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xichilie · 2 months ago

Note

Dropping by to say that I absolutely live for your Phainon/Mydei X reader stories!! IDk if youll be interested in this idea but hear me out.. Since reader is so oblivious, what do you think would be our reaction to Mydei trying to flirt with reader in a Kreamnoan way? Sparring, Gifting weapons, ect. And would Phainon pass out from laughing at his attempts or actually try to be a wingman in this situation?

I love this idea, phainon would enjoy this. He would definitely tease Mydei, but he would help him, too.

Mydei x (fem)reader

The sun hung high over the training grounds, its golden light reflecting off the polished steel of the weapons scattered around. The air was thick with the scent of metal and sand, the rhythmic clash of blades ringing through the open space as Mydei and Y/N sparred.

Mydei’s golden eyes were sharp, focused entirely on Y/N as she lunged toward him, her form precise but still just a little off-balance. He deflected her strike with ease, the weight of their swords meeting with a satisfying clang.

“That all you got?” he teased, stepping back smoothly, effortlessly avoiding her next swing.

Y/N huffed, rolling her shoulders before gripping her sword tighter. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Mydei’s lips. Good. He liked a challenge. More importantly, he liked watching her fight—it showed her determination, her will. And in Kremnoan tradition, strength was everything.

Any other Kremnoan would have immediately understood the significance of his actions But Y/N?

She just thought he was a good friend.

So now he had to resort to a different method.

His grip tightened on his own blade as he surged forward, his movements deliberate—not aiming to overpower her, but to guide her into a rhythm, a dance of steel and instinct. Y/N met him head-on, eyes bright with determination, and for a moment, Mydei nearly forgot his original goal.

Then she grinned, dodging one of his strikes with surprising agility.

“You almost got me there,” she teased.

Mydei exhaled sharply through his nose, willing down the warmth creeping up his neck. Focus.

He moved fast, catching her sword with his own and stepping in closer, their faces mere inches apart. “You fight well,” he murmured, voice lower than usual. “But you still have much to learn.”

Y/N blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard. But before she could register anything, he took a step back, lowering his sword slightly.

“You should learn from me,” Mydei continued, his tone calm, almost… inviting. “I can teach you properly.”

Y/N brightened, nodding eagerly. “Really? You’d do that?”

Mydei barely resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Yes. Obviously. That’s the whole point. Instead, he simply nodded, expression unreadable.

On the sidelines, Phainon leaned lazily against a wooden post, watching the scene unfold with an amused glint in his blue eyes. He took a slow sip of his drink, barely holding in his laughter.

Y/N had no idea what was happening.

And Mydei was suffering.

Their blades clashed again, the force of the impact sending a small vibration up Y/N’s arm. She was getting better, Mydei noted—not as easy to push back, more sure-footed with each step.

But she was still a step behind him.

He decided to test something. Instead of countering her next strike, he let her sword glance off his, shifting his weight so she overextended just a little—just enough for him to use her momentum against her.

In a swift, precise motion, he hooked his foot behind her ankle, pivoted, and swept her legs out from under her.

Y/N let out a startled oof as she hit the ground, blinking up at him in shock.

Before she could move, Mydei was already on her, one knee pressing lightly against her thigh, one arm braced against the dirt beside her head. His other hand grasped her wrist, pinning it to the ground in a firm but careful hold. His golden eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unwavering.

For a beat, there was only silence between them, the weight of his presence pressing down like an unspoken challenge.

Then, Y/N grinned.

“That was awesome!” she exclaimed.

Mydei’s eye twitched.

She wriggled her wrist slightly. “Okay, so how do I get out of this position?”

By Nikador, give me strength.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, tightening his grip just slightly as he leaned in closer. “That depends,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual. “Do you want to get out of it?”

Y/N tilted her head, considering his words. “Well, yeah? I mean, what if someone else does this in a fight? I need to know how to counter it, right?”

There was a very long pause.

Somewhere off to the side, Phainon let out a choked sound that was definitely not a cough.

Mydei’s jaw clenched. He didn’t need to look to know Phainon was watching this disaster unfold with way too much amusement.

Still hovering over Y/N, he inhaled slowly, trying to push down his growing frustration. “It’s not just about the fight,” he said carefully, watching her expression for any sign of recognition. “It’s about…” He searched for the right words, ones that she would understand.

Y/N blinked up at him, expectant, curious—completely and utterly unaware of what he was trying to say.

Phainon made another barely contained sound from the sidelines.

Mydei’s eye twitched again.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a slow breath before finally pushing himself off her. “Forget it,” he muttered.

Y/N sat up quickly, dusting herself off. “Wait, did I miss something?”

“Yes.”

“…What was it?”

“Nothing.”

Y/N frowned but shrugged it off, already stretching her arms, completely unaware of Mydei’s silent suffering.

Meanwhile, Phainon was practically vibrating with barely suppressed laughter, his blue eyes gleaming with pure schadenfreude.

Mydei shot him a murderous glare.

Phainon smirked.

Oh, this was too good.

Y/N stretched her arms over her head, rolling out her shoulders as she caught her breath. “Man, I really need to work on counters,” she mused. “You keep knocking me on my ass.”

Mydei ran a hand through his hair, barely restraining a sigh. “You’ll improve,” he said, though his tone was a little strained.

Not at this rate, he thought to himself.

Phainon, still perched nearby, was doing his best to smother his smirk behind one hand. He was failing miserably.

“Alright, I’ll clean up,” Y/N said, already moving toward the weapon rack.

“No need.” Mydei stepped in front of her, reaching down to pick up her sword instead. He turned it over in his hands, the blade catching the light.

Y/N tilted her head. “What?”

He exhaled slowly. Fine. If words don’t work, maybe actions will.

“This isn’t good enough for you,” he said, inspecting the sword with mild disdain before looking back at her. “It’s too light. Not balanced properly. You need something better.”

Y/N blinked. “I mean, I like it—”

“It’s not good enough.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument. “Come with me.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started walking toward the armory.

Y/N hesitated for only a second before following.

Behind them, Phainon slow-blinked before standing as well. “Oh, I have to see this.”

The moment they stepped inside, Y/N’s eyes lit up. The rows of polished weapons, the gleaming suits of armor, the scent of oiled leather and sharpened steel—it was beautiful.

Mydei didn’t waste time. He led her straight to a display of swords, scanning them with a critical eye.

“This one.” He reached for a blade and held it out to her.

Y/N took it carefully, her fingers curling around the hilt. It was heavier than her old one, the craftsmanship finer. The weight felt solid in her grip. “Whoa… This is nice.”

Mydei nodded in satisfaction. “It’ll suit you better.”

She grinned. “Thanks! I’ll make sure to train hard with it.”

Mydei’s expression remained unreadable as he stepped slightly closer, lowering his voice. “It’s not just about training.”

Y/N blinked up at him. “Huh?”

Mydei exhaled slowly, as if willing her to understand. “Weapons are important in Kremnos. They’re an extension of yourself. You don’t just use them—you rely on them, trust them.” He paused, his gold eyes steady on hers. “Giving someone a weapon is a sign of trust. Of something deeper.”

For a moment, the air between them shifted.

Then—

“Ohhh, this is fantastic,” Phainon’s voice cut in, absolutely thrilled.

Mydei tensed visibly as Y/N turned to look at him.

Phainon leaned against a nearby rack, arms crossed, grinning like he had just found his new favorite thing in the world.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to do this,” Phainon continued. “And yet—” he gestured vaguely at Y/N, who was still just smiling in appreciation, utterly unaware “—she still doesn’t get it.”

Y/N frowned. “Get what?”

Mydei gritted his teeth.

Phainon snickered. “Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all.”

Y/N huffed and turned back to Mydei, giving the sword a few practice swings. “Anyway, this really is amazing. I love it. Thank you, Mydei.”

For a fraction of a second, Mydei felt his composure slip. Her words—simple as they were—settled deep in his chest.

“…Good,” he muttered, looking away.

Phainon grinned wider. Oh, this was never going to get old.

The streets of Okhema bustled with life, filled with merchants calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices filling the air. Y/N strolled ahead, glancing at the different stalls with interest, occasionally stopping to admire something or chat with a vendor.

Phainon and Mydei trailed behind her, the latter watching her carefully, as if contemplating his next move.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Phainon asked, smirking.

Mydei barely spared him a glance. “Thinking about what?”

“Your next attempt.” Phainon stretched his arms behind his head. “It’s honestly fascinating watching you try.”

Mydei ignored him. This time, he had a new approach. If direct gifts and sparring didn’t work, perhaps a more… personal experience would.

Ahead of them, Y/N had stopped at a fruit stall, eyes lighting up at the sight of some unfamiliar fruit. “Oh, these look amazing.”

The vendor grinned. “A rare specialty! Grown only in the far southern regions.”

Y/N hummed in thought. “I wonder what they taste like.”

Before she could reach for one, Mydei had already stepped forward. With a single sharp glance, he picked out the best-looking fruit, tossed a few coins onto the counter, and turned to her.

“Here.” He held it out, his expression unreadable.

Y/N blinked. “Oh, wow! Thanks, Mydei!” She accepted it without hesitation and took a bite. “Ohhh, this is so good.”

Mydei watched her reaction carefully, the smallest bit of satisfaction creeping in. Finally, progress.

Then—

“So, this is your next strategy?” Phainon’s voice practically purred from beside him.

Mydei’s eye twitched.

Y/N, still savoring the fruit, turned to them. “Strategy? What are you talking about?”

Phainon casually leaned against a nearby stall, his smirk widening. “Oh, nothing. Just admiring Mydei’s… tactics.”

Mydei clenched his jaw, barely restraining the urge to throw Phainon into the nearest crate of cabbages.

Y/N, still blissfully unaware, happily chewed. “You should try one too, Mydei! Here.”

Without hesitation, she grabbed his wrist and pressed the fruit to his lips.

For half a second, Mydei froze. His gold eyes locked onto hers, and the world tilted just slightly.

She had no idea. None at all.

And then, as if to torture him further, Phainon let out the most obnoxiously loud snort of laughter Mydei had ever heard.

“You—” Mydei turned his head just slightly, glaring.

Phainon held up both hands, but his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Oh, please continue. This is beautiful.”

Meanwhile, Y/N was still waiting. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing. Everything.

Slowly, Mydei leaned forward, taking a small bite from the fruit she still held up for him. The sweet taste lingered on his tongue, but the warmth of her fingers against his was far more distracting.

“Good,” he murmured.

Y/N beamed. “Right?! We should buy more!”

She turned back to the vendor, already discussing how many she wanted, completely missing the way Mydei exhaled sharply, reining himself back in.

Beside him, Phainon wiped a tear from his eye. “You are so down bad, it’s actually painful.”

Mydei didn’t even respond. He simply took another slow breath, clenched his fists, and prepared for his next attempt.

Because he would succeed. Eventually.

Maybe.

The evening air in Okhema had cooled, the market’s liveliness gradually settling into a more relaxed hum. People wandered at a slower pace, street lamps flickering to life, casting a warm glow over the cobbled paths.

Mydei sat alone on a bench near the marketplace, arms crossed, his golden eyes narrowed in deep thought. The interaction from earlier still lingered in his mind—the way she had unknowingly flustered him, the way Phainon had nearly died laughing at his expense.

This isn’t working.

He had given her a sword. He had sparred with her, tested her strength, tried to offer her food—all of which were clear, meaningful signs of courting in Kremnos. And yet, she remained completely, utterly oblivious.

He exhaled sharply, his frustration barely contained.

Then came the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.

Phainon.

Mydei didn’t even have to look up to know it was him.

“Sulking already?” Phainon drawled, dropping down onto the bench beside him, stretching his arms behind his head. “Didn’t think I’d see the great Mydei looking so defeated.”

Mydei scowled. “I’m not defeated.”

“Oh?” Phainon smirked, turning his blue eyes toward him. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sure looks like it.”

Mydei exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. He hated this. Not the challenge—he lived for challenges—but the sheer absurdity of this one.

“What else am I supposed to do?” he muttered, more to himself than to Phainon. “She doesn’t understand what any of it means.”

Phainon’s smirk widened. “Well, yeah. That’s the best part.”

Mydei turned to glare at him, and Phainon held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Look,” Phainon continued, clearly enjoying himself. “If she doesn’t understand Kremnoan courting, then maybe it’s time you try something… else.”

“…Else?”

Phainon nodded, shifting to lean forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You’ve been treating this like a battle—strategizing, making moves, all that. But Y/N’s not Kremnoan, Mydei. She doesn’t think like one.”

Mydei frowned, considering this.

“So.” Phainon grinned. “Lucky for you, I happen to have a very brilliant idea.”

Mydei arched a brow. “You?”

Phainon placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “I’ll ignore that. Because this idea? Foolproof.”

Mydei sighed. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Phainon’s grin widened.

“We make her fall for you,” he said smoothly. “The way she’d understand.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?”

Phainon leaned in slightly. “Simple. We play by her rules.”

Mydei remained skeptical, but Phainon only laughed.

“Oh, trust me,” Phainon said, clapping a hand on Mydei’s shoulder. “This is going to be fun.”

Phainon’s grin had only grown wider as he observed the skepticism on Mydei’s face. The Kremnoan warrior looked utterly unconvinced, his golden eyes scrutinizing him as if trying to gauge whether this was another one of his ridiculous ideas.

Spoiler: It was.

But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.

“Alright,” Mydei said at last, arms still crossed. “I’ll bite. What’s your plan?”

Phainon leaned back, tapping a finger against his chin. “Well, first of all, let’s establish something—you’ve been trying to court Y/N your way, right? Sparring, weapons, food, all that.”

“Yes.”

“And she has no idea what’s happening.”

“…Yes.”

Phainon clapped his hands together. “Which means it’s time for a new approach. One that makes sense to her.”

Mydei gave him a flat stare. “You keep saying that. What does it mean?”

Phainon grinned. “It means we’re going to romance her the way she understands.”

Silence.

Mydei stared at him as if he’d just suggested storming a fortress alone and unarmed.

“…What?”

“Oh, you heard me,” Phainon said, far too pleased with himself. “If she doesn’t understand Kremnoan courting, then we do it her way. Flirting, compliments, maybe even gasp—” he feigned a dramatic pause “—a date.”

Mydei visibly stiffened. “That’s—”

“Not your style? Obviously,” Phainon cut in, waving a hand. “But that’s the point. You need to do something different.”

Mydei looked like he was regretting every choice that had led him to this conversation. “…A date.”

“A casual one,” Phainon said, nodding sagely. “Something low pressure. You don’t have to call it a date if that makes you want to run into battle instead.”

Mydei still didn’t look convinced.

Phainon sighed. “Listen, Mydei. Do you want her to see you as more than a sparring partner, or do you want to keep swinging swords at each other forever?”

Silence again.

Then, Mydei exhaled sharply through his nose, golden eyes dark with reluctant acceptance.

