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A flash of light burst through the darkness— so bright, that it painted the insides of Hongjoong’s eyelids a fiery red.
His body moved on autopilot, head lifting from the pillow, though his eyes remained shut. The intrusion was too sudden for his groggy mind to make sense of, yet.
Then came another flash.
And the unmistakable whirr of a camera’s shutter.
For a moment, Hongjoong did nothing. The sound hung in the air, joined only by the faint rasp of another person’s shallow, excited breathing.
Half-awake and bleary, Hongjoong rubbed his fist against one eye and let his heavy eyelids lift slowly, fully expecting to see one of his bandmates holding a phone to his face with the flash on, and grinning like an idiot.
But the laughter never came.
And what filled his vision wasn’t an annoyingly bright light or any familiar faces, but instead, utter darkness.
It took a few more seconds for his eyes to adjust, helped by the moon’s faint, ghostly spill through the thin curtains a few feet away. Just enough to carve out the silhouette of a tall figure, standing mere inches away from him.
Silent, watching.
A strange chill had begun to creep down his spine, causing all the faint hairs on the back of his neck to stand. He pushed himself upright, his voice coming out sluggishly. “Who—?”
But just that one word had the figure flinching, like it hadn’t expected for him to speak.
Then, before Hongjoong could say another word, it turned and darted out of the room, disappearing past the open door in a blur of motion and shadow.
Hongjoong froze in bewilderment, staring at the empty doorframe for a moment. His mind scrambled to catch up, thoughts tripping over one another in their rush to make sense of what he’d just seen.
And then came the belated realization—
That hadn’t been one of his members.
Confusion quickly curdled into horror, as Hongjoong finally began to wrap his mind around the circumstances.
Someone had been in his room.
His heart lurched, adrenaline suddenly flooding his veins and washing away any last remnants of sleep.
Hongjoong leapt out of his bed, eyes scanning the room wildly— the curtains, the floor, the doorway— searching for any sign of how the stranger could have gotten in.
His pulse thudded painfully, blood rushing through his veins as the panic began to build.
Someone had been there. Watching him. Taking photos.
He needed to tell his manager. Now.
And so, Hongjoong stumbled out into the hallway, bare feet slapping against the cold floor.
The only thought in his head was to get out— away from that room and the shadow still clinging to it.
The dorm hallway stretched ahead of him, dim except for the sterile glow of the exit light. He hurried down it, trying to quiet the frantic rhythm of his steps, not wanting to wake anyone, not wanting to alarm anyone despite his own panic.
When he reached his manager’s door, he raised a fist and knocked, far too fast and much too soft, an erratic pattern that betrayed his nerves.
After a minute or so of shuffling, the door finally opened a crack. His manager squinted blearily into the light that spilled from the hallway.
“Hongjoong? It’s— what time is it? Three in the morning?”
“There was—” Hongjoong’s voice came out too high, too thin. He swallowed and tried again. “There was someone in my room.”
The manager stiffened instantly. “What do you mean, someone?”
“Well, they took a picture of me. I heard it, the shutter sound— and then they ran, I didn’t see their face, and- and I don’t know where they went—” The words tumbled out in one breath, uneven and desperate.
His manager’s expression hardened instantly. He stepped forward, gripping Hongjoong’s shoulders. “Get inside.”
Hongjoong obeyed, barely even realizing he had moved until the door was already shut behind him.
The familiar warmth of the room did nothing to calm him. His heart still hammered like a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
“This is serious,” his manager said, already reaching for his phone. “Stay here. I’ll get the others and call security. Don’t open the door for anyone but me.”
Hongjoong nodded numbly, watching him leave, the latch clicking shut again.
Silence filled the room, giving him a moment to sit with his thoughts, which was never really a good idea for Hongjoong.
The doubt had already started to creep in.
Was he overreacting? Maybe he’d dreamt it. Maybe it was a one-time thing—someone sneaking in for a dare, or a fan who’d found a way past security. Nothing long-term or dangerous.
Still, his skin crawled at the thought of going back to his room.
He drew in a shaky breath and began to pace, back and forth, the carpet muffling his steps.
And, as it often did when panic stripped him down to the bone, one of his most private thoughts surfaced— soft, bitter, and worst yet, familiar.
Sometimes, he wished he could shed the role of leader. To not be the one who had to hold steady, whose calm was the fragile scaffold keeping everyone else from crumbling.
It didn’t take long for the others to begin to appear. One by one, the doors along the hotel hallway creaked open, sleepy heads poking out, confusion written all over their faces.
Then, within minutes, the suite’s main room was crowded with half-awake members and a few managers hastily pulling on sweaters, all blinking the sleep out of their eyes.
“Everyone, sit,” their manager ordered. He waited until the murmur of tired confusion died down before continuing. “Has anyone been in or near Hongjoong’s room within the last half hour?”
His question was answered by blank stares.
“What?” Jongho croaked, his words thick with sleep.
“What would we even be doing in his room at three in the morning?” Mingi mumbled, rubbing at his swollen eyes.
“Did he lose his passport again?” Seonghwa asked with a faint, tired smile.
“No,” the manager said curtly. “Someone entered his room. And took photos of him.”
A hush fell over them, until the only noise anyone could pick up was the hum of the room’s air conditioner. Every pair of eyes turned toward Hongjoong.
Hongjoong raised his hands, forcing a small, unconvincing laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m okay! But… you guys should all be careful. Keep your doors locked.”
“Hyung, that’s… scary,” San whined, muscular arms crossing over his chest like he could fold the unease away. “What exactly did you see?”
Hongjoong swallowed, his throat dry. “It was dark. I don’t know, just a flash of light, like from a camera, and then… someone standing by my bed. They ran before I could even say anything.”
Yunho leaned forward, face drawn in concern. “Could you tell if it was a woman? Or—”
“I couldn’t say,” Hongjoong interrupted, shaking his head. “I thought it was one of you at first. I was half-asleep, I didn’t even—” He exhaled shakily, fingers fidgeting in his lap. “It all happened so fast.”
They all turned toward the managers, the tension palpable in the air around them. No one spoke, but the silence itself seemed to hold the unwelcome answer, each of them waiting for someone to say what they were all thinking.
It was the quiet mutter from one of their managers that finally voiced their thoughts.
“We have a sasaeng on our hands.”
˗ˏˋ [ ◉¯] ˎˊ˗
To Hongjoong’s immense relief, they were gone from that hotel the very next day. Bags were packed, planes were loaded, and the entire team was moved along toward the next city on their tour.
The incident was ultimately left unspoken by their management, buried under tight smiles and exhausted chatter, just dust swept hastily under the rug.
“Don’t worry, hyung,” Wooyoung had chirped, his hand patting Hongjoong’s back in mock solemnity. “We’ll protect you! From behind the new batch of bodyguards, of course.”
Hongjoong had huffed out a quiet laugh, appreciating Wooyoung’s ability to lighten a bad situation. “I’ve never felt safer,” he responded dryly.
But as the weeks continued to pass, strange things began to happen.
They were small at first, easy to miss and easy to explain.
His garbage would be emptied earlier than usual, long before anyone else’s. His pain-patches, empty wrappers, and even his discarded contacts would all vanish before housekeeping could even arrive.
