ 𝗍𝖾𝗎𝗌

                                    — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Instagram: @cuentossombrios

[maximura]

[y-ves]

︳🪦ᅠ ્᭄ ˖ ॱ EYES INTOXICATED WITH THE LIGHT . THAT HAS LOST IT'S WAY - @crazyfrm ‎‎

[gottlyewr]

ㅤ♱ㅤ ׄㅤ۪ ㅤ১ . Sᧉonghwɑ⠀﹚𝄒ㅤܒܚ ⠀᠁

ᥪ﹞ ׂ 🗯️ֵ 𝇃𝇂ㅤ⬝ ㅤbɑd, bɑd boyㅤ! ۪ ︵۠͜⏜

ㅤㅤ一⠀ outᧉs copinᧉs sont dᧉs bɑd girls.

⠀২ ׅ ׄㅤܓܟㅤㅤ☆⃪ㅤGOTTLY DSG ៲ㅤ☆̷ㅤ﹚

[iluvriri]

⋆ ★　it’s you 　·

[floriseu]

𝖿𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗁  𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗐𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾  `  𝗌  𝗌𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗅

𝗂𝗇   𝗍𝗁𝖾   𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗇    ────   꽃

[m00nbap]

∿　　　 ⁺　　　 ✿　　 🧺　　 ⊹

∿　　　 ⁺　　　 ✿　　 🗯️　　 ⊹

like or reblog ⭑

[jisungchan]

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:· die for me | j.wy ·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

or, when you spot a new face at a party, and he just seems to have you in a trance.

general content: strangers first meet + fuck whoospie,,, alternative college reader (not really a big part of the story), bff yuta, yuta’s parties=jackson wang’s parties, drug usage (molly, weed, alcohol, other misc. drugs mentioned but not taken or named), fucking on drugs (specifically weed, molly, and alc) (PLEASE do not do this), selective fuckboy wooyoung, NO race specific descriptors (skin colour, hair texture, etc.), NO body type specific descriptors (size of reader body parts, height, weight, etc.), once again pwop but shhh

⚔︎ sexual content warnings (explicit): a nasty ass spitting scene icl i am so (not) sorry, choking, bigdick!woo agenda (always and forever), stomach bulge, raw sex (do NAWT do this), he does pull out (but again pls practise safe sex), dom!woo, sub!reader, a singular punani slap, squirting, many pet names (angel, baby, good girl, etc), a cutie lil aftercare moment, lmk if i forgot anything :D 

~4.1k word count, 15 minutes

-----------------------ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ----------------------- die for me - chase atlantic

a/n: dropping this because i saw atz live and lord wooyoung the man you are OOOOWEEEEEE MAMAAAAA k bye enjoy

eyes painted black by your smokey eyeshadow, lids low and heavy from both your lashes and the fog of smoke circulating around the stuffy room. there was nothing quite like yuta’s parties; these parties were always packed with people from any and everywhere. you were a regular, every party thrown you were there, usually sat on the couch or outside getting some fresh air from the scent of alcohol and sex lingering. you have seen faces of people come and go over time; some are too innocent to be at this type of function, others who blend right in. 

the table in front of you is lined with every substance known to mankind. knowing the types of people there, you never take the unknown powders or tablets. instead, you and yuta had your own personal secret stash hidden in a locked room. you had been puffing on a joint for a while, and were starting to get antsy for something more, something euphoric. 

getting up from your spot on the couch, you start to make your way to the stash room, desperate for a different feeling other than the boredom on your chest. manoeuvring your way through the crowded sea of sweaty bodies, a new face caught your attention.

long black hair messily pushed back, exposing his ear filled with black crosses, a few loose strands framing his olive tanned skin. his hand came up to rub his lip, and you noted both the plushness of his lips and the shape of his hands, covered with black and silvers rings. he tilted his head to the side, slowly dragging his finger down from his lip, he softly furrowed his brows with a light smirk, leaning down even more to talk to whoever had his attention. 

“y/n!” a smack on your shoulder shook you out of your stranger-infused haze. of course, it was no other than the notorious nakamota yuta, the man who is somehow the best friend you have ever had. 

“you look too sober, want one?” he fished in his pants pocket, pulling out a little baggie with a few pills. of course, your favourite was there.

“you know me all too well.” you said with a smirk as you picked the blue molly tabs out of the baggie. just as you were about to slip one into your mouth, yuta stops you. 

“well well, look who actually made it!” yuta says as he dabs up the unknown presence beside you. turning to look, you see the unfamiliar face which had you in a daze. 

“i told ya i’d come, maybe i’ll even become a new regular.” while he was talking to yuta, you noticed his eyes lingering on you, drinking you in.

“care to introduce me, yuta?” the stranger asks, turning his body to face you, looking down at you with that same expression from earlier. 

“this,” yuta says as he throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in tight, “is my bestest friend y/n, and no, we’re not fucking.” punctuating his sentence with a warm kiss on your cheek. 

“y/n, this is jung wooyoung, resident fuckboy who doesn’t fuck.” 

with a confused look, you turn to yuta for any sort of clarification on what he just said. just as you turn your head, a girl comes up to the stranger you now identify as jung wooyoung. 

“there you go, you left me all alone.” the woman says with desire in her eyes, though poorly masked with a faux innocence. 