“…Fine.”

Phainon smirked. “Great. Step one: You’re going to ask her to spend time with you—outside of training.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Like…?”

Phainon shrugged. “A walk. A festival. Even something as simple as grabbing food together.” He smirked. “You do eat, don’t you?”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Good,” Phainon said. “Now for step two—compliments.”

Mydei looked even more reluctant at that.

Phainon grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.” He cleared his throat, adopting a dramatic pose. “Y/N, your strength in battle is admirable, but it’s your presence that truly sets the battlefield ablaze—”

Mydei promptly shoved him off the bench.

Phainon howled with laughter as he hit the ground.

“You deserved that,” Mydei muttered.

“I absolutely did,” Phainon wheezed, sitting up. “But you get my point.”

Mydei exhaled, rubbing his temple. “…Fine. I’ll try.”

Phainon beamed. “That’s the spirit.”

Now, he just had to see how Mydei would pull this off.

It took Mydei two full days to actually work up the nerve to put Phainon’s ridiculous plan into action.

It wasn’t that he was scared—he was a warrior, after all. He had faced countless battles, endured rigorous training, and held his own against some of the strongest fighters in Okhema.

But this?

This was an entirely different kind of battlefield.

Phainon, of course, was enjoying every moment of it. He was leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed, watching Mydei with way too much amusement as he approached Y/N.

Mydei shot him a warning glare before he turned his focus on her.

She was standing in the courtyard, stretching her arms after finishing some light training. The late afternoon sun caught in her hair, making her look…

…Tch. He wasn’t going to let himself get distracted.

“Y/N.” His voice came out sharper than intended.

She blinked and looked over at him, smiling. “Oh, hey, Mydei. What’s up?”

Mydei cleared his throat. Okay. Casual. Just ask her to spend time with you.

“…Would you like to join me?”

Y/N tilted her head. “For what?”

Damn it, Mydei, specify.

He clenched his jaw. “To—” He barely stopped himself from saying train. “…For food.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh! Sure! I’m starving.”

Phainon, from the sidelines, gave Mydei a double thumbs-up.

Mydei ignored him.

It wasn’t a date.

At least, Mydei wasn’t calling it that.

But sitting across from Y/N at the bustling market eatery, watching her happily pick at the food, he couldn’t ignore the… different feeling settling in his chest.

This wasn’t sparring. There were no weapons, no battle strategies.

Just… her.

“This place has really good food,” Y/N said between bites. “I’m surprised you suggested it.”

“…Why?” Mydei asked.

She shrugged. “I dunno, I figured if we were hanging out outside of training, it’d be something warrior-like.” She grinned. “Like arm wrestling or hunting a beast or something.”

Mydei’s grip on his drink tightened. “I can do things other than fight.”

“I know, I just—” She laughed. “It’s just funny seeing you in a setting like this.”

“…Is it?”

“A little.” She smiled. “But I like it.”

Mydei’s brain shut down for a second.

Phainon, who was conveniently sitting at a table nearby (acting as the world’s worst ‘subtle observer’), nearly choked on his drink.

To Y/N, it was just a casual statement.

To Mydei?

It felt like a damn victory.

…Tch. Focus.

“Your form has improved,” he said suddenly, the words coming out before he could stop them.

Y/N blinked. “Huh?”

Mydei set his cup down. “Your footwork. I noticed it earlier. More controlled.”

Y/N perked up. “Oh! Thanks! I’ve been working on it.”

Encouraged by the way her face lit up, Mydei pushed forward.

“Your speed, too. Faster than before.”

She grinned. “You are paying attention.”

“Of course I am.”

Y/N laughed. “Wow, Mydei. That was almost a compliment.”

“…It was a compliment.”

She giggled. “I know, I know, I just like teasing you.”

From across the room, Phainon wiped a fake tear from his eye. He’s learning.

After their not-a-date, Mydei realized something.

Compliments actually worked.

And so, he tried again.

The next day, they were walking through the city streets when he noticed Y/N adjusting her outfit, fixing the loose fabric.

It was a simple gesture. Nothing unusual.

But Mydei—remembering Phainon’s words about flirting in a way she understands—decided to speak.

“That suits you.”

Y/N blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“The color,” he said, a little gruffly. “It looks good on you.”

Y/N looked down at herself, then back up at him with a surprised smile.

“Oh… thanks!”

She was happy.

Which meant he was satisfied.

But just as he was about to move on, Phainon—who had been lurking (again)—whistled.

Mydei turned sharply to see him leaning against a stall, watching with barely contained laughter.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Phainon said, waving a hand. “I’m just so proud.”

Mydei clenched his jaw. Ignore him. Ignore him.

But Phainon wasn’t done.

“You’re really improving, Mydei. Soon you’ll be a natural at this!”

Mydei grabbed the nearest fruit off a vendor’s stall and chucked it at him.

Phainon dodged (barely) and ran off, laughing his ass off.

Y/N, completely oblivious to all of it, just smiled at Mydei again.

“…You’re being really nice today.”

I am always nice, Mydei wanted to say, but that would be a blatant lie.

Instead, he muttered, “Tch. Don’t get used to it.”

And somehow, that made her laugh.

Mydei had never taken Phainon’s advice before.

Mostly because Phainon was an idiot.

But after their last conversation—where Phainon insisted that “small, casual touches” were an effective way to fluster someone—Mydei found himself considering it.

Ridiculous, he had thought at first. Pointless.

And yet…

Here he was.

They were walking back through the marketplace again. The setting sun cast warm orange hues across the stone streets, and the air buzzed with the chatter of vendors closing up for the day.

Y/N walked beside him, talking animatedly about something—he wasn’t even sure what. He was distracted.

Because a strand of her hair had come loose, falling in front of her face.

This is it, Mydei thought.

Phainon’s voice echoed in his head: Just brush her hair back. It’s a smooth move. Works every time.

Dumb.

But effective?

There was only one way to find out.

So he did it.

Mid-conversation, he reached out, fingers brushing lightly against her cheek as he tucked the stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Simple. Quick. Just as Phainon suggested.

But the reaction?

He hadn’t expected that.

Y/N froze. Mid-step, mid-sentence.

Her words died in her throat as her eyes widened slightly.

For once, she was flustered.

She blinked up at him, a little stunned, her mouth opening like she wanted to say something—but nothing came out.

Mydei stared back at her, and for a brief moment, he felt a rush of satisfaction.

Then it hit him.

Oh.

Oh no.

What if she realizes? What if she figures it out?

He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

So, naturally, he did what he always did in unfamiliar situations—he defaulted to stoicism.

“…Your hair was in your face,” he said gruffly, looking away as if it was nothing.

Y/N blinked again. “Oh. Uh—right. Thanks.”

She laughed, a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck.

Mission success?

Mydei wasn’t sure. But he was sure of one thing—

Phainon, who had been watching from a nearby rooftop (because of course he was), was howling with laughter.

Mydei shot him a glare so deadly it could’ve killed a god.

Phainon just wiped a tear from his eye and gave him a dramatic thumbs-up.

Later that evening, when Y/N had gone off on her own, Mydei found himself regretting everything.

Because Phainon was never going to let this go.

“Oh Mydei,” Phainon sang, throwing an arm around his shoulder as they walked. “You absolute natural. Did you see her face? She froze. I almost fell off the roof trying not to scream.”

“Shut up.”

Phainon ignored him. “The hair move was perfect. Subtle. Smooth. I’m so proud.”

Mydei exhaled sharply, shrugging him off. “It was nothing.”

“It was everything,” Phainon countered. “You’re actually getting somewhere! Now you just need to—”

“I don’t need your advice.”

“Sure you do,” Phainon grinned. “Because I know you’re going to try again.”

Mydei said nothing.

Because, damn it, he wasn’t wrong.

After Phainon had finally stopped laughing, Mydei swore to himself that he wouldn’t take his advice again. Ever.

And yet, here he was.

Again.

Y/N walked beside him, completely oblivious to his internal struggle. The sun had set, and lanterns flickered along the streets, casting a soft glow over the marketplace. She hummed quietly as she admired some trinkets on display, utterly at ease.

Meanwhile, Mydei was not at ease.

Phainon’s words still echoed in his head: You need to build tension, Mydei. Do something that’ll make her think about you when you’re not around.

Mydei had no idea what the hell that even meant. But after the small success earlier, he figured a slightly bolder approach wouldn’t hurt.

Probably.

As they walked, Y/N turned to say something—he barely even heard what. He just saw an opportunity.

So he reached out and—without thinking—lightly brushed his knuckles under her chin, tilting her face up to his for just a second.

The second their eyes met, he let go.

And kept walking like nothing happened.

Y/N stood frozen in place. Again.

Mouth slightly open. Completely, utterly stunned.

Then—

Did her face just turn red?

For a brief, glorious moment, Mydei almost smirked.

And then—

A very, very loud choking sound came from behind them.

Phainon.

Mydei didn’t have to turn around to know his so-called friend was probably on the ground from laughing too hard.

Y/N, still dazed, finally snapped out of it. “Uh—what was—”

“Nothing,” Mydei said quickly.

Y/N frowned, confused, but didn’t push it. “Right. Okay…”

And just like that, she kept walking, muttering something under her breath.

Mydei exhaled slowly.

Was it perfect? No.

Did he get some kind of reaction? Yes.

And that? That was a victory.

Phainon finally caught up to him, barely holding himself together. “I—I can’t—I can’t breathe—”

Mydei shot him a sharp look. “Say another word and I will throw you off this bridge.”

Phainon wiped away a tear, gasping between laughs. “Worth it.”

Mydei sighed. He’d deal with Phainon later.

For now…

He just glanced at Y/N ahead of him—still slightly pink in the face.

Maybe, just maybe, he was finally getting somewhere.

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alexdehaas · 2 months ago

Video

Stationsbrug, city of Middelburg, The Netherlands. by Alex de Haas

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tomicscomics · 4 months ago

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01/24/2025

Happy Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul (this Saturday)!

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. In the Bible, after Jesus has ascended, His followers start spreading their updated version of Judaism, called "the Way." A villainous figure named Saul goes around capturing these proto-Christians and bringing them to Jewish authorities to face punishment for their apparent blasphemies. However, on his way to Damascus to continue persecuting the Way, he has an encounter with Jesus -- a sort of vision accompanied by a bright light that only he can see, and a voice that he and all his companions can hear. After this encounter, Saul becomes Paul, a new follower of the Way, and uses his impressive education and influence to bridge the gap between Jew and Gentile and become perhaps the most pivotal apostle in the Early Church. 2. In this cartoon, I use the term "Christian." This is anachronistic, as the term "Christian" hadn't yet been assigned to Christ's followers in Saul's time. Also, Saul did not really speak English, and was not a two dimensional cartoon creature. Also, my signature is not actually on the road to Damascus. Also--

#catholic #christian #comic #jesus #cartoon #catholic memes #christian memes #jesus memes #tomics #bible #st paul #saul #saul of tarsus #road to damascus #see the light

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kyunghwannie · 1 month ago

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Impatience

Park Jihyo x M!Reader

➤ Word count: 10810 (Basically pure smut and me going feral for Hyo) ➤ Tags: Fondling/Groping, Messy kissing, Body Worship, Nipple sucking (lots of), BoobJob, Ass eating/sucking, Anal sex, Anal gaping and Creampie,Public Sex, Subtle Degradation, Dual Penetration (Vibrator usage)

➤ Teaser: Park Jihyo? The Leader of our dear TWICE? Oh, she is a total killer with her stage presence, charisma, leadership and surely her smoking visuals. During Inkigayo performing her solo debut title track "Killin' Me Good", She was totally rocking it. But of course, having a hot girlfriend like Jihyo can get you a little.. Impatient in the dressing room waiting for her while watching her performance. But, what's more fun that being caught by herself when you were gawking her recorded performance.

The dressing room is dimly lit, the muffled bassline from Jihyo’s performance still vibrating through the walls. I’m sprawled across the couch, one leg propped up, my fingers drumming impatiently against my thigh—waiting. The muted glow of the flatscreen casts shadows across the room, replaying her stage from moments ago.

And fuck, there she is.

Jihyo materializes on screen, strutting onto the stage like she owns the entire fucking venue. The camera pans up slowly, agonizingly slow—starting from those sinful black heels strapped tight around her ankles, up the toned, caramel-smooth expanse of her legs where the high slit of her skirt teasingly parts to reveal a glimpse of thigh. My teeth sink into my bottom lip. "Oh, shit"

The fabric of her skirt sways with every sharp pivot of her hips, the semi-sheer material fluttering as she spins, barely clinging to the curve of her perfect fucking ass. God, even through the screen, it looks solid—round and tight, flexing visibly under the fabric when she drops into that low crouch, her voice rasping out the bridge with enough heat to melt steel.

"You're killin' me—killin' me good—"

Her crop top rides up just enough to expose the faintest strip of skin above her waistband, taut muscles flexing as she rolls her hips in time with the beat. The arm warmers stretch tight around her biceps, emphasizing every vein, every ridge of lean muscle as she lifts her arms, fingers curling around an imaginary weapon before pointing it dead at the camera. Directly at me.

A shudder runs down my spine. I’m already hard. The realization hits like a punch to the gut—my cock straining against the zipper of my jeans, trapped and aching just from watching her. My palm presses down over the bulge instinctively, biting back a groan as the pressure sends a jolt of pleasure up my spine. Fuck.

The camera lingers on her face now—flushed, lips parted around each breathless lyric, sweat glistening along her collarbone. Her hair whips across her face as she jerks her head to the side, eyes flashing with that familiar fire. That fucking dominance. Jihyo knows what she’s doing. Every smirk, every roll of her shoulders, the way she licks her lips between lines—calculated. Designed to wreck whoever’s watching. Designed to wreck me.

My fingers twitch, itching to grip something—her—instead of the couch cushion I’m currently digging my nails into. The screen flickers as she drops into the final chorus, hips snapping in sharp, hypnotic thrusts, the slit in her skirt gaping wider— "Fuck—!"

My hand is shoved past my waistband before I can stop it, wrapping around my cock with a hiss. It’s burning, slick with pre-cum already, the tip flushed an angry red. I stroke once, twice, thumb smearing wetness over the slit as Jihyo’s voice crescendos on screen."I see you." I freeze.

The screen has cut to a close-up—her eyes locked onto the lens, into it—like she can see right through the camera. Right into this fucking dressing room. Right at me with my dick in my hand like some pathetic, horny fan. My pulse thunders in my ears. She would love this.

The thought slams into me like a truck. Jihyo strutting in later, catching me like this, her perfect brows arching as she takes in the mess of me—jeans shoved down my thighs, hand still wrapped around my cock, TV paused on her mid-performance smirk. That fucking ego of hers would inflate to unbearable levels. Her lips would curl. "Couldn’t even wait for me, baby?"