Then, there was his laundry.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his used underwear had begun to disappear, as though they were offerings to something unseen.
Hongjoong tried not to think about it. Tried to tell himself he was being paranoid, that it was housekeeping getting the messy drawers of eight men all mixed up.
But the dread crawled up his spine all the same.
And then, at last, something he could no longer push aside— the photos.
He had lived in quiet dread of this moment, nights without sleep haunted by the same gnawing question: What had been done with those images?
He found his answer on a new Twitter account, barely a day old. No profile picture, no biography; just a handle that looked like someone had let their pet walk over their keyboard: @Aiz3starbqkhTx.
And on their timeline, a single post, consisting of three photos of Hongjoong sleeping.
Each from a different night. Each taken from a slightly different angle.
Hongjoong’s thumb hovered over the screen as his vision blurred, heart hammering against his ribcage.
He should tell his manager, just like last time—
But the memory of “last time” stopped him. The shouting, the chaos, the exhaustion etched into every face the next morning.
So, he decided to wait. Just until the sun was back up in the sky.
He set his phone down on the dresser, crawled into bed, and yanked the blankets over his head, like a child hiding from a nightmare.
It was immature, he knew, but the heavy warmth of the comforter felt like his last line of protection.
On any other day, sleep would usually come very easily to him. He was famous for his ability to nap anywhere, at any time.
But tonight, every sound was too sharp. Every rustle outside his window made his muscles tense, every tick from the clock seeming to get louder and louder with each passing second it announced.
It felt like hours before his mind finally gave up, dragging him down into an uneasy sleep.
A flash.
White-hot, blinding.
The searing afterimage still burned behind his eyes as Hongjoong tore at his tangled blankets, the sheets wrapping around his legs like restraints.
Across the room, the figure jerked back, already retreating, already halfway to the door before Hongjoong could even get a proper look.
They moved as quickly as they did silently. Not a single sound of shoes against the carpet, not even the scrape of a doorknob turning, but instead…
A soft chime.
Three short tones, melodic and unfamiliar. The sound was too loud in the tense air between them, and it easily lodged itself in Hongjoong’s brain like a splinter.
“Who are you?” his voice came out too raw with fear, as he kicked free of the sheets and stumbled toward the door. “We have cameras!” he added, the desperate lie bursting out of him.
But the figure had disappeared from view, too fast and too quiet.
By the time Hongjoong reached the hallway, all he caught was the tail end of an elevator closing. The metal doors slid shut with a mechanical sigh, cutting him off from the only proof that he wasn’t losing his mind.
He stood there for a heartbeat, chest heaving, nerves shot. Then—
A door creaked open behind him.
Hongjoong spun around, his body tense and ready to defend himself, but instead of the masked intruder he’d imagined, it was Seonghwa standing there, hair disheveled and eyes wide with alarm.
“Hongjoong?” Seonghwa’s voice cracked through the stillness, heavy with sleep and confusion.
Within seconds, the rest of the members began spilling into the hallway, drawn by the shouting— some barefoot, others half-dressed, faces full of worry.
“Where— I heard Hongjoongie hyung yelling!” Yeosang’s deep voice boomed through the corridor. When his gaze found Hongjoong, he strode forward in an instant. “Did they touch you?!”
“No— no, it was another photo!” Hongjoong’s voice trembled despite his effort to steady it.
“What? Another sasaeng?” Mingi blurted out, his face draining of color.
Jongho ran a hand through his hair, his usual calm fraying at the edges. “How could they have followed us across this many cities? It can’t just be one person!”
Their voices tangled together, half-whispering and half-shouting conspiracies on this sasaeng’s identity.
Yunho cut through the noise, his gaze finding Hongjoong’s. “Hyung,” he said softly, “what did you hear this time? Did they say anything?”
Hongjoong bit his lip, angry that the sasaeng had returned, but angrier still that he had made it everyone’s problem again. “No, I couldn’t hear anything— except, oh!”
He snapped his fingers, his eyes going wide. “Their phone went off! A notification sound. I don’t know if you guys would know it, but it went like—”
He hummed the tune quickly, and the group fell silent to listen.
Most of them exchanged blank looks, but Seonghwa and San’s heads lifted at the same time. “Ah!” they said in unison.
“Isn’t that the notification sound for that one game?” Seonghwa started, only to be cut off as San spoke over him, “Wait—hyung, is it this?”
San thumbed through his phone for a second, before playing the same three-toned chime that Hongjoong had heard.
Hongjoong’s eyes widened, and he jabbed a singer at San’s phone. “That’s it! That’s exactly it!”
San’s expression darkened immediately. “That, um…” He hesitated, glancing down at his phone as though the device itself had betrayed him.
“What is it?” Hongjoong asked, curiosity laced with dread.
“It’s the tone for a tracker app,” San admitted quietly. “I use it for our luggage. But if someone’s phone made that sound…”
Hongjoong’s heart dropped, his excitement dying as fast as it had came. “A tracker?” he repeated, his voice small.
The corridor went silent. The kind of silence that stretched and stretched, thick with unease. The members stood frozen in their pajamas and bare feet, every one of them processing the implication in real time.
“Have you told our manager yet?” Yeosang asked, tone gentle.
Hongjoong shook his head, rubbing at his arm. “I’ll tell him in the morning.”
The response was immediate— and loud (though the latter was to be expected with Ateez).
“In the morning?!”
“Why wait, hyung?!”
“What if that person comes back and shoves you in a suitcase?!”
“Wooyoung, don’t scare him more!”
Hongjoong lifted both hands, raising his voice over theirs. “Guys, that’s enough! I’m going to wait until morning, and that’s final.”
The members instantly ceased their arguing, quieting reluctantly but still exchanging uneasy looks.
“Look,” Hongjoong said, gentler now, forcing a smile. “If anything happens, I have you guys, don’t I?”
There was a pause. Then, begrudgingly, they conceded.
Wooyoung jabbed a finger in his direction. “Yeah, but you better call us for help, okay?”
“Yeah!” Mingi added, giving Hongjoong’s head an affectionate pat, which earned him a halfhearted swat. “Don’t try to be a hero.”
“That’s rich, coming from you guys right now,” Hongjoong muttered, but his mouth twitched into a smile. “Sorry for waking you all up. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
“Yes, Captain!” they chorused together, voices warm despite the tension.
There were a few lingering claps on the back, murmured goodnights, and the shuffle of slippers against the floor, before they all had shut their doors behind them.
Hongjoong listened, making sure he heard seven locks turning in sequence, before he retreated to his own room.
He shut the door with a soft click, and the sound seemed to echo unnaturally in the silence that followed. When he turned, the space felt as though it turned with him, its shadows pooling in corners that suddenly seemed deep enough for someone to hide in.
Every shape, every dark edge, felt like it could be concealing a lens trained on him, waiting for him to let his guard down.
He told himself not to be ridiculous— then immediately dropped to his knees and checked under the bed anyway.
His heart thudded in his ears as he lifted the bed’s dust ruffle, half-expecting the glint of a camera’s lens to be staring back at him.