“as i told you earlier, i’m not interested, sweetheart. now why don’t you go find someone else who’ll fuck you the way you want?” a playful smirk across his face, but his words were dripping in a sweet condescending venom. the girl scoffs and walks off, muttering how it’s “his loss.” 

“that, my dearest y/n, is what i mean. he could get so much pussy but he acts like he’s better than the rest of us.” 

“what can i say, my dick is too good to just stick in anyone.” he says, flying a sly wink in your direction. shrugging off the interaction, you continue to where you left off, plopping the blue tab onto your tongue. before swallowing, yuta grabs his phone, and you stick your tongue out, taking a photo to add to the dozens of others. 

“before you swallow that…” wooyoung says, and before you could even respond, he stretches his hand out, splaying it across your throat. you feel his long, slender fingers grip the sides of your neck. gentle enough so you can breathe comfortably, but tight enough to make its strength known. his warm breath covers the side of your face, then right by your ear as his presence fills your senses.

“come on, be a good girl and show the camera.” he whispers in your ear, giving it a small lick as he pulls away.

abiding, you stick your tongue back out, now the tab a bit messy with saliva. you look up at the camera, tongue out and wet with a stranger’s large hand around your throat. 

“wow wooyoung, you might as well spit in her mouth at this point.” yuta jokes, but you knew his meaning was anything but humorous. if it was one thing about yuta, he always tries to hook you up with someone, saying maybe you wouldn’t be so “stuck up” if you got dicked down. deciding to play around, you turn to look at wooyoung, looking up at him with a rebellious hint in your eye, and he obliges. 

you watch as he put his lips together before slightly opening them, you watch as his saliva drips, blurring his mole placed oh so perfectly on his lower lip. his eyes are half-lidded as he watches yours with careful eyes, trying to decipher what you’re displaying. you feel as his cold spit lands on your tongue, you close and swallow, smally sticking out your tongue again so he can see it clean of materialised blue euphoria. 

then, he reaches for the bag yuta still has out in his hand, and picks out the matching blue tablet of joy. he pops it into his mouth and swallows it down as you watch his adam’s apple bob from the gulp. 

“i’ll be up there with you soon now.” he grins, excited for the euphoric plans, which include you, racing in his head. 

in front of you yuta laughs, “ah, well i know where you two will be later.” and he walks off, getting pulled away by a group of his friends. 

“you just let any guy spit in your mouth?” wooyoung asks, you’re spiking his interest, and he’s not quite sure as to why.

“depends if they smoke me out or not.” you smile, motioning to the lump in his front pocket. 

following your gaze down to his jeans, he chuckled dryly “how do you know that’s weed? maybe it’s something else.” he says seductively, trying to get your gears turning. 

standing on your tiptoes, letting your warm breath spread over his ear, you whisper “i’d hope you’d be bigger than that.” you mimic his earlier antics and lightly lick the shell of his ear before standing flat and walking back towards the couch without giving him a second look.

you’re back sitting on the couch, the effects of the molly slowly starting to take over, everything seems more vibrant and you start to feel hot, even with the little amount of clothes you have on. you feel the couch dip next to you, and it’s none other than jung wooyoung. 

“still wanna smoke?”

taking him up on his offer, he follows you to your room. 

“i thought this was yuta’s place?” the room is obviously not just a spare guest room, it was personalised just to you. 

“this is my home away from home, i’m still in college, you know.” you say, sitting on the bed covered in a plush pink blanket. the room is a stark difference from your attire, and most people are shocked when they go to your personal space. walls painted a light sage green, cherry blossom vines hanging from the ceiling, cloud lamps on the walls, sanrio and tokidoki plushies and decor everywhere. there was a large bookshelf filled with your favourite novels, manga, and decorated with figurines and other miscellaneous decor. 

your outfit tonight consisted of a mini black leather double buckled skirt and essentially a matching black leather belt as a top. you opted for platform boots, not too tall but chunky enough for your liking. messy black smokey eye and spiky lashes, a plump black and red ombre glossy lips with greyish contour sculpting your face beautifully. your hair was messy, yet matches the vibe of your look perfectly. 

“hm, thought there would be more skulls," he picks up a tokidoki plush and gives it a squeeze before sitting next to you. he pulls out his stash, and you offer him a rolling tray filled with the essentials to get started on the session. 

you watch mindlessly as he effortlessly starts to grind the bud, you notice his long fingers grabbing the purple flower and gently pressing it into your metallic pink grinder. 

“so, ya just gonna drool over my hands, or actually talk to me?” he smirks, turning his head to face you as his hands continue the process without supervision. 

“talk about what? i told you: you spit in my mouth, you smoke me out.” you say matter of factly, reaching to grab a water bottle on your nightstand. 

“so, what if i want to do it again, does that mean i get to see you for another session?’ he questions, now moving on to packing the pink blazy susan preroll. 

“depends, we’ll have to see how the rest of the night goes.”

“i guess i’ll have to prove it to ya, huh?”

finally, he finishes packing a few, and holds the joint up to your lips. you part slightly, letting him place it in between your glass lips as he holds up the lighter to spark it up. you inhale the sweet bitterness of it, doing a trick just to be funny. he laughes as he grabs it from your lips and starts taking his own puffs. 

when you are down to the last bit of the joint, you pass it back to him, as you do still have proper smoking etiquette. he takes his same hand from earlier and grabs your throat again, you feel his cold rings pressing into your skin, yet his fingertips seem like they were burning. 