A groan escapes me, my hips jerking up into my fist at the mental image alone. She’d saunter closer, heels clicking against the floor, her skirt swaying with every step—The door handle rattles. My stomach drops. I yank my hand free like I’ve been burned, heart hammering against my ribs— But the door doesn’t open.

Just some staff member passing by, their shadow pausing briefly under the crack of the door before moving on. I exhale shakily, slumping back against the couch, my cock throbbing with neglect now. The screen still glows, Jihyo frozen mid-step, one hand on her hip, the other still holding that imaginary gun to the camera.

"You’re killin’ me good," her recorded voice purrs. I drag a hand down my face. Yeah. No shit.

The door clicks open. A rush of cool air floods the dressing room, carrying the faint scent of sweat, vanilla body lotion, and something unmistakably her. My head snaps up—

And there she is. Jihyo leans against the doorframe, one hip cocked, strands of her jet-black hair clinging to her glistening neck. Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, the delicate swell of her tits straining against the tight crop top as she exhales. A bead of sweat rolls defiantly down the valley between them, disappearing under the fabric. My mouth goes dry.

"Missed me?" Her voice is low, still thrumming with the adrenaline of performance, laced with that knowing lilt that makes my stomach tighten. I force a casual smirk, shifting slightly to angle my hips away—but it’s too late. Her sharp eyes flick down, zeroing in on the unmistakable outline still pressing against my jeans. Fuck.

Her lips part—first in surprise, then in delight, a slow, feline grin spreading across her face.

"Oh?" She pushes off the door, swinging it shut with her heel before strolling toward me. The slit in her skirt parts with every step, revealing flashes of toned thigh, still damp from exertion. "What’s this?"

I exhale through my nose. "You." A heartbeat. Then her laugh—rich, melodic, and smug as hell—fills the room. "Me?" She stops just inches away, tilting her head. "Little ol’ me made this happen?" Her fingers ghost over the bulge, nails scraping lightly through the denim I grit my teeth against the shudder that races up my spine. "You know exactly what you do to me.".

Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. Bad idea. Now my cock is fully hard again, straining against the zipper, fucking aching for her. Jihyo hums, tapping one manicured finger against her chin. "Mmm, let me guess…" She leans in, her breath hot against my ear. "Was it the heel pop ?" Her hips sway, mimicking the movement. "Or—" Her hand slides up my chest, nails biting just enough to sting. "—when I dropped on the floor?" she mimicked the hair brush move with a slight arch of her chest without dropping on floor

A groan tears from my throat. "You’re a fucking nightmare."

She grins, all teeth. "Your nightmare." Her palm presses down, rubbing slow circles over my cock through my jeans. "And you love it."

I don’t deny it. Why would I? Her ego doesn’t need the boost, but fuck if it isn’t hot watching her preen under the admission. Her tits push forward as she arches subtly, shoulders rolling back, that pride settling into her bones. "Good," she purrs. "Now tell me—" Her grip tightens. "—did you touch yourself?"

The question catches me off guard. My hesitation is all the answer she needs. Her eyes darken. "How much?"

I swallow. "Just—a little." A lie. Jihyo sees right through it. With a scoff, she drops to her knees between my legs, hands hooking into my waistband. "Pathetic," she murmurs, but there’s no malice—just heat. "Couldn’t even wait for me to finish?"

My hips jerk as she yanks my jeans down, my cock springing free, already leaking. Her breath hitches. For all her bravado, Jihyo adores this—the size, the weight of me in her hands, the way her fingers barely meet when she wraps them around the base. She exhales shakily, thumb swiping over the tip, smearing pre-cum across the sensitive head.

"Look at you," she whispers, voice gone rough. "So fucking desperate for me."

I don’t argue. Can’t. Not when she leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just below the head, her tongue flicking out to taste me. "Jihyo—" She smirks up at me, lashes fluttering. "Mm?"

And then—without warning—she swallows me down. Fuck. Her mouth is fire, tight and wet and starving, her tongue flattening against the underside as she bobs her head. The sounds are obscene—wet slurps, choked-off gasps when I thrust up instinctively, the pop of her lips pulling off just to dive back in.

Her fingers dig into my thighs, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake. I fist her hair, guiding her pace, but she slaps my hand away. "Mine," she growls around my cock, the vibration tearing a ragged groan from my chest. And fuck, she is. Every damn inch.

She pulls off with a lewd shlick, saliva stringing between her lips and my dick. Her chest heaves, her crop top straining dangerously over her tits. "Still think I’m smoking hot?" she taunts, breathless. I yank her up by the arm, crashing her into my lap. "I think," I grind out, mouth finding her pulse point, "you’re insufferable."

She laughs, high and breathy, grinding down against me. "Liar." Then her lips are on mine, messy and desperate, her hands fumbling for the clasp of her skirt. The snap of it hitting the floor is the last coherent sound before the room dissolves into heat.

Jihyo pulls back just as my fingers brush the hem of her skirt, her lips swollen from our kiss. There's a dangerous glint in her eyes—the kind that warns she's about to make me work for it.

"Not so fast," she breathes, fingers clasping the fabric shut with a teasing click. "You didn’t answer my question."

My hands flex uselessly against her thighs before dropping to my sides. "I did. I said I loved the whole damn outfit."

She tsks, shaking her head. "Too vague." Her palm presses flat against my chest, pushing me back against the couch. "Pick. One. Thing." A smirk tugs at her lips as she leans in, her breath hot against my jaw. "Or I walk out that door with this skirt still on… and your cock throbbing all alone."

My teeth grind together. She would do it. Jihyo loves power—loves the chase, the control, loves watching me unravel just because she can. But I know her better than that. "Fine." My voice drops, rough with want. "Your tits." A pause. Then she laughs—loud, unfiltered, her head tipping back in delight. "Wow. Original." But her pupils are blown wide, her fingers twitching against her skirt. I smirk. "You asked."

"I thought you’d be more creative," she sighs, rolling her eyes—but her nipples are peaked under her crop top, betraying her. "Every ONCE with an internet connection talks about my tits."

"Not like this." My hands slide up her thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just below her hips. "They don’t know how fucking heavy they are when they’re bouncing in their face."

Her breath catches. "Don’t know how they taste," I continue, shifting forward until my bulge grinds against her. "Or how you whine when someone sucks them raw."

Jihyo exhales sharply, her grip on her shorts loosening. Got her. I seize the opportunity, yanking the fabric down her legs in one smooth motion. She stumbles, knees buckling, but I catch her, flipping us so she’s pinned beneath me on the couch. "Y/N—!"

"You wanted compliments," I murmur against her throat, biting lightly. "Now take them." My palms skim up her stomach, dragging her crop top with them until the swells of her tits are bare, flushed pink and heaving. Fuck. They’re perfect—full and heavy, nipples stiff and begging for attention. The second my thumbs swipe over them, Jihyo arches off the couch, a broken moan spilling from her lips. "See?" I pinch one lightly, watching her thighs clench. "Filthy and honest."

She glares, but it’s ruined by the way her hips roll up, seeking friction. "Asshole," she gasps. "Your asshole." Her hand darts down, finally wrapping around my cock, and we both groan at the contact. "Tell me more," she demands, stroking me slowly, her thumb swiping over the head. "What else do you love?"

I yank her leggings down just enough to expose her, fingers sliding through her folds. She’s soaked, clinging to my fingers the second they dip inside. "This," I growl. "How fucking wet you get just from me saying yes, Jihyo, your tits are god-tier—" She whimpers, her thighs trembling. Her grip on my cock tightens. "Keep going." So I do.

The moment my lips close around her left nipple, Jihyo's entire body jerks beneath me. A sharp gasp tears from her throat as I suck hard, swirling my tongue roughly against the stiff peak. Her fingers immediately tangle in my hair, not pulling me closer but trying to push me away. "Ah! Y/N—!" Her voice is equal parts pleasure and reprimand, that familiar leader tone cutting through despite how breathless she sounds. "Slow the fuck down or I'm gonna— ngh~!"

I release her nipple with an obscene pop, looking up to see her flushed face twisted in frustration. A string of saliva still connects my mouth to her dusky pink nipple, now glistening and even darker from my attention. "Sorry, baby," I murmur, not sorry at all as I gently thumb her right nipple through the bunched-up fabric of her crop top. "Just couldn't help myself. You're too fucking perfect."

Jihyo exhales sharply through her nose, her chest still heaving. "I swear to god, you're like a fucking puppy seeing tits for the first time," she grumbles, but the way her hips subtly roll against nothing betrays her.

Leaning down again, I make sure to go slower this time, teasing the stiff peak with soft kitten licks before gently sucking it into my mouth. Jihyo's breath hitches, her fingers tightening in my hair - not pushing me away now, but holding me there. "There you go," she murmurs, her voice dropping an octave into that sultry register that makes my cock twitch against her thigh. "Good boy~"

The praise sends a bolt of heat straight to my groin. I moan around her nipple, increasing the suction just slightly as my left hand finally slips under her crop top to palm her right breast. Fuck, they're even better without barriers - so impossibly soft yet heavy in my hand, the perfect handful with her nipple pebbled against my palm.

Jihyo's breathing grows ragged above me, her thighs tensing as I switch between thorough, slow sucks and flicking my tongue rapidly against just the tip of her nipple. Every time pleasure starts to crest, I ease off, keeping her teetering on the edge as commanded.

"F-fuck," she whimpers, her usual composure crumbling. Her free hand grips the couch cushions so hard her knuckles turn white. "Why do you— ngh~!— have to be so good at this?"

I pull back just enough to respond, my lips brushing against her damp skin. "Because you're fucking perfect, Jihyo." My thumb rolls her other nipple as I speak. "Perfect tits, perfect voice, perfect fucking everything."

The compliment makes her arch into my touch, a shudder running through her toned body. "Cheesy... bastard," she pants, but there's no bite to it - just that breathless arousal that tells me she's loving every second of this.

Returning my mouth to her breast, I lose myself in the taste of her skin, the way her heartbeat thrums against my tongue, the little hitches in her breath that tell me exactly what she likes. The crop top remains bunched up around her chest, framing her tits obscenely - like some lewd photoshoot she'd never dare do for the cameras but has no problem letting me enjoy. Every soft suck, every graze of teeth makes her thighs tremble against mine, her grip in my hair alternating between gentle encouragement and sudden, needy tugs when I hit just the right spot.

And through it all, one thought pounds in my head with every beat of my racing heart: Why the fuck is she so perfect?

My left hand trails down from her breast, fingertips skating over the smooth dip of her waist, the subtle tremble of her abs as they tense beneath my touch. But the second I reach the swell of her hip, Jihyo knows where I’m heading—her breath hitches, her thighs parting just a fraction wider in silent permission. Fuck.

Her ass is unreal—thick and toned, the kind of perfect handful that makes my fingers dig in instinctively, squeezing hard enough to hear her gasp. The sheer black fabric of her skirt does nothing to hide the give of her flesh under my grip, the way it jiggles slightly before settling back into that perfect, heart-shaped curve.

"Look at you," Jihyo pants above me, her voice dripping with lazy amusement even as her hips cant up into my touch. "Like a fucking starving man at a buffet."

I groan against her nipple, sucking harder in retaliation, relishing the way her fingers yank at my hair. "That’s right," she continues, rolling her hips so my palm grinds against her ass cheek with filthy, deliberate pressure. "Pathetic. Can’t even keep your hands to yourself for five minutes— ah!~" My thumb slips lower, brushing the crease where her thigh meets her ass, and her voice cracks. I smirk. "You love it."

She hates when I’m right. Her hand fists in my hair, wrenching my head back until I’m forced to release her nipple with a wet pop, our eyes locking. "I love," she says slowly, her free hand trailing down to trace the outline of my cock through my pants, "that you’re obsessed." A sharp nail drags over the head, making me twitch. "That you get hard just looking at me."

I bite my tongue to keep from moaning. Her grin widens. "That you’d beg to bury your face between my legs if I told you to." Fuck. My fingers flex against her ass almost involuntarily, pulling her closer, my thumb just brushing the edge of her soaked panties. Jihyo’s breath hitches, but her voice stays steady—mocking. "Go on." She arches a brow, daring me. "Tell me how bad you want it." My grip tightens. "You know how bad."

"Say it." The demand hangs between us, heavy with promise. I exhale, leaning forward until my lips brush the shell of her ear. "I’d fucking worship you," I growl, my thumb finally slipping beneath the hem of her panties, tracing slick, heated skin. "Get on my knees and thank god for making you this perfect."

Jihyo shudders, her composure cracking. "Good boy," she breathes—right before yanking me back down to her tits. The moment my fingers slip beneath the damp fabric of her panties, Jihyo gasps—a sharp, punched-out sound that vibrates through her chest and into my mouth where I’m still latched onto her nipple. Her back arches off the couch, pressing her tits harder against my face, her skin flushed and fever-hot.

Fuck. She’s dripping. My middle finger slides through her folds with obscene ease, gathering the slick that coats her, the pad of my finger catching on her swollen clit just to hear her whine. "Y/N—!"

I don’t let up. My tongue flicks faster over her nipple, sucking it deep into my mouth as my fingers work her in slow, teasing circles. The contrast is deliberate—rough where she’s sensitive, gentle where she’s aching—and it’s driving her insane. Jihyo’s thighs tremble around my wrist, her hips rolling desperately into my touch. "F-fuck, harder—"

I obey, crooking two fingers inside her without warning, relishing the way her cunt clenches, pulsing around me. "Look at you," I murmur against her breast, my voice wrecked. "So fucking wet for me." And she is—god, she is.

Her crop top is rucked up around her ribs, her tits glistening with spit, her nipples dark and pebbled from my mouth. The black short is shoved haphazardly up her thighs. Jihyo’s head thrashes against the couch, her lips parted around ragged moans. "Y-you—ah!—you like this, don’t you?" she pants, nails scraping down my biceps. "Seeing me—ngh—fall apart?"

I groan, fucking her faster, my thumb pressing firm circles against her clit. "Love it." Her breath hitches. "Say it again."

"I love it," I mumbled, dragging my teeth over her nipple. "Love how fucking perfect you are. Love your boobs, your ass, this pussy—" I curl my fingers, and she screams, her back bowing off the couch. "Love that you’re mine."

Jihyo’s orgasm crashes over her like a wave—her cunt flutters around my fingers, her thighs clamping around my wrist as she rides it out, her moans high and broken. When she finally collapses, boneless and panting, I pull my fingers free, bringing them to my lips without breaking eye contact. Her gaze darkens as I lick them clean. "You," she breathes, "are insufferable." I smirk. "Your insufferable." Then I’m yanking her up, crushing our mouths together, tasting her moan on my tongue.

The moment our lips crash together, all restraint shatters. Jihyo's mouth is hot against mine—demanding, hungry—her teeth catching my bottom lip in a sharp bite before soothing it with her tongue. I groan into the kiss, one hand fisting in her sweat-dampened hair, the other sliding possessively down the curve of her spine to grip her ass hard enough to leave fingerprints.