Thankfully, Hongjoong saw nothing but a film of dust. He exhaled shakily and continued inspecting the rest of the room, yanking open the closet’s doors, sliding the shower curtain aside, and even pressing his forehead to the cool windowpane to peek outside.
Only when he was sure that no one else was there did he crawl back beneath the covers, clutching them up to his chin as though they were some kind of shield.
But despite his efforts, sleep evaded him that night.
The analog clock’s ticking echoed throughout the space, the drone of the air conditioner too loud, as though the whole room was secretly designed to cover up the sound of creeping footsteps.
The way the shadows shifted along the ceiling made his pulse skip, forcing him to remain vigilant, should those shadows try to break free and take shape, becoming a stranger crouched above him.
Whenever his eyelids would begin to droop from fatigue, memory would strike again: the blinding red of his own illuminated eyelids, the breathless excitement that hadn’t been his own.
Hongjoong’s horribly creative imagination tormented him in this way, until he had tossed and turned for what felt like an eternity—
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound was so faint, barely a whisper against the wood, yet it sent a jolt through him as though he were suddenly laying on a bed of live wires, as though the sound had come from inside his room instead of beyond it.
Hongjoong sprang to his feet, every nerve screaming at him to do something. His eyes darted wildly around the room for a makeshift weapon— his lamp, or the microphone stand by his desk— but then he froze.
A sasaeng wouldn’t knock, would they?
He swallowed hard, forcing a shaky exhale as he edged toward the door. His hand hovered over the handle for a long moment, his imagination offering him no mercy whatsoever, before he finally turned it.
Through the crack in the door, Hongjoong peered—
And his breath caught.
It wasn’t a stranger, and it wasn’t a camera.
“Seonghwa…!” Hongjoong breathed, throwing the door wide open, nearly dizzy with relief. “What are you doing here?”
Seonghwa offered him a soft, reassuring smile, one that had always steadied Hongjoong when everything got too heavy.
“Just checking on you,” he answered gently. “I figured you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.”
Hongjoong tried to act nonchalant, puffing out his cheeks. “It’s not that I’m scared or anything,” he muttered, though his voice said otherwise. “But… thank you.”
Seonghwa’s smile deepened, his tone as pleasant as a lullaby. “Given the circumstances, I couldn’t sleep either,” he said, glancing past Hongjoong into the shadowy room. “Mind if I come in?”
Hongjoong stepped aside almost too quickly, ushering him in with a kind of eager gratitude that made him feel like an immature child again. “Of course— yeah!”
As soon as Seonghwa crossed the threshold, Hongjoong shut the door and slid the deadbolt into place.
“Make sure you lock the knob, too,” Seonghwa reminded him quietly.
Hongjoong muttered as he fumbled with the bolt one last time before turning back around.
Seonghwa had perched himself on the edge of Hongjoong’s bed, his posture open, his expression mellow. The faint moonlight dusted across the sharp line of his jaw and the strong prominence of his nose, making him look like a painting come to life.
He patted the mattress beside him, invitingly.
Hongjoong hesitated for a second, wringing the hem of his oversized shirt, before he padded closer and sank down beside him, the bedsprings groaning softly under their combined weight.
“I know you’re stressed,” Seonghwa started. “Anyone would be. And I know you’re hiding details— you’re still trying to protect us, aren’t you?”
Hongjoong gave a weak laugh, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… don’t want to make it worse for anyone.”
“Sharing your burden doesn’t double it,” Seonghwa murmured, dark eyes fixed on his Captain. “It halves it.”
Hongjoong blinked, before turning to look at him with a crooked, exhausted smile. “Huh. You should really consider being a songwriter.”
That earned a laugh from Seonghwa, one that rolled low and easy through the still air. “You’re not wriggling out of this, you know. Tell me how you’re really doing.”
For a long moment, Hongjoong only stared at the wooden floor, the light from beyond the window casting tired crescents beneath his eyes.
“It’s just… I thought this would all end back at the first hotel,” he confessed. “I thought I wouldn’t have to worry anymore. It’s not like this is the first time we’ve been stalked, but— they’ve never gotten in before, have they? Into our rooms?”
His hands curled into fists against his knees. “I don’t understand how they keep finding me.”
Your eyes, your nose.
“…kept happening!” Hongjoong continued. “Then I saw that they’re posting it now— pictures of me, sleeping. I don’t even use Twitter that often, but somehow it was the first thing on my feed. No tags, no captions. Just… me.”
He exhaled sharply, frustration twisting his features. “I wish I never saw it at all.”
Your lips, your neck.
“... Seonghwa? Seonghwa? What’re you thinking about?”
You.
Seonghwa blinked quickly, as though surfacing from a dream. “Hm?”
Concern softened Hongjoong’s features, and he tilted his head. “You seem so quiet these days.”
“Do I?” Seonghwa’s lips curved faintly. “I’m just worried about this sasaeng of yours.”
Hongjoong ran a hand through his messy, copper-toned hair. “But how is it that every hotel camera just happens to stop working when I need it most? It’s like the universe is playing a joke on me.”
His voice dropped lower, fragile now. “I don’t sleep well anymore. I even had a nightmare about the sasaeng last night…”
Seonghwa’s heart fluttered.
He’s been dreaming of me.
Hongjoong fidgeted with the ends of his shirt, tugging lightly at the loose threads, as though hoping his own tension would unravel in the same way. “I just… can’t think of what they’ll do next,” he admitted, voice quiet and tight. “How far they’ll go… and worse, if they start going after you, or the other boys…”
Seonghwa, ever calm, reached out and rested his hand over Hongjoong’s, his touch deliberate and steady.
In any other circumstance, Hongjoong would have yanked his hand away reflexively. But tonight, something in Seonghwa’s quiet reassurance felt safe, felt grounded.
“I have an idea,” Seonghwa said, his deep voice curling around the edges of Hongjoong’s anxiety. “How about I sleep here tonight? I’ll keep watch. Keep guard.”
For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Hongjoong let out a squeaky, disbelieving laugh, the sound caught somewhere between relief and surprise. “So you’re my guard now? Then what does that make me—”
Mine.
“— some damsel in distress?!”
Seonghwa watched him giggle, joining with an absentminded chuckle that didn’t quite keep pace with Hongjoong’s, but that didn’t matter.
In that moment, the room finally felt a little brighter, and Hongjoong was nearly blinded by the sheer, unspoken relief coursing through him.
Then, he finally rose, padding towards the end of the bed.
Seonghwa’s breath stopped as he passed, the faintest frisson running up his spine at the sight of him moving so close.
Hongjoong then turned his chocolate-brown eyes to the older man. “Seonghwa… I really appreciate it. You don’t have to do this.”
“I don’t have to,” Seonghwa echoed with an easy smile. “But I want to.”
And in truth, he had wanted it for far longer than Hongjoong could imagine.
Seonghwa’s obsession had started years back, before all of this, before their debut.
He could still remember every infinitesimal detail from the day they first met: the exact shirt Hongjoong had been wearing as he sat nervously beside the other judges, the faint metallic tang of the audition room air, the tick of the clock suspended at 3:17.