“be a good girl and open up for me, yeah?” 

obeying his command, you slightly part your lips, and he takes a big inhale, finishing the rest of the joint. then, he moves his face close to yours, looking in your eyes for confirmation. once he sees your small nod, he presses his lips to yours, and blows the smoke into your mouth. he keeps his forehead against yours as you blow the smoke out of your mouth, causing a fog to shield your face from his. you see his mole stretch out as he smiles, putting out the roach. he still has his hand on your neck, and takes the other to cradle your face, thumb swiping over your lips, smearing your perfect lip combo. 

“you know, i don’t let people smoke my weed,” he whispers.

“and i don’t let people come in my room, or spit in my mouth,” you whisper back. 

a smile splays across your face, matching his. the hand that was once on your lips is now at your waist, circling ever so slowly lower to your hip. he moves both hands to either side of your hips, and shifts you to straddle him.

“you look really fucking hot in this outfit, but i think it would look better on the floor.” he sighs, hot breath wandering on your chest as his eyes are glued on your body. 

your response is undoing the buckle on your top, letting the metal cling as it falls to the floor. your breasts bounce as it is released from the tight leather material and he drinks the sight in. 

he takes the first move and closes the gap to capture your lips in a frenzied kiss. he takes your bottom lip in between his teeth and lets it pop out when you gasp for air. going back in, he licks the inner rim before fully indulging in the taste of you. your tongue traces his lip in where you remember his mole tattooed, then pushing in past his lips to explore each others’ mouths. his tongue feels hot and heavy in your mouth, swiping over everywhere it can.

you take your acrylic tipped fingers and lightly scratch underneath his shirt, lifting it slightly to reveal his tanned abs, glistening from the heat of the moment. you watch as his stomach rises and falls rapidly, anticipating your next move. your hands go up to completely rid him of his shirt, relishing in his perfectly toned stomach. you push him back on the bed, his head landing softly on a pillow. he pushes you up so you’re fully seated on his throbbing hard on. your skirt is so short that it’s just your thinly covered core grinding on his denim jeans. you lean down to press wet kisses along his jaw, down his neck, and across his broad chest.

you wanted to take your time with him, get him a little antsy and worked up, but he has other plans.

getting impatient, he flips you over, so you’re now underneath him; his entire body blocks your view of anything but him. you feel as a hand ghosts down your torso, leaving goosebumps in its wake. you arch your back so he can unzip your skirt that’s now bunched up anyways. peeling it down and off your body, he notices the dark spot on the seat of your underwear and laughs. 

“i haven’t even touched you yet baby, what’s got you so worked up?” he presses 2 fingers at the spot, causing you to forcibly suppress a moan. he hooks a finger and yanks your panties off, leaving you completely naked under him. you pull him by the belt to bring him closer to you. by now, the molly is in its peak, all the weed you smoked and alcohol you drank is catching up to you, and you’re feeling needier than ever. 

“what is it, hmm? tell me what you want.” he smirks, condescendingly caressing your waist. 

what you haven’t realised yet, is that he is feeling just the same as you. all the desperation, neediness, and lust is clouding his mind, just not enough for him not to toy with you for a bit.

“need you to fuck me, now, please.” you whine, desperate for his touch.

“how do you want me?” he cocks his head to the side, slowly starting to undo his belt and unzip his jeans. your hands hurriedly go in attempt to help him undress quicker. 

“hard, messy, sloppy, i don’t care. just use me, please.” you beg. your pupils are completely dilated now, throwing away all sense of pride and ego you had left. 

he laughs in your face, “drugs got us both messed up, just look at us baby.” by now, his jeans are undone, and his hands are stopped before pulling them down. with a sense of urgency, you push them down his thighs. he kicks them off along with his boxers, leaving you both basking in each other’s bare skin. you take a moment to take in the man above you. from his strong arms holding himself up above you, veins protruding out. his skin with a glowy sheen and soft toned abs breathing hard. his collarbones poking out, and even more veins pulsating along his neck. his lips slightly swollen and glistening from the quick make out earlier. 

as you’re stuck on his face, you feel something big and hard tapping at your dripping sex. finally looking back down, you see him gliding his dick between your folds, collecting your arousal and lubricating himself with your body. you moan and whine at the sensation, especially upon realising just how big and girthy he is; you’re preparing yourself for a stretch. 

he leans back down above you for a kiss, a sweet gesture to help guide you through the brief pain upon him finally entering you. you feel the initial stretch and cry into the kiss, mindlessly clawing at his biceps in attempt to ease the pain. he keeps nipping at your skin, littering it with kisses and whispering sweet nothings as he ventures further and further inside.

“you’re doing so well angel, just a little more for me, okay?” you whimper and nod, mind already becoming even more empty the more he pushes into you. once he’s fully inside, he gives you a moment to adjust, lightly massaging your stomach to soothe you. in the midst of your mind floating away, you hear him chuckle, and you open your eyes to his glued on your stomach. 

“look pretty girl, you feel how deep i am in you?” he presses firmly and you can feel him in your guts. you follow his gaze down and see his hard imprint in your skin. you start moving your hips, needy for some movement and friction. 