She whimpers, her nails raking down my bare chest before scraping over my nipples, wringing a ragged moan from my throat. The sound only spurs her on—her hips grind down against mine, her soaked panties leaving a damp streak on my abs as she chases the friction. Our tongues tangle messily, the kiss wet and gasping, neither of us willing to pull away for air.

Jihyo's hands roam greedily—palming the sculpted planes of my shoulders, squeezing my biceps hard enough to bruise, her thumbs tracing the deep ridges of my hipbones before dipping beneath the waistband of my jeans.

I shudder, my own hands mapping the sinful slopes of her body—the dip of her waist, the swell of her tits, the muscle of her thighs flexing as she straddles me. We break apart only when the need for oxygen becomes unbearable, our foreheads pressed together as we pant. "Fuck," she breathes, her lips swollen and glistening. "Yeah," I agree hoarsely, tightening my grip on her ass. She grins against my mouth before diving back in.

Jihyo breaks our sloppy kiss with a feral little smirk, our swollen lips still connected by a thin string of spit. Her fingers skate down my bare chest, blunt nails raking over every sculpted ridge of my abs before stopping right above where my cock strains painfully against my jeans.

"Mmm, look at you~" Her breath is hot against my ear as she shifts her weight, making her delicious thighs squeeze around my hips. "All sweet and tender with me like some lovesick puppy... but this..." Her palm presses down, making me groan as she strokes my hardening length. "...tells a different story, doesn't it?"

I grab her wrist, nipping at her pulse point just to hear her gasp. "Only ever sweet for y—" My voice cuts off with a choked sound as she produces a damn lube bottle from her shorts pocket—strawberry-flavored, the garish pink label nearly glowing in the dim backstage lighting. My cock jerks violently when she shakes it with a devious wink. "Ji—fuck—is that even—"

"Relax, worrywart," she laughs, popping the cap open with her teeth—god fucking damn it—before squirting a slick, translucent glob onto her fingers. The artificial sweetness mixes with her natural vanilla scent, making my mouth water. "Hypoallergenic, gynecologist-approved, and..." Her tongue darts out to taste it from her own fingers, "...kinda tasty. Wanna try?"

But my attention isn't on the lube anymore. Because holy shit—with one fluid motion, Jihyo yanks her wrinkled crop top over her head and tosses it aside, revealing those legendary milkers in all their bare, warm skinned glory. No bra. No barriers. Just smooth, sun-kissed skin stretched over plush curves, her dusky areolas already pebbled tight from anticipation. Fuck me sideways. I really am this fucking gone for her.

My hands fly up instinctively—desperate to palm those perfect handfuls, to weigh them in my grip—but Jihyo clicks her tongue, pressing a sticky lube-coated finger against my lips.

"Uh-uh," she chastises, rolling her hips in a slow grind that has the sheer overlay of her faux skirt riding up around her waist. The slit parts wantonly, giving me a sinful eyeful of her toned thighs flexing as she works me over. "Eyes up here, baby." She taps my chin. "Unless you want me to stop..."

The threat hangs between us as her slick fingers trail down my torso, leaving glistening streaks over my abs. I shudder when she swirls around my nipple, her touch unbearably light—teasing. "Well?" She leans in, her untethered breasts brushing my chest as she nips at my jaw. "What's my good boy gonna say to get what he wants?"

The moment I hit her with those puppy dog eyes - lips slightly pouted, lashes fluttering with exaggerated innocence - something dangerous flashes across Jihyo's face. Her grip tightens in my hair as she leans back, studying my expression with narrowed eyes. "Oh no you don't," she murmurs, voice dripping with mock warning. "You think that cute shit works on me after three years?"

I let my bottom lip tremble just slightly, watching with barely contained amusement as her resolve visibly wavers. Her thighs clench around my hips, that perfect pout of hers starting to twitch at the corners. Then I burst out laughing.

"Yah!" Jihyo's scandalized shriek echoes through the dressing room as she swats my chest, her warm skin flushing that gorgeous rosy pink I love. "You little shit - I was going to let you have these!" She gestures dramatically at her bare breasts, the motion making those perfect handfuls jiggle enticingly. I'm still chuckling as I reach for her, hands hovering just inches from her skin. "Sorry, sorry~ I just love when you get all pretend-mad. Your nose scrunches up right he-"

My apology cuts off in a strangled groan as Jihyo's lube-slicked hand suddenly plunges onto my cocm, her fingers wrapping around my aching length with punishing tightness. The sudden friction burns deliciously - whether from the warming lube or her spiteful grip, I can't tell.

"Now you'll really have to beg," she purrs, leaning down so her untethered breasts brush tantalizingly against my chest with every breath. Her thumb strokes slow, torturous circles around my swollen tip, gathering the pre-cum beading there. "Properly this time. None of that faux-cute bullshit."

I bite back another laugh at how offended she sounds, even as my hips buck helplessly into her touch. "Jihyo baby-"

"Nope." Her grip loosens immediately, withdrawing just enough to make me whimper. "Full sentences. Tell me exactly what you want to do to these." She arches her back, making her magnificent mounds sway hypnotically. The stray stage lights catch the sheen of sweat still glistening in her cleavage from her earlier performance.

My mouth waters as I take in the sight - her dusky nipples pebbled tight from the cool dressing room air, that subtle bounce as she shifts her weight, the way her areolas darken when I ghost my fingers just millimeters above them.

"I... fuck..." My brain short-circuits when she gives one experimental pump, her thumb smearing lube and pre-cum messily down my shaft. "I want to suck them until you scream. Bite just hard enough to make your back arch. See if I can make you cum just from playing with your nipples while I finger you-"

Jihyo's breath hitch is music to my ears. Her fingers stutter around me, that perfect composure cracking as her thighs squeeze reflexively around mine. I can feel her damp heat even through the fabric of her shorts.

"Good start," she manages, trying (and failing) to sound unaffected. Her free hand comes up to tweak her own nipple, showing off just how fucking responsive she is. "But I think-"

I cut her off by surging forward, finally capturing one pebbled peak between my teeth. Jihyo's surprised yelp turns into a wanton moan as I switch to lavish attention on her other breast, my tongue lathing broad stripes across the stiff bud.

"Cheater!" she gasps, but her hips are already rolling against nothing, her grip on my cock tightening in retaliation. "I didn't say you could- ah!~"

The rest of her protest dissolves into a high-pitched whine as I suck hard, my fingers finding their way back under her shorts to plunge into her soaking wet heat. The strawberry lube mixes with her natural slickness, creating the filthiest sounds as I finger fuck her in time with my mouth on her breasts. "Y/N I swear to god if you make me cum before I get to ride you-"

My response is to crook my fingers just right, hitting that spongy spot inside her that makes her legs shake. Jihyo's threat cuts off with a strangled cry, her back bowing beautifully as she spills over my fingers, her thighs clamping down hard enough to bruise. When she finally comes down, panting and flushed, I lick my lips and give her my sweetest smile. "...please?"

The look she gives me could melt steel. Jihyo’s entire body trembles as she comes down from her high, her thighs still quivering around my fingers buried deep inside her. Her chest rises and falls in erratic bursts, her bare breasts glistening with a sheen of sweat—nipples red and puffy from my relentless attention. Then her eyes snap open. "You," she breathes, voice dripping with venomous sweetness, "are fucked."

Before I can even smirk, she wrenches my hand away from her soaked core, pinning both my wrists to the couch with surprising strength. The movement makes her tits jiggle enticingly, but the warning in her gaze keeps me from enjoying the view too much.

"No touching," she orders, shifting back just enough to be near my pelvic area. My cock was stone hard, angry red and throbbing, precum beading at the tip. "Not your hands. Not your mouth. Nothing."

I open my mouth to protest—"Ah!" She presses a single finger to my lips, her other hand wrapping around my shaft in a punishing grip. "You don’t get to talk either." Then she strokes. Fuck. Her palm is still slick with her own arousal, the mix of her juices and strawberry lube creating an obscenely wet glide as she pumps me from root to tip. Her thumb swipes over the head on every upstroke, smearing precum in tight circles that make my abs clench. I bite down on a groan, my hips jerking instinctively, but Jihyo tsks, slowing her pace to a torturous crawl. "Uh-uh," she murmurs, leaning down until her breath ghosts over my leaking cock. "You don’t get to move either."

Her free hand trails up my stomach, nails scraping lightly over my abs before pinching a nipple hard. The sharp sting races straight to my groin, my cock twitching violently in her grip. "Look at you," she coos, her voice saccharine. "So desperate to fuck me, and yet..." Her grip tightens, her thumb pressing just under the head where I’m most sensitive. "...all you get is this."

I grit my teeth, my thighs trembling with the effort to stay still. Jihyo’s smirk widens as she watches me struggle, her strokes agonizingly slow, her fingers just shy of the rhythm I need.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours—my cock aching, my balls drawn up tight, every muscle in my body coiled to the point of pain. Sweat beads at my temples, my breath coming in ragged gasps as Jihyo edges me with sadistic precision.

Then—finally—she picks up the pace. Her hand flies over my length, her spit-slicked fingers working me with brutal efficiency. I’m right there, teetering on the edge, my vision whiting out—"Wait—fuck, Jihyo, I’m gonna—"

She slows again, her grip loosening just enough to keep me hovering. "Not yet," she purrs, her thumb pressing down on that spot beneath the head, making me whine. "I want you dripping when you finally get to cum." I groan, my head falling back against the couch. "You’re evil." She laughs—bright and melodic—before leaning down to lick a stripe up my shaft. "And you love it."

Then her hand is moving again, fast and lewd, her fingers twisting just right on every upstroke. This time, she doesn’t stop. "Cum," she orders, her voice low and rough. "Now." I explode. Rope after rope of cum spills over her fingers, my hips jerking uncontrollably as she milks me through it, her grip unrelenting. She watches with rapt attention as I pulse in her hand, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

When I finally slump back, boneless and spent, Jihyo brings her cum-coated fingers to her mouth—slowly—sucking them clean with obscene pops of her lips. "Mmm," she hums, licking a stray drop from her thumb. "Did you change your diet? This tastes sweeter than usual."

I blink up at her, still dazed. "Maybe... Up-ed more fruit...." She grins, leaning down to kiss me—deep and sloppy, letting me taste myself on her tongue. "Good boy." Jihyo’s fingers trail down my chest, sticky with my cum, her dark eyes glinting with mischief as she leans in close. "Slump back," she orders, her voice low and husky. "Hips forward. I want you right where I need you."

I don’t hesitate. My back sinks into the couch, my cock—still half-hard and twitching—jutting up between us, glistening with remnants of lube and spit. Jihyo watches me with that look, the one that says she’s about to ruin me in the best way possible. Then she reaches for the discarded lube bottle, squeezing a generous amount into my waiting palm. "Your turn," she murmurs, guiding my hands to her chest. "Make them perfect for you."

Fuck. The moment my slick fingers touch her skin, she shudders, her breath hitching as I massage the lube into her tits, kneading the plush flesh with slow, worshipful strokes. The warmth of the formula makes her even softer, her nipples pebbling under my touch as I work her over, my thumbs circling the stiff peaks. "God, Jihyo," I groan, my voice rough. "You have no idea how fucking good these feel."

She arches into my touch, her lips parting around a quiet moan. "Tell me." I don’t need to be asked twice. "They’re perfect," I murmur, squeezing gently, watching them spill between my fingers. "So fucking full—like they were made just for me to touch." My thumbs flick over her nipples, making her gasp. "And these? Fuck. I could suck on them for hours and never get bored."

Jihyo’s eyelashes flutter, her chest rising faster as my words sink in. She loves this—loves being adored, worshipped, craved. And I love giving it to her. "You’re obsessed," she breathes, but there’s no bite to it—just pure, unfiltered pleasure at being wanted like this. "Damn right I am," I growl, dragging my palms up to her collarbones before sliding back down, coating every inch of her in slick warmth. "I’d worship these every fucking day if you let me."

She exhales sharply, her thighs tightening around mine. "Y/N—"

"I’d wake up just to suck them," I continue, my voice dropping lower. "Fall asleep with them in my mouth. Fuck, I’d die happy if I could bury my face between them one last time."

Jihyo whimpers, her hips rolling instinctively, seeking friction she won’t get—not yet. Then, with a slow, deliberate shift, she slides off my lap, sinking to her knees between my legs. "You talk too much," she teases, but her hands are already lifting her tits, pressing them together around my cock. "Let’s see if you can handle what you’ve been begging for."

The first slide is heaven. Her slick, warm skin engulfs me, her tits molding perfectly around my length as she starts to move. Up, down, tight—her cleavage is a sinful, wet vice, her nipples brushing against the sensitive underside of my cock with every stroke. "Fuck—Jihyo—" My head falls back, my fingers digging into the couch. "You feel—fuck—you feel unreal."

She smirks, her pace just slow enough to be torturous. "You like that, baby?" Her tongue darts out, licking the tip every time it peeks out from between her tits. "All that begging just to get my boobs around you?"

I groan, my hips jerking up instinctively—but she clamps down, her hands pressing her breasts tighter, trapping me in that perfect, slick heat. "Ah-ah," she chides, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "You don’t get to move until I say so." Fuck. She’s going to kill me. And I’m going to love every second of it.

Her breasts glide over my cock like silk, slick with lube and the heat of her skin. Every slow, deliberate stroke sends shivers up my spine, my hips twitching helplessly as she works me over with those perfect handfuls.

"Fuck—Jihyo—" My voice is ragged, my fingers digging into the couch. "You’re so fucking beautiful." The words spill out of me like a prayer, raw and unfiltered. "Your skin—god—it’s like fucking gold under these lights." My hand lifts on instinct, thumb brushing the curve of her breast, tracing the warm, sun-kissed hue that glows even in the dim backstage lighting. "So soft. So perfect."

Jihyo’s rhythm stutters. For a second, her hands still, her tits tightening around me in a way that makes my breath catch. Then—slowly—her grin softens, something wistful flickering in her dark eyes. "Say that again," she murmurs, her voice quieter now.

I don’t hesitate. "You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met," I breathe, my thumb stroking her collarbone. "Every fucking inch of you—your skin, your curves, this—" My hips jerk slightly, emphasizing where I’m trapped between her breasts. "—it’s all perfect."

Her lips part, her chest rising with a shaky inhale. And then—fuck—I see it. The flicker of something old, something aching, in the way her lashes lower just a fraction. The ghost of past insecurities, of years spent under scrutiny, of comments about how she wasn’t the "right" shade of pale, how her body wasn’t the "right" kind of slim.

My stomach twists. "Jihyo." My voice drops, my free hand cupping her cheek. "Look at me." She does, reluctantly. "You’re stunning," I say, my thumb brushing her lower lip. "Not despite your skin, or your curves—because of them. Every fucking thing people tried to make you hate about yourself? That’s what I worship."