It had all begun when Hongjoong had first smiled at him towards the end of that audition.
In that moment, Seonghwa had tried to suppress the swelling, unfamiliar rush of emotion that surged at that smile, but each attempt to push it down only made it grow more and more insistent.
So he had surrendered to it. Indulged in it. Hoarded photos of Hongjoong sleeping, kept anything that had carried even the faintest trace of his scent, slipping into the dorm late at night just to watch his sweet, innocent sleeping face.
Seonghwa had always been careful to protect his image: graceful, soft-spoken, polite. A boy who rarely raised his voice, who never caused trouble, whose laughter came easily and whose gentle compliance made him seem almost delicate.
The other members often joked that he was easy to tease, easy to play with, and even his beloved fans seemed to indulge him, encouraging his little quirks; whether it was the way he beamed after pulling a photocard of Hongjoong, or the way he proudly announced whenever he and his Captain had adorned matching accessories.
And tonight, here he was, poised to watch over him, to indulge in the obsession he had carried in (relative) silence for so many years.
“Well,” Hongjoong said, a faint flush colouring his cheeks as he pointed toward the head of the bed. “Then you take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor. Just toss me an extra pillow.”
Seonghwa would have leapt at the chance to bury himself in the pillows that were still warm with Hongjoong’s body heat. Would have leapt at the chance of letting Hongjoong’s scent envelop him completely.
His gaze lingered on the bed, every line and crease of the blankets memorized from countless nights of indulgence, of sneaking in and pleasuring himself when Hongjoong was away.
Of course, it wasn’t the bed that satisfied him, but the traces of Hongjoong’s presence upon it.
And now, with Hongjoong himself standing mere feet away, did he really think Seonghwa would be able to keep himself at a distance?
A velvety laugh rumbled in Seonghwa’s throat. “You think I’d let you sleep on the floor when you’re already exhausted?” He shook his head. “I’ll take the floor. You need rest.”
Hongjoong frowned, caught between exhaustion and concern. “No, no, you came here for me. You know I can sleep anywhere—”
Seonghwa tilted his head, the moon catching in his dark eyes and making them glow a cold silver. “Then…” He paused, deliberately giving Hongjoong time to mentally prepare for his proposition: “… why don’t we share?”
The words hung in the air like a held breath. Hongjoong blinked, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Share? There’s hardly space—”
“There’s plenty,” Seonghwa murmured, already leaning back onto the mattress. “I promise I don’t bite.”
The smile disarmed Hongjoong, as it always had, and it was just too late now— too late to argue, too late to think about how his pulse jumped whenever Seonghwa smoothed the blanket beside him, arranged the pillows just so, positioning everything for both of them.
Thus, Hongjoong eased down beside Seonghwa, careful and rigid, pretending it felt no different from sharing a bed with any of the other boys. But his body disagreed; every inch of him seemed hyperaware of Seonghwa’s quiet presence, of the faint warmth that radiated between them.
Seonghwa, on the other hand, settled himself in quiet, slow movements, as if to avoid startling a fawn.
But to Seonghwa’s quiet delight, Hongjoong shifted onto his side to face him, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, a small, uncertain smile tugging at his lips.
“Seonghwa?” he whispered.
“Yes?” Seonghwa breathed back, just that gentle utterance of his name enough to make his chest tighten with want.
Hongjoong stayed still for a long while, and Seonghwa almost thought he had drifted asleep, watching the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders, counting each slow breath until it mirrored his own.
Then a small, hesitant voice broke the quiet. “I don’t know what to do… I can’t stop thinking about it. I feel like someone’s gonna climb through my window…”
Seonghwa’s chest constricted with both pity and amusement. How cute was he…?
His fingers brushed along Hongjoong’s arm. “You don’t have to worry,” he murmured, voice threaded with warmth. “I’m here. Nothing’s getting past me.”
He watched Hongjoong’s eyelids grow heavier and heavier, as he shifted onto his back. “Promise?”
“I promise.” Seonghwa’s hand moved in slow, deliberate circles, tracing the soft fabric of Hongjoong’s sleeve. The touch was too intimate to be casual, too precise to be accidental. “You’ve been working too hard, and with all this stress on top. Let me help you relax.”
Hongjoong let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “You sound like my manager.”
Seonghwa reached for the blanket, smoothing it over Hongjoong’s chest, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.
His voice stayed deep and calm, to the point of hypnosis for the exhausted Captain. “Just breathe. Let yourself rest. Let me take care of you for once.”
The quiet that followed was heavy, charged. Hongjoong’s eyes fluttered, half-lidded, already sinking toward sleep, while Seonghwa slowly rose from the bed, like a serpent uncoiling, his gaze mapping every curve of Hongjoong’s face, drinking in what he had already etched into his heart.
Still under the blankets, Seonghwa’s hands pressed gently into Hongjoong’s tense shoulders, coaxing them to relax, before tracing downward, pausing once again at the gentle swell of his chest, this time squeezing just enough to make Hongjoong’s breath hitch.
He felt his own libido spike, arousal twitching in response.
Hongjoong’s eyes fluttered open just enough to watch as the older man’s hands drifted lower, following the subtle grooves of his stomach, before his fingers curled over the waistband of his pajama pants, knuckles pressing into the heated skin beneath.
Seonghwa leaned forward, his face hovering above Hongjoong’s for a few seconds, feeling the small, nervous breaths fan across his lips before he pressed down against them.
Hongjoong let out a soft whimper, equal parts shy and surprised, which Seonghwa inhaled into his lungs, hoping his voice would diffuse alongside the oxygen within his bloodstream.
His kiss was deceptively gentle, belying the storm of need coiling behind his thoughts, primal urges restrained by careful control. He had had nearly a decade of practice, after all.
Seonghwa’s eyes remained wide open, every nerve taut with disbelief at how close Hongjoong was, the blanket falling off of them both.
He could (and almost did) count each of Hongjoong’s long, delicate eyelashes, could trace the subtle twitch of his eyelids, memorize the fluttering movements of his gaze beneath closed lids.
It took all of Seonghwa’s willpower to pull back, but the reward was immediate: Hongjoong’s eyes opening slowly, glittering under the silver wash of moonlight spilling through the drawn curtains, face glowing pink as if he had had one too many drinks.
Seonghwa’s hands moved swiftly, tugging off his pants smoothly over his ankles and tossing them aside, letting the cool air brush over the exposed skin of Hongjoong’s thighs.
Instinctively, Hongjoong drew his knees together, and Seonghwa’s amused laugh vibrated low in his chest as he eased them apart, patient and firm.
Then, with the same fluid motion, he stripped away Hongjoong’s boxers.
Unlike the discarded pants, he didn’t let these fall carelessly to the floor. Instead, he made sure to place it behind him, where they were safe. Another one for the collection, was his passing thought.
Hongjoong’s pajama shirt hung loosely off his frame, draping over his thighs in a teasingly modest way.
He brought his hands up to hide behind his fingers, cheeks burning, as Seonghwa straightened to slowly peel his own shirt off, tossing it to join Hongjoong’s discarded pants somewhere to the side.
Seonghwa’s body was basked in the pale glow of the moon, each curve and plane of muscle sharply defined beneath his caramel skin.