“fuck baby, not yet.” he groans, feeling your movements. you feel heavenly wrapped around him, and he hasn’t even started moving yet. he was planning on taking his time with you, he wanted to savour this moment and leave with you both wanting more. he was hoping this wouldn’t be a one time thing, he wanted to fuck you with a bit more empathy than he did his other girls. he wasn’t sure why, but liked you, and he wanted to show you. 

but, some things just don’t go according to plan. 

he starts to hear your whines and pleads, “i can take it, don’t go easy, pleasepleaseplease.” 

at this point, you’re grabbing at his hips, trying to get him to initiate any type of movement. from the way your eyes are getting wet with tears, your begging words, and the way your body is antsy trying to get some friction, it doesn’t take much more for wooyoung to start viciously pounding into you. 

you feel the sudden movement in your stomach, and your eyes roll back from relief from finally getting some release. every time he draws back in you feel the shaft of his lengthy cock drag against your clit. you sit up slightly to watch as he spreads your lips open, exposing the nastily messy scene of his dick entering you over and over and over again. just as you’re in another daze of watching the obscene sight, your head is forced back down onto the bed. you look up to see wooyoung with his hand around your throat, for the third time tonight, and his face painted with a cocky grin. 

“i must not be fucking you good enough if you can still move,” was all he said before bringing both your legs up to dangle from his shoulders. your thighs are pressed firmly against your torso, pushing your breasts together and making them jiggle even more from the compression. your ankles lay on either side of his neck, your metal anklet clashing with his necklaces. in this new position, you feel him even deeper, and you let out a load, almost pornographic, moan at the new sensation. he starts thrusting even harder, deeper, and you wonder if you could ever get over it, over him. 

who was this mystery man? and why did you let him fuck you so easily? yeah, you could blame it on the alcohol, blame it on the weed, most likely blame it on the molly. but nevermind that, because right now, you’re thanking whatever god there is above for letting you cross paths with jung wooyoung tonight. 

but when you feel a harsh slap! on your clit, and your teary eyes become hypnotised by the swing of the silver cross dangling from his neck, you start to think that the god that is supposed to be way up above, is literally right above you. 

and you just might get down on your knees to start worshipping jung wooyoung every night. 

all you can feel is him, your senses are filled with his touch, his gaze, his warmth. he gets down on his elbows, closing the distance between you to initiate another kiss. you were so out of your mind at this point, lazily and messily kissing him back. you feel saliva drip down your chin, not sure if it’s from you or him, but you couldn’t care less.  

he pulls away from you, and starts sucking on your skin, sweet and salty from your sweat, leaving hickeys in its wake from your jaw to your neck to your chest. 

“look at you, taking me so fucking well.” he whines, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. 

all you can do is nod and moan out his name. the name of wooyoung is being burned in your throat from the chanting, all while the shape of his dick moulds your insides just for him.

you’re starting to feel the build up, feeling so, so close to finally feeling the sweet release you’ve been craving all this time. feeling you starting to clench repeatedly along his member, he goes impossibly quicker, chasing his release as well. he sits back up and reaches a hand down to rub firm figure eights on your throbbing bundle of nerves. 

taking one last look at him before completely losing your mind, he truly does look like a god. the warm cloud lights backlights him and makes him look larger than life. he has his other palm pressing into your stomach, and you feel something a bit different about this orgasm than your others. 

“f-fuck, wooyoung, gonna, ah!” you try to warn, but it only motivates him to keep up his antics. 

“gonna what? gonna cum all over my cock like a good girl?” he teases before starting to whine himself. you just keep squeezing him oh so right, and he needs you to come undone before he does. 

like your body was under his beck and call, which it basically was, you scream out his name, and feel your hips shake as you finally come undone. everything goes blank for a second, and you feel his hips stuttering as he finishes right behind you, releasing on your stomach and sputtering on your abused sex. 

“look at you glacéing me.” he says, looking down at your release coating his abs and cock all over.

you tilt your head, slowly coming back to reality, “glacé?” you ask in a confused daze. 

“a sugar coating, you taste so sweet.” he smiles, swiping a finger across his stomach and tasting you on his tongue. 

it was only now you realise... you just squirted all over him.

he just grins as he takes your face in his hands, and smothers you with kisses until finishing with a sweet, passionate kiss on your lips.

he grabs a tissue from your nightstand to gently dab you somewhat clean. 

“let me run you a bath, yea? let’s get you all nice and clean for bed.” he picks you up, and brings you to your attached bathroom. 

he runs hot water, and notices a bottle of rosewood vanilla soap. naturally, he pours a bit under the running spout, creating a pleasant faint aroma and bubbles. 

as he goes to help you in the tub, you grab his arm, “get in with me?’ 

and when you give him those eyes, the ones that have just a hint of longing and hope, he just can’t say no. 

he sits behind you in the tub, taking your washcloth and softly cleaning your body of the sweat from your escapades. he even reaches for your makeup remover wipes and gently wipes your face clean. the feeling is calming, him behind you, humming song after song in your ear as he cleans you off. 

out of the tub, he dries you off, and even makes sure to apply moisturiser to your face before placing you back on the bed. rummaging through your drawers, he finds one filled with soft little silk slip dresses. he picks out a black one with a simple red rose in the middle. he finds your underwear drawer as well, and picks out a pair of comfy cotton ones to go with it. he dresses you as you lie back on the bed, half asleep by the loving night routine he has provided you. he goes back to your drawers, and chuckles as he finds a pair of boxers, obviously yours, as they were tokidoki and a bit too girly. he slips them on and glides into bed next to you. your sleeping body immediately finds his, and you wrap yourself around him.

you two will talk about this in the morning, but for now, it was a different sense of euphoria as you drifted off in his arms.