Her breath hitches. For a moment, the air between us shifts—warm, heavy, real. Her eyes search mine, and I see it—the quiet relief, the way her shoulders relax just a fraction, like she’s finally letting go of a weight she didn’t realize she was still carrying.

Then—because she’s Jihyo—she ruins it of course.

"Mmm, good answer," she purrs, suddenly squeezing her tits hard around my cock, her nails digging into my thighs. "Now beg for me to let you cum." I groan, my head thudding back against the couch. God, this woman.

Her breasts are a masterpiece in motion. Jihyo’s hands cup the full, supple weight of her tits, pressing them together with just the right amount of pressure—warm, slick, and sinfully tight around my aching cock. The lube we’d slathered over her skin glistens under the dressing room lights, turning every slow, deliberate slide into a wet, intoxicating heaven. "F-fuck—Jihyo—!" My voice is ruined, my hips jerking weakly against her grip.

She’s merciless. Every upward stroke drags the sensitive head of my cock against the soft underside of her breasts, her nipples brushing the shaft in a way that makes my thighs tremble. Then, as she sinks back down, her cleavage envelops me completely, the heat of her skin almost burning as she milks me with slow, torturous rolls of her chest. I’m drowning in her.

My fingers claw at the couch, sweat dripping down my temples as I try—desperately—to hold back. But the way those perfect tits swallow me whole, the way her breath hitches every time I twitch inside her grip— "You close?" she teases, her voice a husky purr. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, watching me with half-lidded eyes. "I can feel you pulsing~"

I choke on a moan, my cock throbbing between her breasts. She knows. So she slows down. "Jihyo—please—" Her grin is downright wicked. "Please what, baby?" The sensation is unbearable—every nerve in my body is screaming, my balls drawn up tight, my release hovering just on the edge of oblivion.

And then—"Cum." That’s all she says. One word. One command. And I break.

My orgasm crashes over me like a fucking tidal wave—my back arcs off the couch, my cock exploding between her tits with thick, messy ropes of cum. It splatters across her collarbones, her chest, her chin—some even lands in her dark, tousled hair. But she doesn’t stop.

Her hands keep moving, her tits sliding up and down my oversensitive cock, milking out every. Last. Drop. until I’m shuddering and whining, my eyelids fluttering from the sheer overload of pleasure.

Then—She leans down, her lips wrapping around the head of my cock in one filthy suck, her tongue swirling to gather the last streaks of cum clinging to me. The sensation is too much—I gasp, my hips jerking weakly against her mouth as she hums in satisfaction.

When she pulls back, her lips are sticky and swollen, her face glazed with my cum. "Mmm," she muses, licking her lips deliberately. "I love how much you adore me~" I slump back, boneless and ruined, my chest heaving. God, I love this woman.

Jihyo sways toward the vanity, her hips rolling with every step, the sheer black overlay of her shorts fluttering like a dark halo around her thighs. The mirror catches her reflection—cum still glistening on her chin, her tits, the sharp line of her collarbone. She meets my gaze in the glass as her tongue darts out, slow and deliberate, licking a stripe up her palm to clean off my spent arousal.

Fuck.

Even post-nut, my cock twitches violently against my thigh.

Then—God help me—she wiggles.

A deliberate, teasing shift of her hips, the curve of her ass flexing under the tight black fabric of her shorts. The attached veil parts with the movement, giving me a glimpse of the shadow between her thighs before it falls back into place.

That’s my signal.

I’m on my feet before I can think, my jeans kicked off in a haphazard pile as I close the distance between us. Jihyo doesn’t turn—just watches me through the mirror, her lips curling as I drop to my knees behind her, my hands sliding up the backs of her thighs.

"Like what you see?" she murmurs, arching her back just enough to emphasize the round, heavy swell of her ass.

My answer is to press an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of her cheek through the fabric, nipping lightly at the silk-covered flesh. Jihyo chuckles, the sound low and throaty, before reaching back to tap my wrist.

"Off," she orders.

I don’t hesitate.

My fingers hook into the waistband of her shorts, peeling them down her legs with reverent slowness. The black silk panties underneath cling to her skin, damp with her arousal, the fabric darkened between her thighs.

Not lace today.

I groan, nuzzling the crease where her ass meets her thigh, breathing in the intoxicating mix of her sweat and the faint sweetness of whatever expensive soap she uses. My tongue drags a hot, wet stripe over the silk, tasting her through the fabric before biting the edge of the panties and tugging them down.

Jihyo gasps, her hands bracing against the vanity as I strip her completely, her shorts and panties pooling at her ankles before she kicks them aside with one graceful foot.

Then—finally—she’s bare.

And God, what a sight.

Her ass is art—full and heavy, the flesh trembling slightly as she shifts her weight. The skin here is even softer than her tits, the kind of plush that begs to be bitten, marked, worshipped. My hands squeeze greedily, kneading the supple flesh before spreading her cheeks apart, exposing the tight, pink furl of her rim.

"Fuck, Jihyo," I rasp, my thumbs tracing the delicate skin. "You’re perfect."

She shivers, her hips pushing back slightly. "Then show me," she breathes, her voice thick. "Be good for me, baby."

I don’t need to be told twice.

My tongue licks a broad, wet stripe from her soaked slit up to her asshole, savoring the way she jerks against me.

"Y/N—!"

I groan against her skin, my grip tightening as I dive back in, feasting. Her taste is addictive—heady and hers, with just the faintest hint of something floral beneath. The soap, maybe, but mostly it’s just Jihyo, warm and musky and alive under my tongue.

I eat her out like a man starved, my lips and teeth and tongue working her rim with filthy, wet devotion. Every flick, every suck makes her thighs tremble, her moans pitching higher as she grinds back against my face.

"That’s it," she purrs, one hand tangling in my hair to guide me deeper. "Just like that—fuck, you’re so good at this—"

I redouble my efforts, my nose buried in her cunt as my tongue spears into her ass, fucking her in tight little circles. The sounds alone are obscene—wet slurps, her ragged gasps, the slick slide of my mouth on her skin.

And then—

She clenches.

"I’m—ah—close," she whimpers, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—"

I don’t.

I suck her rim like I’m dying of thirst, my free hand slipping between her thighs to rub frantic circles over her clit.

Jihyo shatters with a cry, her back bowing, her ass pressing hard against my face as she cums—squeezing around my tongue like she wants to milk the pleasure straight from my bones.

When she finally slumps forward, panting, I pull back just enough to lick my lips.

"Told you," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the swell of her ass. "Perfect."

Her laugh is breathless, wrecked—beautiful. "You’re insatiable."

I grin against her skin. "Only for you."

The moment Jihyo's command leaves her lips, my entire body thrums with anticipation. My tongue drags one last lingering stripe up her soaked slit, collecting her essence like it's the finest ambrosia. Her thighs tremble against my cheeks, sticky with her arousal, as I pull back just enough to admire the glistening mess I've made of her.

"Lube me up, puppy," she purrs, arching her back to present her ass like an offering. "I want to feel every inch of you splitting me open."

Fuck.

My cock twitches violently at her words, already half-hard again despite having just come minutes ago. I reach for the discarded strawberry lube, coating my fingers thickly before pushing her cheeks apart with my thumbs. The sight alone is obscene—her tight rim clenching around nothing, her puffy pink folds glistening just below. I drizzle more lube directly onto her hole, watching as it drips down in slow, sticky rivulets.

"Look at you," I growl, pressing a single lubed fingertip against her entrance. "My exclusive little slut, begging to be stuffed in both holes like some cheap toy."

Jihyo moans, pushing back against my finger. "Shut up and fuck me already, you eager—ah~!"

Her words cut off into a sharp gasp as I sink my finger knuckle-deep into her ass, twisting slowly to stretch her. The heat is unreal, her walls clamping down like a vise as I work her open with torturous patience.

"So fucking tight," I groan, adding a second finger alongside the first. "Gonna milk my cock dry when I finally fuck this greedy hole, aren't you?"

Jihyo's breath hitches, her hips rocking back onto my fingers. "Y-yes—fuck—just like that—!"

Then—

"Vibrator. Now," she demands, jerking her chin toward her bag.

I don't hesitate.

The sleek purple toy is exactly where she said it'd be, still in its velvet pouch like some sacred relic. I flick it on, the sudden buzz slicing through the air as I kneel back between her thighs.

"DP, huh?" I smirk, trailing the vibrating tip up her soaked slit. "My perfect slut wants to be ruined tonight, is that it?"

Jihyo's answering grin is feral. "Prove you can handle me, dog."

Challenge accepted.

I press the vibrator against her clit first, relishing the way her entire body jolts, her ass clamping down on my fingers. Then—slowly—I guide it inside her pussy, inch by inch, until the base is flush against her swollen lips.

"F-FUCK!" Jihyo's nails scrape against the vanity, her reflection flushing as the vibrations ripple through her. "O-oh God—!"

I grin, twisting my fingers deeper into her ass, scissoring her open as the vibrator thrums inside her cunt. The overlapping sensations have her squirming, her thighs trembling as pleasure and overwhelm battle for dominance.

"That's it," I croon, my free hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. "Take it like the filthy little slut you are."

Jihyo whimpers, her head dropping forward. "M-more—please—!"

I oblige, adding a third finger to her ass, stretching her even wider as the vibrator fucks her pussy in relentless pulses. The sounds are disgusting—wet squelches, the slick slap of skin on skin, her broken moans echoing off the mirrors.

"Look at yourself," I said, forcing her to meet her own gaze in the mirror. "See how wrecked you are?."

Her pupils are blown, her lips parted around ragged gasps as she watches herself get devoured.

"Y-yours," she chokes out, her hips grinding back against me. "Always—ah~!— yours!"

The moment Jihyo gives the command to fuck her now, my body moves on instinct. I rise from kneeling behind her, my hands gripping the supple swell of her asscheeks, spreading her wide to admire the intoxicating sight—her lubed, fluttering rim, the vibrator buzzing obscenely in her pussy just below, her thighs glistening with sweat and arousal.

I coat my cock with the remaining lube in my palm, mysing slightly at the sensitivity from my earlier release. But the moment the thick head of my length presses against her tight entrance, all discomfort fades.

"F-fuck—Y/N—!" Jihyo chokes out as I push in, her back arching like a bowstring, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the vanity.

I groan, my forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as her ass clenches around me, the heat unbearable, the pressure perfect.

"God, Jihyo—" My voice is ragged, reverent. "You feel unreal."

She lets out a shaky laugh, her muscles fluttering as I bottom out, my hips flush against her ass. "Nnn—f-full—"

I give her a moment to adjust—just a moment—before pulling back and thrusting in again. The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, each snap of my hips making the vibrator shift inside her pussy, the dual sensations drawing broken whimpers from her lips.

Then—

A knock at the door.

"Jihyo-ssi?" TWICE's manager calls, his voice muffled but clear enough through the soundproofing. "Are you okay in there? I thought I heard—"

Jihyo's breath hitches, her entire body locking up around me.

For a heartbeat, time stops.

Then—

"I-I'm fine, Manager-nim!" she calls back, her voice remarkably steady despite the way her ass spasms around my cock. "Just—ah!—just practicing... vocalizations for TTT tomorrow! We have a singing game, no?"

Holy shit.

My hands tighten on her hips, my thrusts stuttering at the sheer audacity of her.

She grins at me in the mirror, her eyes dark with challenge.

Keep going.

Her lips shape the words silently, her hips rolling back against me in emphasis.

I obey.

"Y-yeah," she continues, her voice only slightly strained as I begin fucking her in earnest, my cock splitting her ass open with every deep stroke. "The—nngh~!—the concept is really fun, so I got... carried away."

The manager chuckles outside, unaware. "Always so dedicated. How time do you need for the girls to be ready tomorrow?"

Jihyo's fingers dig into the vanity, her knuckles white as my pace quickens, the slap of skin on skin growing louder.

"Hah—early," she manages, her voice dripping with faux professionalism. "We should—oh!—start makeup by 8 AM. The lighting—f-fuck—the lighting is best then."

I can't help the whimper that escapes me, my hands sliding up her sweat-slick back to brace her.

"You're insane," I breathe against her skin, my voice barely audible.

She preens, her ass clenching around me. "And you love it."

"God, I do," I groan, my thrusts turning filthier, deeper, my cock pressing against the vibrator through the thin wall separating her holes. "You’re perfect."

Jihyo shudders, her next words to the manager coming out in a rush. "C-call time is 7:30 AM! Sharp! Ah!—I mean—please."

A pause. Then—

"...Right," the manager says slowly. "You sure you’re okay? Your voice sounds... strained."

Jihyo’s jaw tightens, her thighs trembling as I hit just the right spot, my cock grinding against her prostate with every stroke.

"I’m—hah—great," she grits out, her nails scraping the wood. "Just—ngh!—passionate about the shoot!"

Another pause. Then—

"Okay… Well, don’t overdo it," the manager says, footsteps retreating. "See you tomorrow."

The second the footsteps fade, Jihyo collapses forward, her chest heaving.

"Fuck," she pants, her voice wrecked. "That was—ah!—so hot."

I laugh, breathless, my pace never slowing. "You’re a menace."

She grins over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. "And you’re mine."

The moment Jihyo reaches between her thighs and pulls the vibrator free, a lewd schlick fills the dressing room as her juices drip onto the floor. The toy buzzes in her hand, slick with her arousal, before she drops it onto the vanity with a wet clatter.

”F-focus on me now,” she gasps, her voice trembling as my cock continues to pound into her ass, each thrust burying me to the hilt. ”No distractions.”

I groan, my hands tightening on her hips. ”Couldn’t think of anything but you.”

And it’s the truth.

Her ass is like fire around me—tight, velvet heat squeezing my cock with every snap of my hips. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes in the small space, punctuated by Jihyo’s ragged breaths.

She’s close.

I can feel it—the way her muscles flutter, the way her fingers claw at the vanity’s edge as pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside her.

”Y/N—!” she whimpers, her back arching. ”I’m—ah!—I’m gonna—!”

Then, with a choked cry, she shatters.

Her orgasm hits like a tidal wave—her walls clamping around me as her body jerks, her thighs trembling violently. A rush of liquid spills from her pussy, splattering onto the floor in a filthy, unrestrained squirt, her juices dripping down her legs as she whines through the pleasure.

”G-god, look at you,” I rasp, my thrusts turning slower, deeper, savoring the way she pulses around me. ”So perfect like this.”

Jihyo mewls, her head dropping forward, her hair sticking to her flushed skin. ”Nnn—more—!”

But I’m not done.

Not even close.

”Tell me what you need,” I murmur, my cock throbbing inside her, my own release creeping up my spine.

She whimpers, her nails digging into the wood. ”F-fuck me harder—please—!”

I don’t hesitate.