Months of relentless training had sculpted his broadened shoulders and his newly chiseled abs, which flexed subtly with every movement Seonghwa made. Even in this dimness, he radiated quiet power, every line of him impossible to ignore.
Seonghwa dropped back down onto the bed with serpentine grace, moving back up Hongjoong’s body, leaving a trail of kisses until his lips stopped near the mole at the base of Hongjoong’s neck. He pressed one more featherlight kiss to it, before sliding his tongue upward, following the delicate bob of his throat, eliciting a shiver from Hongjoong.
And this was the moment where Seonghwa’s carefully maintained composure began to fray, thread by thread.
Every inch of Hongjoong’s skin was impossibly smooth, impossibly real in a way that far outperformed his many, many fantasies of it.
It held the supple firmness of a peach that had overripened, the intoxicating sweetness of something that had been nurtured by the bright sun, and his ability for reason began to deteriorate at an alarmingly rapid rate.
With painstaking slowness, Seonghwa rucked Hongjoong’s pajama shirt up his small body, each inch revealed as though he were unwrapping a gift that was far too precious to tear open (yet).
His shirt lifted off of Hongjoong’s dick, so that it finally sprang into view, and Seonghwa found himself freezing for a heartbeat— utterly captivated by the adorably fevered pink of the tip, the delicate curve of the shaft, at the way it had already begun to rise untouched.
Entranced, Seonghwa found his fingers drawn to it, and Hongjoong’s soft moans trembled into the air better than any song they could ever record, as the tips of the older man’s nails trailed along the underside of his shaft.
His nails glided over a particularly sensitive vein, sending a flutter through Hongjoong that made Seonghwa’s own cock respond in kind, leaking and straining against the front of his dark jeans.
Hongjoong raised his leg sluggishly and nudged Seonghwa with his knee, breaking him from his spell.
“Don’t just… stare…!” he pouted from behind his fingers, his knuckles and the apples of his cheeks both sporting a rosy pink.
“Fuck,” Seonghwa exhaled, trying not to go crazy as he yanked his fly down and pulled his cock free faster than Hongjoong’s eyes could track.
Hongjoong’s voice left him in a high and shivering mewl as he took in the sight— every vein, every twitch and jump of Seonghwa’s length.
Seonghwa reached into his pockets, and pulled out a small vial. He poured a slick, clear liquid over himself, the cool sheen glinting in the moonlight, and tilted his hips just enough to press himself against Hongjoong’s tight, waiting heat.
He nudged his entrance first, letting the tight ring of muscle respond to his tip, opening him inch by patient inch.
Hongjoong trembled beneath him, chest lifting with shallow gasps, fingers clutching the sheets like he was trying to anchor himself to something solid.
Seonghwa’s eyes tried to memorize this view: the little red marks left behind by Seonghwa’s kisses, the way his hair splayed over the pillow, like little streaks of sunset, the delicate pink of his virgin heat.
The elder of the two gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to plunge all the way in as every tight, yielding contour slid against his glans, setting his very blood alight.
Hongjoong writhed beneath him, legs pressing against Seonghwa’s sides when his head finally managed to slip through, gliding in slow, deliberate strokes that eased Hongjoong’s body, inviting the singer in deeper and deeper.
“Seong—…!” Hongjoong tried, though his voice broke after the first syllable, his fingers reaching up towards him.
Seonghwa’s fingers met Hongjoong’s immediately, weaving between them until their hands locked. He stroked fond circles along the back of Hongjoong’s smaller hand, before lifting it slowly and pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles.
His voice was a silky hiss when he spoke. “I know, angel… just breathe, okay?”
Hongjoong nodded, though he found the air growing thinner as every muscle inside him stretched and reshaped itself around Seonghwa’s thick, demanding length.
Finally, Seonghwa’s patience was rewarded as he found himself able to move in a steadier and smoother rhythm. Only half of his length was inside so far, yet each slow thrust still drew involuntary jumps and shudders from Hongjoong.
Honjoong's body moved independently of his brain, pressing and tilting itself as though it were guiding Seonghwa deeper. Words failed him now— for all he could do was gasp, shut his eyes, and surrender to Seonghwa’s weighted control.
Seonghwa did not dare blink, did not want to miss a single second of this.
Every flutter of Hongjoong’s lashes, every quiver through his small hands pressed against his own, every high-pitched whimper. And what a terrible waste it was, for this moment to exist only within the unreliable haze of memory.
For a dizzying, intoxicating heartbeat, Seonghwa wished he could trap this moment forever, live inside it, experience it again, and again, and again and again and again and again—
The shutter clicked.
A flash split the dark like lightning, stabbing through Hongjoong’s vision and causing him to flinch.
“Seonghwa!” he gasped, eyes snapping open, panic coiling tight in his chest.
For a heartbeat, his mind couldn’t register what he had seen— the glint of a phone, the sharp echo of a sound that had haunted his nights for weeks.
His body stiffened, breath caught mid-throat and nerves drawn taut.
But Seonghwa was still inside him, warm and grounding even as panic surged through him.
His presence dulled the edge of fear, made it easier to breathe and try to question what Seonghwa had done just now.
And then the sound came from Seonghwa’s phone: chiming in that cruel, three-note tone, familiar as it was foreign.
The same tone that had followed every anonymous photo, every sleepless night, now echoing casually from the hand of the one he trusted most.
Hongjoong’s head swam as he looked up at him. The room seemed to tilt, moonlight cutting across Seonghwa’s form and painting him in silhouette.
His broad shoulders, strong arms, and composed face spoke of calm, and yet the phone in his hands disagreed. The lens glinted the same way it would in Hongjoong’s nightmares, the screen glowing against the darkness, a contradiction to Seonghwa’s serenity.
Seonghwa’s expression faltered just slightly, a hairline crack in the mask, as though he hadn’t meant for the sound to give him away.
But then his smile slowly found its way back to his lips.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Joongie,” he murmured, his voice like poison in a pot of honey.
Dread and disbelief surged through Hongjoong like a wild fire, his chest beginning to heave violently, his breaths coming out stuttered and uneven.
He yanked his hand out of Seonghwa’s grasp and tried to push himself up, to put any distance between them, but Seonghwa’s body moved with a serpent’s grace, pressing him down, sliding in deeper, caging him against the mattress.
“It… was you,” Hongjoong whispered, Seonghwa’s possessive movements only serving as confirmation.
Seonghwa leaned in closer, his subtle weight a quiet claim.
“Don’t say it like that.” His voice was sinisterly smooth. “You’re always so jumpy, so guarded, keeping everyone at such a distance— what was I meant to do? Watch you lock yourself away?”
Hongjoong shook his head, eyes wide and voice cracking as Seonghwa’s fingers traced lazy patterns against his ribcage. “You… you’ve been going through my room… you’ve been—”
Seonghwa pressed even closer, eclipsing Hongjoong from the light and pleading in the only way he knew how.
“I only wanted to make sure you weren’t lonely. You don’t understand how much I worry for you,” he murmured, the cadence of his voice wrapping around Hongjoong like silk, soft but binding.