[versocanibal]

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀‘༨⠀ 🪓 ␚ corpse. बोलाℨ￭.

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

Mommy!May: Essence

A siren rescues you from the plunder of a shipwreck, you're grateful for his mercy in letting you live.

But at what cost?

Content Includes: Siren!Mommy Seonghwa x sub!fem reader, DUB-CON & DARK THEMES, it's why I included the ominous blurb in the beginning, scent play, spit kink, aphrodisiacs, scratching, biting, rough sex, kissing, oral (fem receiving), nipple play, body worship, mating kink.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Disclaimer: 18 + only. I don't endorse these themes, this is pure fantasy.

Please heed the warnings, this is the darkest fic I have written thus far.

If you still feel 'called' haha to read this, enjoy :)

The waves crashed and battered against you as you called out for help, your hands and feet kicking and clawing at the ocean that was ravenous and against your favour. 

‘Help! Someone help me!’ 

The words baffled and frothed against your mouth, you felt your lungs were drowning and your body weakening. 

The imminent drag to the bottom of the ocean is close to being the untimely death of your demise. 

The night sky was bright, the moonlight an ominous globe that silhouetted the hidden creatures in the water and the shrieking screams of fear heard from any direction of sight. 

The ship was creaking, the fire illuminating the darkness and the smell of smoke and salt filled your nostrils. 

A piece of wood peeked out of the corner of your eye, it wasn’t there before…why would it be there now? 

You were too focused on surviving to care, lunging towards the wood and gripping it with what little strength you have left, hands shaking and trembling white as you gripped onto the edge and heaved your torso up onto the plank. 

Coughs and gargles were filling the air as you churned up all the excessive water over the wood, your head resting against the rough material as you closed your eyes for a few moments of peace. 

Just a few seconds, just give a few seconds, a few seconds of freedom, a few seconds to feel grateful for the extended life the Universe has so kindly placed upon you. 

A swishing noise was heard around you, soft and mild, barely enough to wake you from your slumber, your lashes fluttered as you attempted to close your eyes and let the ocean take you away. 

Until the flicker of scales shone under the water, peeking out in your periphery. 

‘Wow, that’s so pretty’ You murmured in a groggy daze, unaware of the presence hovering over you, watching you, contemplating where his song would lure you. 

To the ocean to feed? 

His mouth filled with saliva, his body ready to pounce and the tail swished around him in a defensive stance. 

Until moonlight hit the side of your cheek, glittering and gleaming against the wetness and soft droplets forming on the tips of your lashes. 

Like the stars. 

So precious and fragile, little human, so beautiful and weak. 

A precious, little star. 

His precious, little star. 

A low hum filled your senses and a shiver ran down your frozen body, the melody encapsulating and the tension easing from your chest. 

You followed the noise to the man floating in the water, his skin wet and droplets riveting across his bare chest and shoulders. 

The illusion was too easy to believe in your breathless state, his tail deliberately hidden underneath him, gills flat behind his ears, his mouth closed and hiding his sharp and deadly fangs. 

‘Please…’ You whimpered out in a croaky, gargled voice. 

‘Help me’. 

He swam over to you, though not using his arms, it was like he was gliding across the water, the soft hum becoming louder and making your mind foggy and head feel heavy. 

A gentle stroke to your hair, a webbed finger softly prying your mouth open and a warm, sweet type of wetness was felt upon your tongue, a soft thumb wiping the excess away from the corner of your lip. 

‘Shhhh, don’t be scared…I’ll look after you’ He cooed, something he mimicked from watching mothers speak to their children upon the shore. 

‘Ssssssleep’ He purred, his words almost snake-like and his webbed hand stroking your back, watching your eyes flutter close and your body almost go limp against the wood. 

‘Thank you’ You mumbled out before darkness took over you, the silence and the heaviness more comforting than the need to survive, to kick against the current and thrive. 

The man you thought was your saviour, heart filled with gratitude and appreciation for the one thing that might make you live another day. 

Was not even a man. 

Was not going to save you. 

He was going to be your next nightmare. 

…

‘Precious…’

The droplets of water on your forehead and a cold hand running along your calf brings you to the present. 

‘Wake….up’ 

The sound of rain pitter-pattering caused your lashes to flutter and your nose to scrunch up as your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cave you were in. 

A soft whimper left your throat at the realisation that you were here, yet again in the rain and the dimly lit cave with nothing but your bare clothes and your sanity hanging on by an ocean’s thread. 

‘Come on…there there…open those pretty eyes’. 

A soft voice cooed in your ear as you felt a hand move up from your calves to your naval, stroking over the thin fabric of your shirt, motioning in smooth circles. 

The touch was so gentle against the roughness and fear of the dark sky and rain, it felt familiar, nurturing almost as the unlocked fear and anxiety pushed past the confines of your lungs and chest. 

‘Mommy??’ 

You whined, your vision becoming more clear as you reached out with grabby hands to latch onto whatever the soft touch and gentle voice came from. 

‘Look at me precious…can’t you see? Mommy’s here’. 