My grip on her hips turns bruising as I ram into her, my pace turning vicious, my cock pistoning into her ass with unforgiving strokes.

”Like this?” I growl, my blunt nails leaving crescent marks on her skin.

”Y-yes—fuck—!”

Jihyo’s entire body shakes, her fingers scrambling for purchase before she grabs her bag from the table and bites down on the leather strap, muffling her screams as I destroy her.

The sound alone is filthy—her choked moans, the wet slap of flesh, the way her ass gapes around me with every withdrawal.

I could cum now.

Should cum now.

But I don’t.

Not until she tells me to.

”Y/N—!” she sobs, her voice breaking. ”I—I n-need it—please—!”

And that’s when I lose control.

My hips stutter, my cock pulsing inside her as I bury myself to the hilt, my release exploding deep in her ass.

Rope after rope of cum floods her, my vision whiting out as pleasure wrecks me, my body convulsing against hers.

Jihyo gasps, her own climax crashing over her again as she milks me through it, her walls fluttering desperately around my cock.

When it’s over, we both collapse—her onto the vanity, me against her back—our breaths ragged, our bodies drenched in sweat and cum.

For a long moment, silence stretches between us.

Then—

Jihyo laughs, breathless, her voice wrecked.

”...We destroyed the floor.”

The moment my cock slips free from her ass, Jihyo hisses, her body swaying slightly as thick ropes of my cum drip down her thighs. She turns sharply, her dark eyes narrowing—but the flush on her cheeks and the way her lips twitch betray her faux annoyance.

"Look what you did," she groans, limping slightly as she steps toward me. Her voice is still honey-thick with pleasure, despite the scolding tone. "I have a performance in two hours, and now I’m gonna feel you every time I move on stage."

I grin, reaching for her before she collapses onto my lap, her back pressing against my chest. The warmth of her skin bleeds into mine, her body curling into me like she belongs there—because she does.

"Mm, I know," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "But you asked for it."

She pinches my thigh, her head tilting back to glare at me. "I asked for a little fun—not for you to ruin me so hard I limp!"

I chuckle, wrapping my arms around her waist as she grumbles, shifting slightly before deliberately arching her back. Then—God help me—she reaches behind herself, spreading her asscheeks apart to reveal the swollen, gaping rim still glistening with my cum.

"See?" she huffs, wiggling slightly. "It’s your fault."

My breath catches.

Even wrecked, even used, she’s stunning—her body a canvas of my devotion, marked inside and out.

"I love you," I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Jihyo freezes.

Then—

Her expression softens, her fingers loosening their grip on her flesh as she turns her face toward mine. "...I know," she whispers, her lips brushing my jaw. "That’s why I let you do stupid shit like this."

I laugh, my hands smoothing up her thighs, kneading the tender muscle there. "Need me to clean you up?"

She hums, settling more firmly against me. "In a minute."

For a long while, we just sit like that—her weight grounding me, my heartbeat steady against her back. The dressing room is a mess—lube bottles tipped over, her discarded shorts crumpled near the door, the scent of sex thick in the air—but none of that matters.

Not when she’s like this.

Soft.

Mine.

Eventually, she sighs, nudging my arm. "Okay, now you can clean me up."

I grin, reaching for the towel on the couch. "Yes, Leader-nim."

She snorts, leaning into my touch as I gently wipe away the evidence of our sins—her thighs, her ass, the ache between them—before pressing another kiss to the nape of her neck.

"You're impossible," she murmurs, but there's no heat in it.

"And you love me for it," I tease.

Jihyo turns, her fingers threading through my hair as she drags me into a real kiss—slow, deep, promising.

"...Yeah," she breathes against my lips. "I do."

Time stretches like honey between us—thick, slow, sweet.

Jihyo’s weight is warm against my chest, her breathing steady as I trace idle patterns over her hip. The dressing room is still a mess—towels strewn about, the faint scent of sex lingering in the air—but none of it matters. Not when she’s curled into me like this, her fingers lazily threading through mine.

"We should get dressed," she murmurs, though she makes no move to pull away.

I hum, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "Yeah. You’ve got a show to win."

She groans, tilting her face up to glare at me. "Don’t remind me."

I laugh, but I don’t argue.

Instead, I help her up, my hands lingering on her waist as she steadies herself. Her legs are still shaky, her thighs glistening with the remnants of our earlier activities, but she’s glowing—her skin flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes alive with satisfaction.

"Lucky your clothes survived," I tease, grabbing my discarded t-shirt and jeans.

Jihyo rolls her eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. "Lucky you didn’t rip them this time."

I grin, pulling my shirt over my head before turning my attention to her.

She stands there, unashamed, letting me look my fill—her body a masterpiece of soft curves and sharp edges, marked only by the faint red imprints of my fingers on her hips.

I reach for the damp towel first, gently wiping away the last traces of cum from her thighs, her stomach, the ache between her legs. She shivers under my touch but doesn’t pull away, her breath hitching when my thumb brushes just too close to her oversensitive clit.

"Y/N," she warns, but it’s half-hearted.

"Just making sure you’re clean," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her hipbone before straightening.

She scoffs but doesn’t argue.

Next, the clothes.

Her backup panties—black lace this time, always prepared—slide up her legs with ease, the fabric snug against her still-throbbing core. I take my time adjusting them, my fingers tracing the waistband before I reach for her bra.

"Arms up," I instruct, and she obeys, letting me fasten the clasp behind her back.

It’s domestic, almost routine—the way I help her into her stage outfit, smoothing out the fabric, adjusting the straps, making sure everything is perfect.

Because it has to be.

She’s TWICE’s leader first.

Mine second.

But when I step back to admire my handiwork, she looks flawless—her makeup retouched, her hair tousled just enough to look intentional, her clothes hiding every trace of what we’ve done.

Professional.

Untouchable.

Mine.

"You’re staring," she says, her voice softer now. But that teasing up-lift of her betrayed her amusement.

I don’t deny it. "Can’t help it."

Jihyo smiles, stepping closer until her palms rest against my chest. "I have to go."

"I know."

But neither of us moves.

Not until she surges forward, her lips crashing into mine with a fierceness that steals my breath.

This kiss isn’t gentle.

It’s claiming.

Possessive.

Her tongue licks into my mouth, her teeth nipping at my lower lip, her fingers tightening in my shirt like she’s memorizing the feel of me.

And I let her.

I let her take—because she owns me, body and soul.

When she finally pulls away, her breath is ragged, her eyes dark with promises.

"Tonight," she murmurs, her thumb brushing my bottom lip. "Bathroom. Don’t dare fall asleep before I get home."

I grin, catching her wrist to press a kiss to her pulse. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

She smirks, stepping back—TWICE’s leader again, untouchable—before turning toward the door.

"Oh, and Y/N?" she calls over her shoulder, pausing just long enough to throw me a look. "Wear the cuffs."

Then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And I’m left standing there, my heart pounding, my skin still burning from her touch.

God, I love this woman of mine

(A/N: This is one of my favourite outfit of Hyo 🦄✨💝)

#twice #nayeon #jeongyeon #momo #sana #jihyo #mina #dahyun #chaeyoung #tzuyu #twice jihyo #jihyo smut #twice smut #twice x male reader #park jihyo #girl group smut

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hrrtshape · 2 months ago

Note

How would I use your anti method as a sleep method? Explain it to me like I’m dumb lmao I am struggling

falling asleep and realising you were always in your dr...perhaps you just forgot.

hello, hello, welcome back to hrrtshape explains her method but not method, her grand unified theory of "oh wait, i was here the whole time," her realisation that you've never actually been not there.

so!!! when you ask me how to "use" my anti-method, you are implying there's something to do. and there isn’t. there is, instead, something to un-do. something to unlearn. something to let drop, like a bad habit or a useless thought or the last act of a play that should've ended fifteen minutes ago. the problem isn’t getting there. the problem is that you think you aren’t there already.

please, for me, imagine this. you're on a train. except, plot twist, you forgot you ever got on it. you're sitting there, nose pressed to the window, frantically checking maps, wondering where the station is, wondering when you’re going to arrive. but the train is moving. it’s always been moving. it's been moving so smoothly you didn't even realise. and now??? now you just need to look up and notice the view.

the sleep method is the easiest way to do this because sleep is, by its very nature, a surrender. you can try to chase it all you like, but eventually it catches you by the wrist and pulls you under. so the move here, the elegant pivot, the last-second ballet of the mind, is this: don't chase. just accept.

don't "fall asleep to shift." don't "use" sleep as a bridge. sleep isn’t a bridge. sleep is the river. and you are already midstream. you don’t need to cross it; you just need to stop struggling and let it take you.

which means... you get into bed. you do whatever it is you do when you go to sleep, none of this "am i doing it right" business, none of this over-analysis, none of this breath-held, teeth-clenched hoping. just sleep. the way you do every night. and instead of treating sleep like a thing that has to deliver you somewhere, treat it like the proof that you are already there. because you are. always have been.

and if your brain starts doing that thing where it panics, where it clutches at the sides, where it spirals into "but what if i'm doing it wrong," remind it, gently but firmly, that there is nothing to do wrong. that this is not a puzzle to be solved, not a lock to be picked, not a riddle that requires a clever answer. you are the answer. you are the destination. you are already on the train.

the trick isn’t getting there. the trick is remembering you never left.

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edenesth · 4 months ago

Text

The Paradox of Us

Pairing: Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 8.1k

Summary: Relationships are rarely as simple as they seem. It becomes heartbreakingly complicated when two souls, bound by a love that still burns bright, come to realise that sometimes, love alone may not be enough to keep them together.

A/N: Seonghwa's 踊り子 (odoriko) cover has been on repeat since the moment it came out. I couldn't get it out of my mind and just knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't write anything inspired by it.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"I don't love you."

Strangely, those words would have been easier to bear. But instead, you heard the ones that shattered you in ways you never thought possible: "I love you so much... but we can't go on like this anymore."

The ache was unbearable, as if your heart was tearing itself apart with every replay of his broken voice in your mind. You would have preferred if he had said his love had faded, that the spark was gone. At least then, you could grieve, accept, and move forward. But no—he still loved you. Deeply. And that cruel truth left you stuck in a purgatory of emotions, unable to let go.

Yet, you understood him. You always did. And perhaps that was the most painful part of all—knowing he was right. You had felt it too, this growing divide neither of you could bridge. But you hadn't been brave enough to say it aloud, to admit that love wasn't enough to hold together two people who simply weren't meant to be.

So, he said it for you. And now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been, and the love that would never quite fade.

"It'll be alright, sweetie. Time heals everything," your mother murmured, her hand gently rubbing your back as you blinked away tears and refused to meet her gaze. Her tone was soft, even comforting, but you couldn't stand it—not when she sat there pretending she hadn't played a pivotal role in this heartbreak. You could almost feel her satisfaction simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind her facade of concern. After all, hadn't she always believed he would never measure up? That he was never good enough for you?

You hated it—hated her.

Hated how she had turned your relationship with him into a battlefield, her disapproval so loud, so ever-present, that it became impossible for him to feel at home in your life. How dare she sit beside you now, feigning sorrow, when her constant criticisms had planted the seed of doubt that grew into the conclusion you dreaded? How dare she, of all people, offer comfort when she had made you believe that love—your greatest love—wasn't enough?

Her words echoed in your mind, the ones she'd repeated time and time again: "Love and compatibility aren't the same. Love is powerful, yes, but relationships are more than just feelings—they require shared values, aligned goals, and practical compatibility." She had said it so often that it became a mantra, one you tried to ignore until it became impossible.

And then there was him.

You hated him too—hated him for giving in, for not fighting harder, for agreeing with everyone else. For being too selfless, too considerate, too good. He'd always told you, "Family comes first. Everything else—including me—comes second." You hated that he meant it. Hated that he let you go because he believed it was the right thing to do, the thing that would hurt the least.

But most of all, you hated yourself.

Hated yourself for knowing, deep down, that they were all right. That maybe love really wasn't enough. You hated yourself for being too afraid to defy them, too afraid to risk it all for him. While he was brave enough to let you go, and your mother was relentless in her convictions, you had been the coward. You let everyone else make the choice for you because you couldn't bear to make it yourself.

And now, you were left with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of what-ifs and the haunting ache of knowing you had lost not because you didn't love enough, but because you hadn't been brave enough to fight for that love.

"The right person will come along," she said softly. You pressed your eyes shut, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Without another word, you pushed yourself up from the dining chair, leaving your barely touched meal behind, and headed to your room.

Before you could step through the door, her voice followed you, cutting through the air like a knife. "You'll thank me one day when you meet a man who can give you all the things that boy never could."

Your fists clenched as you slammed the door shut behind you. Sliding down to the floor with your back against the wood, you let her words fester. Maybe she was right. You weren't getting any younger. Around you, friends and cousins were all settling down with partners your mother would call 'suitable.' And you hated it—hated that, in her eyes, Seonghwa could never be that person for you.

But then, the thought struck: you were your mother's daughter. How much of this was truly her fault? At some point, hadn't you begun to believe her? Slowly, insidiously, her words had taken root in your mind. You did this. To him, to yourself.

You remembered watching others build their perfect, storybook lives with partners who ticked every box society demanded. And you wondered—quietly at first, then louder—if you and Seonghwa could ever achieve the same. Could he be that for you? Could you be that for him?

It wasn't fair. Not to him, not to you. You hated yourself for the way doubt crept in, for how your mother's voice echoed in your head, pointing out the cracks and differences you had tried so hard to ignore. You hated yourself for wishing things could be different, for swallowing those thoughts because you loved him too much to ask him to change. He was who he was—his own person.

How could you ask him to mould himself into someone your mother would approve of? Someone society deemed 'right' for you? And if he did, would he even be the man you fell in love with?

It was those questions, those doubts, that began to live rent-free in your mind. Bit by bit, they widened the gap between you. And Seonghwa wasn't blind. He saw it. He felt it.

"You deserve someone better—someone who can give you so much more," he had said that final night, his voice breaking under the weight of goodbye.

It was your fault—your doubts, your actions, your silence. They had pushed him to that conclusion. And now, as the door behind you trembled with your suppressed sobs, you wondered: How dare you blame your mother for what you had done to him? To yourself?

How dare you?

"Gaming at San's place next, you coming?" Wooyoung asked, tossing a napkin onto the table as everyone scrambled to leave. The ridiculous game they'd invented—where the last one to leave had to pay the bill—had everyone laughing and darting for the exit.

Seonghwa's smile barely touched his lips as he shook his head and reached for his wallet. "Go on with them. I'll cover it."

The younger man hesitated, glancing at him before blurting out, "Dude, you can't always give in like this. Your poor financial planning skills are exactly why she left you."

The table fell silent, the air suddenly heavy. Wooyoung's grin faltered as he realised what he'd said, too late to take it back. Seonghwa didn't flinch outwardly, but the words sliced deep because they were true. Partly, at least.