The room sank into a heavy silence, pierced only by the frantic thrum of Hongjoong’s heartbeat echoing within his ears.
His mind spun, jumbled and made ever dizzier from the insistent pressure of Seonghwa’s length, still deep inside him.
His throat ached, lungs tight from so many raw breaths, until a small, shaky whisper escaped him.
“I’m… scared…”
Seonghwa’s eyes softened, gentle in the way a trap would be.
He shifted again, driving in further until most of his length was swallowed by Hongjoong’s trembling warmth.
“I know,” he murmured intimately. “But you don’t have to be. Not anymore. I’m right here, see?”
And for emphasis, he pushed even deeper, until he was almost fully sheathed inside Hongjoong, the tip of his cock pressing faintly against the taut skin of Hongjoong’s stomach.
Hongjoong’s fingers clawed at the sheets, knuckles paling, as Seonghwa’s body stretched and persuaded him open. A chaotic surge of pleasure and fear crashed through him, impossible to distinguish, and even more impossible to resist.
“No… all this time— you—?” Hongjoong’s protest faltered, his voice unsure and punctured.
Seonghwa shushed him lovingly, burying his face in the crook of Hongjoong’s neck.
His voice was playful, paying little mind to the panic in Hongjoong’s words. “I hope you’re not thinking of asking for them back,” he purred, teeth grazing his skin. “Those contacts were dailies. I can put them to better use.”
At last, this lighthearted confession seemed to drive the final nail of clarity through the haze of Hongjoong’s confusion. His breaths grew shallower yet.
Ah, no point in pretending anymore, Seonghwa thought.
With his face still flush against the crook of Hongjoong’s neck, he inhaled deeply, letting the sharp, sweet scent of Hongjoong’s sweat fill his airways. He exhaled with a low, guttural moan, shifting just enough to rub against that sensitive lump inside the smaller man, coaxing a desperate, helpless sound from Hongjoong’s throat.
He couldn’t stop inhaling him— slow, greedy draws of air, as if Hongjoong’s essence alone could sustain him. The room seemed to shrink with every breath, heavy with heat and the taut tension between them, until Hongjoong finally spoke, voice trembling and fragile.
“You’re crazy,” he whispered, from where he was trapped beneath him.
“I’m in love,” Seonghwa corrected, voice tender.
This admission alone caused Hongjoong to flinch, the syllables burning his ears and stirring panic deeper inside him.
“Let me go,” he choked, voice cracking under the weight of fear. “This isn’t funny, Seonghwa— this isn’t—”
His body coiled instinctively, as though to escape the heat pressing against him. He twisted, uncertain whether to shove Seonghwa away or simply flee, but Seonghwa’s hand snapped out and gripped around his ankle, holding him in place.
The warmth in Seonghwa’s gaze drained, replaced by a sharp, controlled edge that made Hongjoong’s blood run cold.
“Don’t,” he said quietly, voice taut with chipping restraint. “You don’t want me to hurt you, do you?”
That single statement froze everything— the air, the blood, even time itself.
Hongjoong’s disbelief hung thick, body stiff, eyes wide and searching. Never had he felt threatened like this, not by someone whose calm had always been a refuge, whose gentle smile had never carried such weight.
Then, almost cruelly, Seonghwa’s tone softened again, lifting Hongjoong’s leg until it was at face-level, and peppering the constellation of bruises on his calf with kisses.
“I don’t want to hurt you, either,” he murmured, voice dripping with warmth and obsession. “What good would your cute legs do for me if I had to break them?”
And just like that, the resistance, the panic, the confusion— it was all snuffed out like a candle’s flame in the wind.
Hongjoong’s lips parted, but no words formed. Silence swallowed him whole, carrying the unmistakable mark of surrender with it.
For someone usually so sharp and so quick-witted, his stillness spoke volumes.
Seonghwa’s senses, tuned entirely to Hongjoong, noticed immediately.
He leaned towards Hongjoong’s face, his voice a silk-thin whisper.
A half-smile teased at his lips, as he crooned, “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”
And yet, he thrived on the wide, fearful eyes, the subtle shiver, the vulnerability that made him finally feel wholly and entirely seen.
He curved closer, like a shadow gliding over moonlit water. His words fell almost reverently when he next spoke.
“Love is patient,” he murmured. “And I’ve been patient, haven’t I? All these years, by your side.”
And how could Hongjoong deny that?
Every moment, every silent act of devotion, every gentle reassurance tucked beneath the polished veneer of calm support— it had all been for him, intentions aside.
The realization pressed in, stirring a strange, familiar guilt that Hongjoong seemed to carry too easily, weaving itself into his confusion.
“We were made for each other, can’t you see that?” Seonghwa cooed.
Hongjoong’s eyes squeezed shut again, lashes brushing against his cheeks, muscles tensing, each subtle movement betraying his turmoil.
“I fit inside you perfectly,” he continued, “Like we were always meant to be.”
Hongjoong’s breath wavered, his lower lip trembling into a delicate moue, the one that always came just before tears welled in his eyes.
It sent a jolt through Seonghwa, a heady, intoxicating thrill at seeing his Captain so utterly exposed, so achingly vulnerable.
Yet beneath that surge of heat, a thread of alarm tugged at him, a fleeting reminder of the fine line he was treading between desire and harm.
“Does it hurt?” he asked quickly, fingertips grazing Hongjoong’s jaw, like he feared shattering something so precious.
“I’m… scared…” Hongjoong said again, mind narrowing to the simplest of thoughts, voice so soft it might have been the wind stirring the curtains.
The words cut through Seonghwa like a knife, and he froze, breath hitching, heart constricting. Every look on Hongjoong’s face, every glint in his tear-glossed eyes, became an ache he could not look away from.
“I don’t understand… why—”
Click.
The shutter flashed, interrupting Hongjoong mid-sentence.
Seonghwa’s phone had been in his hand before he even realized it. A perfect capture: the fear, the trembling surrender, all suspended in time.
And yet, instead of satiating him, he grew hungrier. His hips rolled, pressing deeper against Hongjoong’s swollen prostate, drawing sharp cries and hitching sobs.
Every tremor of Hongjoong beneath him fanned the flames of his need, and he lowered his head to kiss along the trail of tears, savoring both the salt and the sweetness.
“You’re all I think about,” he breathed against the curve of Hongjoong’s cheek, cock moving in lazy, deliberate strokes. “I always think about holding you, kissing you, touching you…”
Hongjoong’s teeth clenched, jaw tight, his head twisting in a futile attempt to hide behind stubborn pride.
Seonghwa adored the delicate angles of Hongjoong’s side profile, the pixie-like slope of his nose, the pliant pout of his lips. But more than that, he craved the raw, unguarded truth behind his eyes, the fluttering pulse of his heart that only he could draw out.
Hands cradled Hongjoong’s jaw, tilting his face back, brown eyes meeting and conveying every drop of desire, of need.
“Please understand, my angel,” he whispered, voice dulling Hongjoong’s defenses. “I just need you to be with me— you haven’t made this easy for me, either.”
Every twist of Hongjoong’s muscles around him, every subtle contraction, ignited a fire deep into Seonghwa’s core. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, hands letting go of his face to instead grab at his narrow shoulders, pressing him further into the mattress. “So warm— I want to stay inside you forever.”