The slightest tilt to your head and a shudder of breath made your body cold and skin prickle in goosebumps at where the voice was coming from. 

Seonghwa’s cheekbones and jawline were covered in silver, chrome coloured scales that ran down his neck and collarbones, his skin so luminescent it looked metallic against the moonlight beaming upon him. 

His wavy, jet black hair fell just under his ears, hiding the gills that reverberated the hymn he was using to help make you lucid, pliable and compliant. 

Webbed and inky-streaked fingers with sharp, pointed nails were followed by shades of silver speckled across his bare chest and torso, seamlessly transitioning from man to creature as his tail floated behind him. 

His lower half was submerged in the pool of water as he perched over you on the flat rock and sticky seaweed he carefully placed underneath you, wanting to form a makeshift bed for your comfort. 

The silver iris of his eyes were uncanny, bright and reflective, you could see a clean image of yourself in them. 

‘It’s…feeding time…Mommy feeds you’

His speech was stunted and broken, he was obviously speaking in a tongue not of his native language but he had heard the laughs and drunken banters of humans before they turned into screeches of pain and cowardly fear. 

So, he knew a little bit. 

Enough to speak to you. 

‘You eat…’ He spoke again, his eyes glancing from your neck up to your chin, the ends of his nails digging into the flesh of your skin as he firmly pulled down your chin, opening your mouth for him. 

‘Eat precious…then…Mommy…play’ 

Darkness glinted in his eyes as his other hand exposed the chunks of raw fish that he had been saving for this moment, the flesh and sinew of it nudging your bottom lip before being pushed gently into your mouth. 

You might have gagged at the metallic-taste if you weren’t starved enough to care, lapping your tongue around Seonghwa’s fingers, too focused on feeling sated to notice the glow of his skin. 

‘Thirsty’ You croaked in a parched voice as you limply reached out to avert the attention to the pool of water. 

‘Thirsty?’ Seonghwa mimicked, his gills flaring up as he looked over to the small rock pool, thoughts pondered in his head as he looked back at you. 

‘Water bad…Mommy make it clean’. 

His head slowly lowered into the water and his tail swished as it doused you in water, causing your clothes to be soaked even more. 

His mind wandered as he swam quickly and with a need to hit his goal with hastiness. 

Seonghwa needed you alive and well. 

He much preferred to play with living prey after all. 

You were his to play with the moment he swam up to the flat bank of rock outside the cave and leveraged you on it with his tail, picking up seaweed so you could be comfortable during your ‘long-term’ stay. 

And as he stared down at your sleeping form, his tail wrapping possessively around you that he heard a slight cry leave your mouth. 

‘Mommy’ You whimpered before you fell back into a state of exhaustion. 

Mommy…

An endearment of trust. 

Only to humans though, 

To a siren, however. 

Oh, the taunting was too tempting to deny. 

‘There…there…Mommy’s here'. 

The sound of Seonghwa’s movements in the water gave you a sigh of relief as a large abalone shell scraped across the rock with a taloned finger. 

The droplets of water glitter across his scaled figure had you frozen in beauty. 

He was gorgeous and terrifying at the same time, too human for a creature and too much of a creature to be human. 

‘Mommy…clean water..to drink’. 

Seonghwa heaved his body over the ledge so half his figure was on land, his legs and tail still submerged in water. 

Your eyes widened as he brought the abalone shell towards his mouth, it seemed like he was going to swallow the contents of it. 

‘No..what are you doing? I need that’ 

You weakly pushed yourself up on your elbows and swatted at Seonghwa to fight for the abalone shell. 

‘Stop!’ He hissed out, bottom lip lined with a sticky substance, his skin now SHINY and glowing with sweat. 

‘Mommy clean water’. 

You watched weakly as he drank the water, a few drops of it sparkling against his skin as he crawled forward to hover over you, his tail and fins dampening the bottom of your thighs and calves. 

His face was inches from you, a series of quiet chirps and clicks emanating from his throat and his call relaxed you slightly. 

Seonghwa spat the water from his mouth into yours, his tongue…LONG tongue swiping the inside of your palette and you felt a pinch on your bottom lip. 

He finished the messy kiss by pulling away slightly, his kindness turned to roughness when his hands gripped your jaw and made your mouth as wide as possible. 

Seonghwa pursed his mouth and a long, thick and viscous string of his saliva landed on the centre of your tongue. 

‘It tastes sweet’ 

The final thought before your head became foggy and satiated. 

Heat ran through your body as a mindless sense of arousal and euphoria rushed over you, letting out little huffs and whimpers as your legs started to grind together. 

Seonghwa’s silver eyes brightened with lust as his eyes fixed upon the buds of your nipples aroused and swollen, peeking through the translucent, wet shirt. 

Low clicks and chirps of desire were heard throughout the cave, his saliva and the siren hymn making you feel euphoric, dazed and needy. 

Seonghwa’s tongue swiped around the bud of your nipple, causing your back to arch and whine as he sucked around the fabric, scraping the bud slightly with his fang before repeating the process on the other one. 

‘Mommy’ You panted out breathlessly. 

‘Mommy play…play with you’ He spoke firmly, webbed fingers pushing the shirt up and over your breasts, watching you stare back at him with glazed eyes. 

The saliva was working, the aphrodisiac qualities making you feel needy, pliable, horny and submissive. 