It wasn't like he made much, not compared to the rest of his friends with their steady corporate jobs. And yet, he wasn't careful with what little he had. You had always been the one saving, planning, building a future he could barely contribute to. People his age were buying cars, investing in property, making strides toward a stable life. But he wasn't like them. He had chased his passion as a figurine crafter—a dream that didn't come with a steady paycheck—and he'd known the risks. Your mother was right: you deserved someone who could offer you the stability he never could.

"Hey, man," Wooyoung said quickly, guilt colouring his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I got the bill already, so don't worry about it. Just come with us tonight, yeah? Relax a little."

But the eldest only gave a faint shake of his head. The apology didn't soften the truth of the remark. He was the reason things fell apart. Not because he didn't love you enough—he loved you too much—but because love wasn't enough.

He'd failed you. Failed to provide the kind of life you deserved. He couldn't believe you'd even agreed to be with him in the first place, so different were your worlds. Your family background, your education, your values, your ambitions—they all set you apart. He had nothing to offer someone like you. And yet, he had been selfish enough to hold on, to want you despite knowing he could never measure up.

He should have worked harder. Should have tried to step up and be the man you needed. But he hadn't, because deep down, he knew he couldn't. Perhaps he had always known it wouldn't last. That one day, you'd wake up and realise the same.

You didn't leave right away. You stayed longer than he deserved. And when you finally began pulling away, when the signs became impossible to ignore, he had to let go. It wasn't courage that made him end it—it was inevitability.

"Come with us, hyung," Wooyoung tried again, his voice gentler this time.

But Seonghwa shook his head once more. "You guys go ahead without me. I... I have somewhere to be."

It was a lie, and they all knew it. He had nowhere to be. Nowhere that mattered, at least. Just his empty apartment, where the echoes of your absence would greet him like old, familiar ghosts.

He didn't care if they saw through the lie. What mattered was that he deserved this—the loneliness, the self-pity, the regret. He had almost broken you apart from your family because he was selfish enough to believe his love was enough. He had almost stolen your future because he couldn't face the truth.

But now, it was over. You had given him the courage to do what was right in the end. He was grateful for that. Grateful you'd started pulling away. Grateful you'd given him the signs. Grateful you'd broken his heart with the words he couldn't bear to say himself.

It's time.

Time to stop pretending.

Time to let you go.

Time to let the misery end.

Yes, let it all go. Let the misery end.

He repeated the words in his head like a chant as he drove, gripping the steering wheel tighter with each mile. The familiar streets blurred past him, their lights shimmering in his tear-filled eyes. He swiped at his face with his sleeve, but the tears kept coming, warm and unrelenting. He hated himself for it. Hated that, even now, he could almost see you sitting beside him, your laughter echoing faintly in his memory.

These night drives had been your sanctuary. Just you and him, wrapped in the quiet of the world, as if nothing else mattered. Not the expectations, not the disapproving glances, not the relentless whispers about how you two didn't belong together. It had always been just you and him against everything.

But now, it was just him.

He didn't dare glance at the passenger seat. He couldn't bear the sight of its emptiness, couldn't face the truth of your absence. His mind played cruel tricks on him, filling the silence with phantom conversations, fleeting glimpses of your smile.

Everything around him reminded him of you. The way the streetlights hit the pavement, the faint smell of your favourite perfume lingering in his car, the songs on the radio you'd sing along to when you thought he wasn't paying attention. He wanted to escape it, but he knew going home would only make it worse.

Home.

The word felt hollow now. How could it be home when you weren't there? Every corner of that apartment held traces of you—the books you'd stacked neatly on the shelf, the coffee mug you always left on the counter, the sheets that still carried the faintest scent of your shampoo. He knew he should let those remnants go, pack them away, make it easier to move on. But the thought of erasing you felt like losing you all over again.

As the weight of it all pressed down on him, he slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road. His hands trembled as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the cool leather grounding him for just a moment.

Is this hurting you too?

He wondered if you were struggling as much as he was. Part of him selfishly hoped you were, that you missed him the way he missed you. But another part—the part that loved you more than he loved himself—hoped you were finding peace. Hoped you were happier without him, that his decision to let you go had given you the chance to find the stability, the life, you deserved.

Clutching a hand to his chest, he finally let the tears fall freely. The ache in his heart felt unbearable, like a piece of him had been ripped away and might never grow back. Would he ever be okay again? Would he ever know happiness without you?

He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. But he told himself, over and over, that this was the right thing to do. It didn't matter if he was happy. It didn't matter if he felt whole again. All that mattered was you. And as he sat there, broken and lost, he prayed you were finding the happiness he couldn't give you, even if it meant he would never find it again.

It's okay... she'll find the right person now.

The right person. Who even decided what that meant? Who had the authority to label someone as right or wrong for you?

Maybe it was the lingering ache for Park Seonghwa, the way his name still carried the weight of memories you hadn't yet learned to let go. Or maybe it was the frustration bubbling inside you, resentment toward your parents for tricking you into meeting this man—the son of your father's business partner—the one they couldn't stop praising.

Jung Yunho, the perfect man, as they called him. He was everything they'd ever wanted for you, a textbook example of stability, charm, and success. But the problem wasn't him. It was you. You weren't ready, not yet. Maybe not ever. Years had passed since the breakup, but the ghost of what you had with Seonghwa still clung to you, a shadow that even time couldn't chase away.

"Hey," Yunho's voice pulled you back from your spiralling thoughts. His gaze, warm and sincere, met yours as he leaned in slightly. "You feeling alright?"

Caught off guard, you glanced down at your untouched plate of steak and managed a small nod. "I'm fine, don't worry about me."

But he didn't look convinced. Instead, his lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile—the kind that could probably disarm anyone, just not you. "How could I not, when such a pretty lady is sulking before me?" he teased gently. Before you could reply, he reached across the table, taking your plate without hesitation. "Here, let me help you."

With careful precision, he began cutting the steak into neat, bite-sized pieces. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, and yet it left you feeling hollow. It wasn't the act itself—it was the way it lacked the weight of familiarity.

Seonghwa used to do the same thing, but it had always been different with him. He'd grumble playfully about how you'd never learn to do it yourself, though he never minded doing it for you. His hands were smaller, more delicate, and you'd always find yourself staring at the faint scars from his crafts. Yunho's hands, while steady and practised, didn't hold the same history.

"All done," Yunho said cheerfully, sliding the plate back to you. "Now you have no excuse not to eat."

You forced a polite smile, murmuring a quiet "thank you" as you picked up your fork. Yunho didn't seem to notice the distant look in your eyes, or perhaps he was kind enough not to point it out.

He was wonderful. Thoughtful, patient, and sincere. By all accounts, he was the right person. But as you sat there, forcing yourself to chew, you couldn't help but wonder:

What if the right person wasn't the one who checked all the boxes? What if they were the one who didn't, but still felt like home?

The rest of the night crawled by like a snail, every passing second stretching unbearably long. You shifted in your seat, wishing you were anywhere but here. Yunho was a great guy—attentive, charming, and genuinely kind. But that only made it worse. He deserved someone who could meet his enthusiasm with equal fervour, someone who didn't have her mind wandering to someone else entirely.

You sighed quietly, pushing your barely touched drink to the side. What the hell was wrong with you? This was what you'd agreed to, wasn't it? This was what you'd sacrificed so much for. Years ago, you walked away from the love of your life because it felt like the right thing to do, to pursue the kind of stability and compatibility everyone insisted was more important than love alone. And now here it was, right in front of you.

The right person.

Yet, as you glanced at Jung Yunho's radiant smile, so effortlessly warm, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him felt less like the happy ending you'd envisioned and more like a cage. A beautiful, gilded cage that offered everything a woman could ever ask for—security, stability, admiration. Everything except the one thing your heart still longed for.

All you could ever find inside yourself was the same man you'd tried so hard to let go of.

Park Seonghwa.

Your chest tightened at the thought of him, your mind betraying you with memories you'd worked so hard to bury. You wondered how he was doing, though it wasn't as if you hadn't heard. Mutual friends kept you updated more than you cared to admit, their words painting glimpses of a life that no longer included you.

You'd heard he was finally making progress with his work, his passion—the very thing you'd once defended but later doubted. He'd opened a small store, modest but filled with so much of himself. It sold various collectable art pieces: action figures, miniatures for tabletop games, and custom character figurines crafted with meticulous care. Fans of Star Wars and Animal Crossing flocked to him, drawn to the detail and love that radiated from every piece he touched.

And you were proud of him. God, you were so proud of him.

He'd stayed true to himself, despite all the judgement, all the whispers about how he'd never make it, how he'd never be good enough. He'd proved them wrong. He'd built something meaningful, something entirely his own. You were happy for him, truly, but beneath that happiness lay an ache you couldn't ignore. You regretted not being there to witness it, to cheer for him when he finally achieved what he'd always dreamed of.

But maybe that wasn't what he wanted. For all you knew, he'd moved on, found someone who stayed by his side through all the highs and lows. Someone who loved him openly and without reservation, who didn't make him feel like he'd never measure up.

Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe he'd sworn off love entirely after the way things ended between you two.

Either way, you couldn't blame him. You wouldn't blame him. Not after the pain you'd both endured.

Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to the present. "Is... everything okay? You've been quiet tonight." His concern was genuine, his eyes soft with worry, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

But deep down, you knew you weren't fine. And you didn't know if you ever would be.

"How much for that one?"

The tiny voice drew Seonghwa's attention, and he glanced down at the little girl standing on tiptoes, her small finger pointing eagerly at the figurine encased behind the counter. It was the only one displayed under glass, like a prized treasure—and in a way, it was.

He hummed, his eyes softening as he turned to look at the figure in question. The Kuromi figurine sat proudly on the top shelf, right next to the LED sign that glowed softly with his store's name: Star Mars. The design was intricate, every detail was carefully crafted with love and precision.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said gently, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "That one's not for sale. It's reserved for someone very special."

The little girl pouted, her lips forming a perfect curve of disappointment, and his heart melted a little. But no amount of adorable pouting—or even persuasive whining—could ever convince him to sell it.

That Kuromi figurine wasn't just a piece of art; it was a promise, a memory frozen in time. It was one of the first figurines he'd perfected, the culmination of years of practice and the relentless pursuit of his passion. He'd made it as a gift for you—his favourite girl.

It still is yours, if only you wanted it.

The child's father stepped forward, lifting her into his arms as he gave Seonghwa an apologetic bow. "Don't worry about her, Mr Park. I'll convince her to go with the Isabelle one instead."

Seonghwa chuckled softly, standing upright as he waved off the father's concern. "No problem at all. Isabelle's a great choice," he said, though his eyes lingered briefly on the Kuromi figurine.

As the father and daughter moved on to browse the other displays, Seonghwa found himself lost in thought. He didn't display that piece out of pride or for show—it was there because it reminded him of you. Of the nights you'd spend sitting cross-legged on the floor of his studio, playfully teasing him about his obsession with getting every detail just right.

"She looks like you," he'd said when he showed it to you for the first time. You'd laughed, brushing it off, but the glint of affection in your eyes told him you secretly loved the comparison.

He'd planned to give it to you on your birthday, but the timing never felt right. And then, before he knew it, you were gone.

The bell above the door jingled, the familiar sound slicing through the haze of his thoughts and yanking him back to the present. He straightened up, plastering on the polite smile he reserved for customers, though the weight in his chest never eased.

"Good evening! Welcome to…" His voice faltered mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat as his entire world screeched to a halt.

There you were.

It had been years, but time seemed to melt away the moment his eyes landed on you. You stood there in the soft glow of his store lights, more beautiful than he remembered—if that were even possible. Your silk dress shimmered gently with each subtle movement, an elegant coat draped effortlessly over your shoulders. The once long hair he used to run his fingers through was now cropped to your shoulders, framing your face in a way that made you look older, wiser—but still you.

Even after all this time, his heart betrayed him. It thundered in his chest, each beat screaming your name. He clenched his fist tightly at his side, willing himself to stay rooted where he stood. Every fibre of his being ached to run to you, to close the distance, but he couldn't. He shouldn't.

Slowly, shakily, he mustered a smile, though it felt like his heart might burst from the sheer force of its racing. Then, to his astonishment—and heartbreak—you returned it. A soft, familiar curve of your lips that nearly undid him.

But then, it fell apart.

The moment shattered as a tall, striking man stepped in behind you. He moved with easy confidence, his presence commanding attention as if the universe itself had tilted slightly to make room for him. Without hesitation, his hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

"See anything you like?" the man asked, his deep voice carrying the warmth of intimacy as he looked down at you.

You blinked, startled, as if shaken from a dream. "Oh… I was just…" Your voice trailed off as your gaze flicked back to your ex-boyfriend, lingering for a moment longer than it should have.

Seonghwa's smile faltered, but he quickly schooled his expression, burying the ache that clawed at his chest. He nodded politely, forcing himself to focus on the customer standing in front of him—the both of you.

The Kuromi figurine sat silently on its shelf, bathed in soft light, waiting for a moment that might never come. The air inside the store suddenly felt stifling. Seonghwa stood behind the counter, his hands gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Welcome to Star Mars," he said, his voice steady but his smile trembling under the weight of emotions. He forced it wider, hoping it would mask the whirlwind within. "It's been a while. How have you been?" His heart clenched as the words left his mouth. He wanted to sound casual, as though you were just another customer, but he couldn't. You weren't just anyone. You never had been.

You gave him a hesitant smile, one that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I've been good. How about you?"

Before he could answer, the man beside you—tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding warmth—stepped forward, his curiosity evident. "Oh, you two know each other? What a small world!" His voice was friendly, his smile sincere, and Seonghwa's chest tightened further.

He should feel relief. This man, presumably your boyfriend—or worse, your fiancé—seemed perfect for you. He was everything Seonghwa had wanted for you when he stepped away, believing he could never give you the life you deserved. And yet, it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him.

You cleared your throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, this is Seonghwa. He's... an old friend of mine."

Old friend. The words landed like a punch to his stomach, but he kept his composure.

The man extended a hand toward him, his smile unwavering. "I'm Yunho. It's nice to meet you! Next time my nieces and nephews need new toys, I'll know who to come to."

Seonghwa took his hand, shaking it firmly while managing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too." His gaze flickered back to you, catching the way you avoided meeting his eyes.

As if on cue, Yunho's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he excused himself, stepping outside to take the call. For the first time since you'd entered, the air felt heavy with unspoken words.

You turned back to your ex, your eyes meeting his briefly before dropping to the counter. "Congratulations... Seonghwa," you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a fragile memory. "It's good to see how far you've come."

He nodded slowly, his smile softer now, though the ache in his eyes remained. "Thank you. And... congratulations to you as well," he said, glancing toward the window where Yunho stood. "He seems amazing."

The kindness in his tone made it hurt even more.

"No," you blurted, shaking your head. "He's not... we're just... friends. I don't..." Your words faltered, your voice trembling. "I'm not with anyone."