Hongjoong tried to keep quiet in protest, but the Seonghwa’s relentlessness was overwhelming. Each press of his cock into his virgin prostate left him shuddering, white-hot flashes sparking across his vision.
He gasped, clutching at Seonghwa’s arms, shoulders trembling under his iron-hold, each movement pushing him closer to release.
“Just tell me you love me, Hongjoong. That’s all I need to hear.”
For a second, Hongjoong remained silent, lips parted, chest rising and falling with shallow, ragged breaths.
Then, a sharp bark of laughter tore from him, sarcastic and hoarse.
“Park Seonghwa,” he gasped, catching his breath between thrusts as he clung to any control he had left over the situation. “You’re… completely out of your goddamn mind.”
This verbal defiance did not surprise him.
Seonghwa breathed out through his nose, a quiet sound of resignation that was almost fond.
“… Ah, angel,” he murmured. “You’ve never made anything easy for me, have you?”
Then he reached into the pockets of his jeans for a second time, and Hongjoong’s foggy mind barely registered the small, silver instrument glinting in Seonghwa’s hand.
It was an indistinctive, long rod. Too thick to be a needle, too thin to be a pen.
Seonghwa’s expression held that same deceptive calm as he straightened himself to his full height, pulling his weight off of Hongjoong’s shoulders while he emptied the last bit of lube over the smooth metal, watching it run down its length.
“What is that for…?” Hongjoong asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Discipline,” Seonghwa answered simply.
Hongjoong’s heartbeat quickened, watching as Seonghwa idly straightened his half-erect cock, precome beading at its peak.
Dark eyes flitted towards Hongjoong, remaining fixed on his face while he aligned the delicate tip of the instrument to Hongjoong’s overflowing slit.
The chill of the rod had Hongjoong’s breath catching in his throat, wary eyes watching as Seonghwa traced the contours of his head, before—
Hongjoong’s eyelids crashed open, his head shooting up off the bed as the feeling of cold metal slid past the tip of his cock.
Immediately and without thinking, he yelled out and bucked his hips, which only caused the instrument to lodge further down his urethra.
A sharp, raw scream tore through the room, and for a moment, Hongjoong couldn’t even recognize it as his own voice.
The world blurred around him, the alternating waves of pain and pleasure twisting together until he no longer knew where one ended and the other began.
Every muscle in his body locked tight, too scared to even tremble, every minute movement setting fire to his cock, while Seonghwa’s voice reached him only faintly through the thundering of blood past his ears— husky whispers of comfort, laced with quiet remonstration, scolding him for not listening sooner.
The sensation was so foreign and so overwhelming, that Hongjoong’s mind teetered on the edge of oblivion, nearly drowning out the presence of Seonghwa’s thick cock, which still stretched deep inside him.
Just then, the rapid pounding of feet echoed down the hallway, followed by the sudden crash of the door being flung open.
Seonghwa’s dark eyes flicked toward it, unshaken, as the deadbolt groaned and creaked under the force, and Yeosang’s panicked voice spilled into the room.
“Hyung!” he gasped. “Was that you screaming? Is it the sasaeng? Are you safe?!”
Seonghwa’s gaze returned to Hongjoong, who lay beneath him, chest heaving and mind scrambling to piece together the chaos, far slower than Seonghwa could.
“Hyung?” Yeosang repeated, voice laced with concern, and Seonghwa arched an eyebrow, his index finger and thumb still pinched around the instrument half-embedded inside Hongjoong.
Hongjoong collapsed back onto the pillow.
“N-No…” he croaked, voice distant and disoriented. Then, with a pitiful little cough, he stammered, “I mean, y-yes! I’m okay… just— had a, um, nightmare…”
“Oh, okay… do you need anything from me?” Yeosang asked with insistent concern.
“More lube,” Seonghwa whispered, his lips quirking into a sly grin.
“No, thanks, Yeosangie…”
The door finally clicked shut, and Seonghwa tilted his head expectantly.
“Will you say it now?”
Hongjoong’s puffy, reddened eyes narrowed into defiant slits, his impressive stubbornness withstanding even his exhaustion. “W-What makes you think I have to—”
Seonghwa clicked his tongue and pressed the rod further in, killing the rest of Hongjoong’s attitude instantly.
For good measure, the older man had begun moving his hips again as well, reminding Hongjoong of how swollen his prostate had become.
Hongjoong went mute from the overlapping sensations, only able to gnash his teeth together and drag his nails across the back of Seonghwa’s hands, silently begging him to pull the instrument out.
But Seonghwa ignored his unspoken protests, instead falling into a lethal, relentless rhythm of driving the rod deeper into his urethra, while pulling his cock against that adorably sensitive spot, withdrawing the rod a few inches, and then thrusting back inside him.
His own breaths grew harsher, shoulders rising and falling as he sank into the pulsing heat that Hongjoong’s body offered so bountifully.
Meanwhile, the pressure had coiled unbearably deep within Hongjoong’s belly, building and building until it stretched the edges of sensation into something almost painful, a tension with no release in sight, warping the very reality around him.
“‘Lease let me come!” Hongjoong gasped, voice cracking as tears of utter desperation rolled down his face. “I l-love you, ok?… so pleas—”
Seonghwa cut him off with a sudden, feral crash of his mouth on Hongjoong’s, his lust now completely unrestrained.
His tongue swept over every groove and divot of Hongjoong’s pouty lips, then nudged against his gums, swirled around his tongue, memorizing, mapping, committing every detail to memory, traced the lines of his teeth— oh, and there were his favorites, those sharp, pointy lower canines of his—
Hongjoong bucked instinctively, his muffled protests disappearing against Seonghwa’s ravenous tongue.
Seonghwa felt his stomach jolt, sending electric currents to his cock, teetering on the edge of release.
He broke the kiss just enough to hook his hands under the backs of Hongjoong’s knees, pressing them firmly against the pillows, flanking his head.
He moved with him, synchronized to every tremor, ensuring that his climax came only when his gaze was locked entirely onto Hongjoong’s face, hungry to witness (in the most vivid of detail) the expression that would cross his lips as he felt Seonghwa’s warmth spilling inside him.
He lowered his face again, Hongjoong’s shallow breaths so much more audible at this proximity, and whispered against his swollen lips,
“Hongjoongie, just how much do you love me?”
“—!”
Though Hongjoong was in no state to form coherent words anymore; his body jolted with every merciless twitch of his own cock, the silver of the instrument glinting in the cold moonlight.
Even without a word in reply, Seonghwa erupted deep inside him, teeth bared, brows furrowed, holding Hongjoong’s trembling form firmly in place until he had emptied completely inside him. Only when his seed had begun to back up, pouring out from where Seonghwa’s hilt met Hongjoong, and running down the small of Hongjoong’s back, did he finally begin to ease his grip.
He didn’t pull out immediately though, instead letting his dick glide against every tense, quivering muscle, setting Hongjoong’s prostate on fire one last time.