Seonghwa’s hand wandered down to your covered mound, feeling the heat of it under your fingertips and the smell of your arousal filling the air. 

It’s Mommy’s playtime now. 

‘So little’ 

With one strong and lithe hand, your pants were torn in the middle and the fabric gathered around your calves and knees. 

He watched your body twitch and he was hard, saliva and venom pooling in his mouth at how beautiful your cunt looked and how wet…WET you were from his saliva, staring at your wetness dripping down near the crevice of your thighs. 

Seonghwa spread your thighs open roughly, a warning growl leaving his mouth and fangs bare when he heard your discomfort. 

A curious lick of your slick on his tongue and he moaned, the scent of your arousal seeping into his skin before laving his tongue over you again and again. 

Loud chirps, clicks and guttural moans were heard from your core as Seonghwa messily slid his tongue up your folds, sucked your clit, placed wet open-mouthed kisses against your core and licked you clean. 

‘More…more’ 

You whined out, your body feeling limp and eyelids heavy, satiated in a daze of pleasure and being relieved of touch starvation to understand the depravity of how trapped you were by the one thing that was keeping you on that rock. 

Seonghwa sucked more and more, the talons of his fingers scratching your thighs and eyes slitted, the veins on his arms shining silver and his skin glowing. 

Thoughts of a different language repeated over in his mind as he sucked and licked the wetness out of your cunt, 

What would taste better? 

The life force he was consuming from you?

Or the softness of your skin between his teeth? 

A flash of red sparked through his eyes and he pulled his tongue out to bite into the plushness of your inner thigh, not enough to bleed but enough to feel the puncture of his fangs. 

Seonghwa grabbed your hips and pulled himself back up towards your face, leaving bite marks and wet trails of his saliva all over your bare skin, the aphrodisiac seeping into your skin and the pain subsiding into numbness, into lucidity. 

‘Mate’ 

He spoke out to you with certainty, demanding and with authority. 

‘Mate. My mate’ 

Your mouth was red, swollen and wet with a line of drool coming out from the corner of your mouth from how good the pleasure was and how far gone your mind was. 

Seonghwa puckered your lips with his fingers and his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, your cum mixing with his saliva and your mouth opened freely, the taste of his spit and your essence filling your nostrils and making you squirm with desire for more. 

He grinded his scaled hips over your core as he felt himself unsheath his appendage, much like a human male but thick, with a rougher texture. 

‘Stay…mate you.’ 

With one hand on your waist and the other supporting himself up, he pressed himself against your entrance, watching your hips jolt and brow furrow. 

‘Mommy’ You whined out as you gripped the seaweed below, jaw clenched from the overbearing pressure you felt between your legs. 

‘Shhh’ He cooed softly, running his hands in comfort up your side as he attempted to push in further but the resistance was rough and he could feel your muscles tensing under the broadness of his hands. 

He stayed still as he gently held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes shifting to a normal human lens as he gently tilted your head up. 

A glob of his spit landed on your tongue and you could feel it trail down your throat, it was sweet, like honey and immediately your body became sensitive. 

A rock of your hips languidly and your lips trailing his was enough for Seonghwa to move again, lust and desire overwhelming both of you as he bottomed out inside of you, feeling every ridge of him in the inside of your core. 

‘Precious’ 

His tongue licked over your cheek, savouring the salt and sheen of your skin as his scales grazed over your thighs, your body sensitive and fragile like an exposed wire underneath him. 

‘Star’ 

Seonghwa’s voice was husky, raw as he panted above you, his free hand running down the front of your body in appreciation and worship. 

‘Keep…Mate…Care…Love’ 

He lovingly spoke to you with each thrust, his hands tangled in your hair and his spit, essence and saliva was felt on your tongue, on your lips, down your throat and in your skin. 

He may be your nightmare but you were his dream. 

Your body, your voice, your vulnerability, your isolation. 

Did he lure you or did you lure him? 

Your life was spared, your freedom? Maybe not. 

‘Mate’. 

He whimpered out for the final time as his hips quickened, his scales glistening and shining brighter, the low-light of silver dimmed underneath the sheen of his skin, soft eyes and wet mouth. 

‘You’re Mommy’s mate’.

Author's Commentary:

If you did choose to read this fic, thank you for giving it a chance.

This did not write how I was expecting it too.

This took me weeks to write because I wanted to incorporate spit play into one of my fics after reading the kink used in a vampire!idol fic.

I am personally not into spit play myself but I've always wanted to write a siren!idol piece and it just fits perfectly.

Thank you to @byuntrash101 for beta-reading this for me and giving me the motivation to turn try something different and write a dark fic.

Hey *shrugs*, at least I tried.

Taglist: @hipster-shiz @creativechaoticloner @cherry-0420 @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @stardragongalaxy @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @berryberrytan @sensitiveandhungry @laylasbunbunny @bangchanbabygirlx @i-love-ateez @anyamaris @lemonhongjoong @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @aris-ink @hwalysm

[yutaflms]

➲𖢅 ̳͟͞͞,♟️🚛 🌑 ⓵⡷

let’s make it heaven

[maximura]

[maliciousblog]

Ateez as your saesangs

Hongjoong ( stylist) 🎀

He would worship the ground you walked on. Everything you did was perfect to him. He would be a solo stan and would do anything in order to make you shine. He would even go as far as to create scandals about your other members in order to make you look better he would even make it seem as if you had been mistreated by them and your company.