His brows lifted in surprise, but he stayed silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. You wished he'd say something, anything, but the way his eyes softened, brimming with a mix of emotions—relief, hesitation, and something deeper—was answer enough.

Your breath hitched when your gaze landed on the figurine behind him. Kuromi. Encased in glass, displayed on the highest shelf. You remembered the countless hours he'd spent perfecting it, the way he'd proudly shown you the finished piece.

He still kept it.

Before you could find the courage to ask why, Yunho reappeared, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. "Hey, sorry to cut your little catch-up session short, but something urgent came up at work, and I—"

Seonghwa straightened, his polite smile snapping back into place. "Of course, don't let me keep you."

Your heart sank as he turned to you, bowing slightly. "It was nice seeing you again."

You forced a smile, though your chest ached with everything left unsaid. "It was nice seeing you too."

As you followed Yunho out, you couldn't resist glancing back one last time. Your eyes met Seonghwa's, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as though a thousand words passed between you.

Regret. Longing. Love.

The bell above the door jingled again as you stepped out, your heart heavy with the weight of the encounter. Yunho was quiet as he drove, his hands steady on the wheel. The silence between you felt thick, almost suffocating, but you didn't know what to say. How could you explain the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you without sounding selfish or ungrateful?

"It's him, isn't it?" Yunho's voice broke through your thoughts, soft but resolute.

Your head snapped toward him, your heart pounding in panic. "What… what do you mean?" you stammered, the guilt already clawing its way to the surface.

He sighed, pulling the car to a gentle stop in front of your home. Turning to face you, he gave you a small, knowing smile. "The man from the store. Park Seonghwa, right? He's the one you've been thinking about all night. Tell me if I'm wrong."

Your breath caught, your hands fumbling with the seatbelt as you tried to come up with a response. But the look in his eyes told you that lying wasn't an option. "I…" You paused, finally managing to unfasten the seatbelt, but your words seemed caught in your throat. "I'm sorry, Yunho. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He leaned back with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologise. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I knew from the beginning that you weren't exactly thrilled about this arrangement, but I still went along with it, hoping… I don't know, that maybe something would change."

You felt tears sting your eyes, and you turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "You deserve better than this," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Hey." He reached out, his hand covering yours with a comforting warmth. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, you turned back to him, your vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You don't owe me anything," he said gently. "This… whatever this was supposed to be, it wouldn't have worked if both of us weren't fully in it. And that's okay. You know why?"

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

"Because this decision—choosing who you want to be with—it's for you, not for your parents, not for me, and certainly not for anyone else. It should never be about what people think or what they want. It's your life. Live it for yourself."

His words struck you like a bolt of lightning, unravelling years of self-doubt and regret. He was right. How had you allowed yourself to be swept up in everyone else's expectations, losing sight of what truly mattered to you?

You sat back in your seat, letting his words sink in, feeling a strange mix of guilt and liberation. After a long moment, you nodded, your voice steadier now. "Thank you, Yunho. For everything."

He smiled, his eyes kind and understanding. "Go on," he said, tilting his head toward your house. "And don't let fear hold you back this time."

As you stepped out of the car, his words echoed in your mind, igniting a spark of courage you hadn't felt in years.

You turned back, watching as Yunho drove away, his figure disappearing into the night. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sliver of clarity.

It wasn't too late. You still had a choice to make. And this time, you'd make it for yourself.

The shop was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of paper as Seonghwa meticulously wrapped the Isabelle and Grogu figurines the pair of father and daughter finally agreed on getting. His movements were precise, his focus seemingly sharp, but his mind was elsewhere—stuck on the brief yet piercing encounter that had just walked out of his life again.

"That Kuromi one… it's for the pretty lady earlier, isn't it?"

The father's voice broke through Seonghwa's haze, and his hands froze briefly before resuming their task. He didn't look up, focusing instead on folding the edges of the wrapping paper with unnecessary care. "You might be right," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than intended. "But it doesn't matter if it is."

The man tilted his head, a subtle frown forming as he cradled his daughter closer. "And why's that? It clearly still means a lot to you both."

Seonghwa finally glanced up, forcing a polite smile, though it faltered almost immediately. "You saw it yourself... she's with someone else. Someone better." The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, laced with a resignation he didn't quite believe in.

The man sighed, shifting the little girl in his arms so she could hold her new Grogu figurine. He regarded your ex with a look that felt far too knowing. "I also saw how she looked at you," he said softly. "And she didn't look like someone who's better off."

Seonghwa blinked, caught off guard, but the customer wasn't finished. His gaze drifted toward the cute purple figurine that was not for sale, and for a moment, his expression softened into something fragile—something etched with pain.

"You know," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "my wife used to love Sanrio too. She had this little Cinnamoroll keychain she carried everywhere." He chuckled faintly, the sound bittersweet. "I always thought I'd have more time to make her smile, to give her the little things that made her happy. But time doesn't wait for anyone. One day, it was just… gone."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Seonghwa felt something tighten in his chest.

The man glanced at him then, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that seemed to pierce through Seonghwa's carefully built walls. "I don't know what's between you and her, Mr Park. But I do know this: regret is a heavy thing to carry. Don't let it weigh you down, not if you can still do something about it."

He gave Seonghwa a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of lessons learned too late, before taking the bag of purchased items. "Sometimes, all it takes is one step in the right direction. Don't let the chance slip away."

And then he was gone, the bell above the door jingling faintly as father and daughter disappeared into the night.

Seonghwa stood motionless behind the counter, his gaze drifting back to the Kuromi figurine in its glass case. The light reflected off it, casting faint shadows on the shelf behind it. It was meant for you. It had always been for you.

The father's words replayed in his mind, unrelenting in their simplicity and truth. He leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on the figurine made just for you, but his thoughts were elsewhere—back to you, back to all the moments that had led to this one.

Back then, he'd convinced himself he was doing the right thing, letting you go so you could find the happiness he didn't think he could give you. He thought he was being selfless, noble even, sacrificing his own heart so you could find someone better—someone who deserved you. But now, the cracks in that logic were glaringly obvious. What had any of this accomplished? Neither of you had found happiness in the way he'd hoped.

The truth was harsh: he hadn't even tried. He hadn't fought to be better for you, to grow into someone worthy of your love. Instead, he'd accepted the version of himself the world seemed to see—a man with dreams too small and ambitions too impractical. He'd let himself believe that you deserved someone like Yunho, someone who fit the mould of what your parents and society thought was 'right.'

But things were different now. He wasn't that man anymore. He'd worked hard, not for anyone else but for himself. Every step he'd taken to build his store, every figurine he'd crafted with his own hands, every small milestone he'd achieved—it was proof that he could create something meaningful. And if he could do that, maybe he could create a life with you.

His heart clenched at the thought of you with Yunho, not because he doubted the man's worth, but because he knew Yunho could never hold your heart the way he still did. Yunho was everything society said you should want—stable, charming, perfect on paper. But love wasn't about paper. Love was about the way you used to light up whenever he showed you his newest creation, about the quiet nights you'd spent talking about everything and nothing, about the way your hand had always felt right in his.

Suddenly, the idea of the 'right person' seemed so absurd. There was no such thing. The right person wasn't someone who ticked all the boxes. The right person was the one you chose to love, again and again, flaws and all.

And you had chosen him once.

The real question now was whether you still would.

He straightened, his resolve hardening like molten metal cooling into steel. What kind of love was it if he could stand by and watch you settle for less than what you deserved? Not less in status or wealth, but less in the kind of happiness that made life worth living. What kind of love let you spend the rest of your days with someone who could never truly make your heart race?

Seonghwa wouldn't let that happen—not if he could help it.

His gaze lingered on the Kuromi figurine one last time before he moved toward the back room. He needed to think, to plan, to figure out how to tell you everything he should have said years ago.

If there was even the slightest chance that you still felt the same way, he would take it. Because this time, he wasn't letting fear or pride or anyone else's expectations get in the way.

This time, he was going to fight for you.

"Well...? Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" you asked, your voice sharp, as you stepped into the house. Your mother flinched, bowing her head slightly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her apron. She hesitated for a moment before coming up to you slowly, her eyes brimming with guilt.

"Yunho called," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said he wishes not to force you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humour. "Of course, it took an outsider's words for you to finally see how exhausting this has been for me," you said, your tone cutting. "All this talk about marriage, about finding the right man... who is it really for? Who am I doing this for, hm? Is it for my own happiness? Or... oh, right." You smiled grimly. "It never was about my happiness, was it? It was about keeping up appearances, about pleasing everyone but me."

Your mother's face crumpled as her gaze fell to the floor. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken truths.

Your father, who had been sitting silently at the dining table, let out a long, weary sigh. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together as though trying to steady himself. "We thought we were doing what was best for you," he said, his voice low, burdened with regret. "We thought... if we guided you toward someone like Yunho, we were ensuring a future where you'd be safe, secure."

"Safe?" you repeated, your voice breaking. "From what? From being myself? From choosing the person who actually makes me happy? You never trusted me to make my own decisions. You never thought I was capable of knowing what I want, what I need."

Your mother reached for your hand, her touch tentative. "It wasn't like that," she said, though her voice wavered. "We were scared. Scared that you'd make a mistake, scared that you'd regret it later, scared that—"

"You mean you were scared," you interrupted, pulling your hand back. "Scared of what people would say. Scared of what the neighbours, the relatives, society would think. But you never stopped to ask me what I thought. What I felt."

Tears glistened in her eyes now, spilling over as she shook her head. "You're right," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're absolutely right. We were selfish. We thought we knew better, but we didn't. We never meant to hurt you, but we see now that we did. We hurt you by not listening, by not trusting you."

Your father stood, his movements deliberate, his face sombre. "If he's the one you want, if he's the one who makes you happy, then we'll support you. No more pushing, no more trying to control your life. It's your choice. It always should've been your choice."

For a moment, the room fell silent. The tension that had loomed for so long finally began to dissipate, leaving behind a tentative sense of relief.

You inhaled shakily, the weight in your chest lifting just a little. It wasn't a perfect resolution—there was still so much to work through—but this was a start. A start you'd been longing for. "Thank you," you said softly, the words fragile but sincere. "Thank you for finally understanding."

And as your mother pulled you into a trembling embrace, you allowed yourself to hope that things could finally change. She smiled softly, brushing a hand against your cheek as if to assure you it was okay now. Your father stood behind her, his expression a mixture of pride and something deeper—perhaps the weight of finally letting go.

They exchanged a glance before your father nodded toward the door. "Go," he said quietly, his voice firm but warm. "Go where your heart tells you to. We'll always be here."

You blinked, stunned by their words, and for a moment, you couldn't move. But then, the weight in your chest lifted, replaced by an urgency that made your pulse race. Without another word, you turned and rushed out, barely remembering to grab your keys on the way.

Your car roared to life as you sped through the streets, your destination clear as day in your mind. Star Mars. The silly name you'd suggested in passing all those years ago, never imagining he'd actually use it. Your heart pounded harder with every turn, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. Would he still want you after all this time? Did it matter? Even if he didn't, you needed him to know. You needed to tell him how you felt—how you still felt.

Parking haphazardly in front of his store, you didn't waste a second before bolting toward it. But as you reached the doors, your heart sank. The store was dark, the lights off, the doors locked. "Closed" hung starkly on the door, though the shops around it buzzed with life.

You froze, staring through the glass, confusion and dread pooling in your stomach. It's not even closing time yet... Had seeing you earlier bothered him that much? Had you pushed him away again, without even realising it?

Slumping against the door, you bit back tears, the overwhelming sense of missed chances clawing at your chest. Sure, you could come back another day. But you'd already lost so much time, wasted so many years pretending you didn't want this, pretending you didn't love him. You didn't want to waste another second.

Your gaze drifted inside the store, scanning the shelves. Your breath caught when you noticed something was missing. The Kuromi figurine—the one you'd lingered on earlier—was gone. You frowned, stepping closer to the glass. It had been there before. Where had it gone?

"Looking for this?"

The familiar voice made you spin around so fast you nearly stumbled. There he was, standing just a few feet away, the Kuromi figurine clutched in his hand, still encased in its protective plastic.

Your breath hitched as tears filled your eyes. "You took her off the shelf?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as you took a tentative step toward him. "Where were you planning to take her?"

He smiled softly, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears of his own. "I was going to take her to her rightful owner," he murmured, his voice steady but tender.

Your heart stopped at his words, and you whispered shakily, "Was? So you're not taking her anymore?"

He shook his head slowly. "No."

"Why not?"

He hesitated, the weight of years of longing and regret pressing against his chest. But then, the words of the customer from earlier echoed in his mind. Don't wait until it's too late. He looked at you—really looked at you—and knew, without a doubt, that this moment was the answer he'd been waiting for.

Taking a careful step forward, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing softly against yours. His breath hitched when your fingers instinctively curled around his, holding on as though letting go would shatter everything.

"Because you're already here," he murmured, his voice trembling with unspoken emotion.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, your heart felt whole again. The ache of countless nights spent longing for him, convinced you'd never feel his love again, melted away. Here he was—right in front of you—just like all those years ago. Yet, it felt different now. It felt... right. Because this time, neither of you would let fear or doubt stand in the way. This time, you were both ready to fight for it, to grow, to compromise, and to hold on.

"Hwa, I... I need to tell you something," you began, your voice shaking, each word heavy with the weight of years spent in silence. Your eyes searched his, desperate to convey everything your heart had been screaming in his absence. But before you could say more, he smiled—a small, trembling curve of his lips that held every ounce of love and pain he'd been holding back.

His eyes glistened as he leaned in, his forehead gently meeting yours, grounding you, binding you in a way that no words ever could. The moment felt infinite, a pause in time where your souls met in unspoken understanding.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion, raw and honest. Before you could process the words, his lips found yours, soft and warm, carrying all the unspoken promises, all the years of longing, all the love you thought you'd lost.

The world blurred and softened around you—the hum of the street and the glow of the city lights dissolving into nothingness. All that remained was him, the familiar scent of his cologne, the steady warmth of his hands cradling your face, the way his heart seemed to beat in perfect rhythm with yours.

In that kiss, you felt everything: the heartbreak, the yearning, the hope, and, most of all, the love that had endured time, separation, and pain. It was as if every broken piece of your heart was mending, every crack filled with the warmth of his love.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads remained pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet night. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen, his touch tender and sure.

"This time," he murmured, his voice steady but full of emotion, "I'm not letting you go."

And you knew—you both knew—that this time, nothing would keep you apart.

Istg, this wasn't meant to be so long. I wasn't even sure I wanted to give it a happy ending at first, but then I just kept getting carried away and voila. I swear I am working on Yunho's chapter of By Order of the Black Pirates bit by bit hehe just had to get this out of my system first.

As always, thank you for reading and hope y'all liked this one! Do let me know your thoughts! <3

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