And only then, did he finally withdraw with a lewd squelch, watching as his spend dripped thickly from Hongjoong’s still-pulsing hole, unable to control the wicked grin curling at his lips as he lifted his phone with swift ease to immortalize the moment.
Hongjoong’s head had been thrown all the way back, chin tilted toward the ceiling, his spine arching so far it almost seemed inverted.
Every shudder of his body trembled with the effort of holding himself together, and the only sounds that escaped were spluttered sobs, broken and choked through tears.
Seonghwa pressed his lips to the inside of Hongjoong’s thigh, murmuring his name as though he were coaxing a cat out of hiding.
His hand glided over his body, from his collarbones down across the taut plane of his stomach, until Hongjoong’s rigid frame relaxed, settling back onto the mattress, puffy, tear-streaked eyes locked onto Seonghwa’s, completely cried out.
Seonghwa waited, letting a beat of silence pass until it was broken only by Hongjoong’s tired, mumbled voice.
“I-I feel like I’m g-going to explode…”
The edges of Seonghwa’s mouth quirked upwards, lovingly. “Oh, my poor angel. Tell me you love me. I’ll let you come.”
“I love you!” Hongjoong used the last of his strength to cry out, the corners of his eyes prickling with desperate tears. His voice broke and dwindled then, trembling into a whispered litany that spilled over itself: “I love you, I love you, I love you, Seonghwa… I love you…”
Seonghwa hummed a low, contented sound, and crawled closer, placing a kiss onto the tip of Hongjoong’s perfectly sloped nose. “I love you too, my baby angel.”
Finally, his fingers found the rod again, and he began to slowly withdraw it out of Hongjoong. Every inch pulled sent his hips jerking higher off of the mattress, pressing closer to Seonghwa as if the instrument had somehow become a direct part of him that the older man was pulling.
Then he paused, just one last inch from release, letting the tension stretch taut between them.
“Hongjoongie,” he asked in a casual tone. “How much do you love me?”
Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on Seonghwa, heavy-lidded and glazed, before his trembling hand reached out sluggishly to clutch at Seonghwa’s wrist.
Seonghwa watched, mesmerized, as Hongjoong pressed the larger hand to his tear-streaked cheek, cupping it with delicate insistence.
His eyes fluttered closed, long lashes casting shadows over dampened skin, and he nuzzled into Seonghwa’s touch, voice wobbly, and slurred when he next spoke.
“I love you so—”
But the rest of his sentence was unnecessary.
His actions were too endearing, done with such irrevocable surrender, that Seonghwa’s heart seized, caught utterly and permanently in the vise of Hongjoong’s sweet charm.
With a careful motion, Seonghwa drew the last of the sounding rod free, and Hongjoong could only whimper as his vision flashed, the ticklish burning vanishing and his backed-up release shooting forth, painting the air in gleaming ribbons, cascading over them both.
Seonghwa watched, could only watch, as the rigid tension drained from Hongjoong’s body, left him sprawled limply on the sheets, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving in ragged, spent breaths, body still jerking and twitching.
Slowly, Seonghwa shifted away to lay beside him, propped up on one elbow, eyes never leaving Hongjoong’s flushed, exhausted form.
“Do you hate me now, Hongjoongie?” he murmured, voice low and kind.
Unbeknownst to Hongjoong, the answer to that question teetered between two extremes: he could either surrender fully to Seonghwa, or their leader would vanish overnight, with Seonghwa abandoning the band within three months time under the guise of (crafted) grief.
“Hate…?” Hongjoong croaked, arm trembling against his tear-streaked face.
He was confused, and still in utter disbelief, but hate?
How could he ever hate Seonghwa, hate any of his bandmates? They all relied on him, and the weight of that responsibility pressed on him constantly, a mantle he bore with solemn care, even when he was tired of it.
And though he would never admit it— at least, not yet— that one spot deep inside him, the spot that only Seonghwa had ever reached, certainly didn’t seem to hate him.
And so he drew in a deep, shaky breath, answering Seonghwa with a firm shake of his head.
“But this… no one will know,” he croaked, his voice hoarse but resolute.
Even weak, even fucked raw, Seonghwa could hear his Captain mindset resurfacing— that careful, protective instinct, the one that had kept everyone striving for so long. “I’m not going to let the other boys’ careers be ruined over this. I won’t.”
Seonghwa’s chest warmed with something fierce, a flush creeping across his skin.
So selfless, so unwavering. His baby angel. As much as he loved the others, he almost felt as if they did not deserve his Hongjoong. No one did.
“I mean… Y-You must have done this out of desperation, right?” Hongjoong asked, eyes searching Seonghwa’s face, the dried trails of tears catching the soft glow of the moonlight. “Because I wouldn’t listen?”
Oh, my angel. My reckless selfishness was never your fault.
But Seonghwa let the words linger, let Hongjoong shape the narrative and comfort himself in a way that made sense.
“Yes… yes, that’s right,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of orange hair from Hongjoong’s forehead. “I’m glad you can understand my feelings now.”
Hongjoong’s gaze softened with a fragile kind of relief, the kind that came from forcing logic where none existed. “From now on… I’ll listen to you, okay? Just… don’t let this interfere with our work.”
Seonghwa’s lips curved into a slow, fond smile as he continued to play with the silky, tangerine strands of Hongjoong’s hair. How utterly adorable he was, making ultimatums even as his mind struggled to rationalize the maelstrom of the past few months.
“I’m glad we can see eye to eye now,” he murmured, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of Hongjoong’s head, savoring the way the Captain’s body stiffened instinctively.
Hongjoong’s hands rose reflexively to push him away— but then, after a long pause, they dropped back to his sides.
He was learning, already surrendering a little more to the inevitability of them.
Seonghwa’s chest swelled with a possessive burst of pride.
My angel, he thought. My clever, infuriating, perfect little angel.
˗ˏˋ [ ◉¯] ˎˊ˗
And so, their world went back to normal.
In fact, the band even appeared on a show, complete with cameras flashing and the audience clapping, and yet Hongjoong didn’t recoil when Seonghwa wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing his chest to Hongjoong’s back in a way that should have been just too much for their jumpy little Captain.
The taller man’s hands found their place on Hongjoong’s waist, fingers splaying lightly, and Hongjoong, typically quick to pull away in public, leaned into the embrace just enough for the audience to notice, keeping his composure perfectly.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of Seonghwa’s lips as he murmured something private into his ear, and for the first time, the teasing energy between them felt fulfilled.
The comment section under this clip erupted as expected.
One commenter wrote: Looks like he finally got enough diamonds to progress LOL
Another added: omg @starAiz3bqkhTx do u mayhaps know why,,
And although no one at the time knew it, the sasaeng’s account made its final post in response:
@Aiz3starbqkhTx: because they had a long talk ^^
Attached was an image that later sent the fandom into a frenzied uproar, only for it to ultimately be dismissed as AI-generated, a digital illusion too scandalous to be real:
A raw capture of the original poster’s long, thick cock, leaking into a filled hole.
The second male’s legs were pushed so far that the backs of his thighs and calves were fully visible, every shivering line of muscle on display.
In the top corners of the photo, a tattoo peeked out from the image’s threshold, of wings framed by cobwebs inked on the backs of the second male’s ankles.