He was a well known stylist and would get hired by your company as your stylist. He would always give you the best and most expensive clothes.

He would spend hours upon hours customizing and detailing your outfits to make sure you looked your best. You were his little doll who he would always look after.

He would deliberately give the other members ugly and unflattering outfits. Even go as far as too to deliberately causing wardrobe malfunctions for the other members so that you would look better.

In his mind his doll should be the one to shine the brightest.

Seonghwa(scary)💝

He would seem all sweet and innocent one second and the next he would scare the living day lights out of you. It was almost like the man had two personalities in him.

He would try his best to maintain a normal image in front of others but when he was alone he would be a totally different person maybe even a little deranged.

He would show up at your fansigns and would notice that you were getting a little too touchy with one of your other fans it would make him ball his fists so hard they would turn his knuckles white.

When it was his turn you would hold his hand while you sign his album but his grip on your hand started to get a little too tight to a point where it would start to hurt, he would just smile at you and say only look at me okay. You would hesitantly nod your head not wanting to create a scene.

Mingi (producer) 💖

He would be your producer and it was no secret that you were his favorite member.

You would get the most lines, you would get all the killing parts, he would even make sure to reccomend your name when ever your group got a sponsorship.

He would lurk around the practice rooms and watch you as you practiced all day and night that's how it started that's how his obsession grew.

He would also go out of his way to help you improve your vocals and rap. He would make you retake the same line a hundred times even though you had gotten it right the first time.

He would keep doing this just to get you to spend more time with him and you would start to depend on him and would constantly seek his approval and that was exactly what he wanted.

Yunho( puppy)🎀

A total soft boy or atleast that's what everyone believed.

He would be prime boyfriend material to everyone. When he would show up at your events it wouldn't be just your members that found him cute even some of your fans would have fallen for him.

When it came to you he would spare no expense would get you the most expensive gifts would buy you birthday ads.

He would ignore all the other members and if they tried to flirt with him he would just shoot them a look of disgust if they went a little too far he would just make them disappear.

He belonged only to you and you to him the sooner you realized this the better it was for you. God forbid you even accidentally ignored him he would send you death glares and that would be enough for you to focus all your attention on him and ignore everyone else.

Yeosang (idol) 🎀

He would be a fellow idol. In front of you he would act like he didn't like you and would play hard to get.

But behind your back he would  like ship edits of you and him supposedly by accident, he would bump into you every now and then, he would cover songs by your group on during live broadcasts, he would even buy your merch and put it on display.

Would go as far as to pay media outlets to post a dating scandal between you two. Everyone would start shipping you two and your company would force you two to date as they could profit off your relationship but in front of you yeosang would act disinterested and you would start to feel insecure about yourself.

Weren't you good enough, weren't you pretty you would find yourself constantly trying to please him and get his attention. This was exactly what he wanted, he had made you fall for him without you even knowing it.

San (stalker) 💝

Like predator and prey. He would stalk your every move. His obsession would be on the verge on insanity.

Would have cameras set up in your dorm even at your family home.

He would have access to your mobile and social media no matter how many times you blocked him he would find a way to reach you.

At first the messages were relatively normal but they got stranger day by day. At first they would just be simple messages like a morning and night greeting or messages telling you how beautiful you are or how much he loved you.

When he noticed you started to ignore him rather than engage the messages would get more disturbing.

You would get pictures of your dorm, your clothes even photos of yourself when you were alone.

  When you truly started to panic was when you started to find your belongings going missing and random "gifts" being sent to you. They would range from pretty flowers to bloody rags.

He loved to taunt you it was a game that got his adrenaline pumping. One day he snapped, he had enough of toying with you from a distance he wanted to play with you alone. 

Wooyung (childhood bestfriend) 💖

You and him where childhood bestfriends he was always protective of you and you never questioned it.

He wouldn't let his yandere behavior show because he never needed it to.

He always supported you and loved it when you performed.

However he only wanted you to perform for him. He was selfish he didn't like when you gave attention to anyone else but him.

When you moved away from your hometown to follow your dreams initially you called him every day and would visit him regularly. But as time went by you started to get busier and made new friends you couldn't spend time with him.

He felt ignored that was the first time he had felt that way. Watching you spend time with others made his blood boil. You were only his and he would make sure it stayed that way.

Jongho (Bodyguard) 💓

When your group started gaining popularity your freedom started to dwindle.

You couldn't even step out for a walk without someone shoving a camera in your face.

It always felt like you were being watched.

What tipped you completely off balance was when you were returning one day to your apartment after a long day of work you had the feeling that you were being followed.

You started to hear footsteps and before you could react a man enclosed you in his arms as a van screeched to  a halt next to you. He was trying to shoved you into the van.

But to your luck your manager had decided to come by to give you the jacket you left behind and he managed to save you.

Since that day you had been on edge and it slowly started to affect your work because you were always paranoid.

So your company decided to hire a personal bodyguard for you.

He looked a little intimidating at first but the more time you spent with him the more you started to feel safe.

He accompanied you every where you went.

You had gotten so used to him being around you that you started to feel attached and whenever he was away from you anxiety kicked it.

It was like you were dependent on him.

And that was exactly what Jongho wanted.

All this wouldn't have worked out in his favor if he wasn't seated on back seat of the Van watching his plan unfold perfectly.