Archive of Our Own

First, it was Felix that had pointed out that there was always someone around Jisung.

Jisung had agreed to go shopping with him because Felix doesn’t like going alone, and his boyfriend was busy.

They had to go to three different grocery stores because Felix is picky and needs a particular brand of cereal that seems to only be sold in the back end of nowhere, or he’ll throw a hissy fit. And it’ll be Jisung that has to comfort him because Felix’s boyfriend can’t handle him crying, or he’ll cry too.

Tiring, but it’s a day out.

It was when they got to the third store that Felix had patted his forearm before letting Jisung get out of the car.

“Hey, Sungie? Look at that guy,” he had said, pointing across the parking lot. “In the black cap.”

Jisung had looked over to where Felix was pointing, peering at the guy – too far to really see anything about him. He was just a guy in a hat, standing in the rain. What, was he stupid? It’s freezing.

“Fuck, he’s gonna get hypothermia. What about him?”

“I don’t know…” Felix had chewed on his lip, slowly unbuckling his seatbelt without taking his eyes off the poor guy. “Wasn’t he at the last store too?”

Jisung looked at the guy, looked back at Felix, and shrugged. He didn’t remember. Why would he?

He opened the car door with a click and stepped one foot out onto the tarmac, grimacing at the rain on his leg.

“Maybe he’s looking for the cereal too.”

It’s been 3 months since Jisung had started realizing that Felix might’ve been onto something.

Next, it had been just general paranoia since then. Sitting in his apartment, feeling as if someone was watching him when there was no one there, but he had shrugged it off and blamed it on lack of sleep. Blamed it on Felix’s stupid stories. Listening to his weird superstitions and jokes wasn’t doing him any favors.

However, after a week or so, he had started to receive packages and letters at his door – small things like a new candle after his old one had burnt out, bouquets of a multitude of different flowers, the letters simply telling him to enjoy whatever he was doing. Physical proof – there really was someone.

They were never signed until a month in, when the letters began to get lengthier and the gifts more expensive – sometimes a polaroid of Jisung at a grocery store slipped in as a bonus.

‘Did you know that Ancient Greece had multiple words for love? ’Eros’ is the sort of love of passion and lust, the one that the Greeks used to fear, as it signified the loss of control. ‘Agape’ is an unconditional selfless love, the love that doesn’t stop no matter how hard you try. ‘Mania’ is an obsessive love, a word to describe possessive and almost inhumane love.

I think I’m feeling all of those for you, Jisungie. Just one word, ‘love’, isn’t enough for me, it doesn’t describe exactly what I’m feeling, exactly what I’m thinking. I love you more than anything, but only saying that doesn’t do it justice.

I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself, and it breaks my heart that you won’t talk to me. I just want you to talk to me, for us to talk, so I can show you what I would do for you. I would do anything. I would sacrifice anything if that would make you happy.

Here’s my number again in case you’ve thrown the old letters out: 010-XXXX-XXXX

Text me, sweetie.

Lee Know ♡’

Jisung understands that he should have called the police at that point. He had a number he could connect him to and he had some sort of name, he was perfectly capable to report him, and with good reason.

He kept procrastinating on calling the police. ‘I’ll do it tonight,’ he told himself every time his eyes had flicked over to the letter on his desk, corners slightly worn with the times he had run his fingers over the edge. ‘I’ll finish this piece of work, and then I’ll report it.’

After a week or so, Jisung realized that he was never going to end up mentioning the letter to anyone. He didn’t want to. He’s not sure why, but he finds that some sick, attention-deprived part of him likes the obsession, almost flattered that someone’s interested in him so much.

Maybe it’s because it’s the first time really ever that anyone has shown that they liked him. Maybe he’s just desperate for anything, even if it is from some mentally ill stranger.

It freaks him out, sure, but Jisung would be lying if he said he didn’t like the attention on him just a little bit. Lee Know’s never sounded malicious in any of his letters. His handwriting is pretty, the paper always smells like rich sandalwood, and the small glimpses of the top half of his face that Jisung has seen is gorgeous. It could be much worse.

He wonders that if he never paid attention to Felix’s stupid stupid jokes about Jisung being stalked, that none of this would even be happening.

The light from Jisung’s laptop tells him it’s 9:58 pm. In two minutes, if he looks out the window, the man will be there. He can put money on the fact that as soon as he checks down at the street, that Lee Know will be standing there, next to the streetlamp that’s been broken since before Jisung moved into this apartment.

He checks outside, just in case. No one.

He types another few sentences out, mindlessly tapping away at his laptop’s keyboard and unsure what he’s even writing. Once the time flicks to 10:00, he instinctively looks outside again.

Bingo.

The man stands, looking straight up at Jisung’s window, just as always. His face is covered with a black surgical mask like usual, his hoodie large on him, as if he wants to stay hidden in the darkness of the bushes behind him.

His gaze has become less and less intimidating as the months have passed, Jisung’s realized. His mind may just be lying to him, playing tricks to lessen the blow, but he swears that whenever he makes eye contact with him there’s a smile behind that piece of plastic.

Lee Know brings his hand from behind his back and holds it in front of him. He’s holding a flower, but Jisung can’t figure out what kind.

Lee Know waits, unmoving.

Although three floors above with eyesight that is getting worse by the day, Jisung can see enough of him. He’s about Jisung’s height, possibly taller. The hair peeking out of his hood is a dark brown. He has nice hands.

He’s almost pretty.

Jisung presses his lips together to form a line and hesitantly points at his chest, ribs trapping his heart that beats a million miles an hour.

“For me?” He mouths, as if he doesn’t know the answer, his finger wobbling.

The man nods simply and cocks his head to the side. Come and get it, he’s saying, gesturing the flower upwards. It’s yours.

Lee Know has never asked him to come down and talk to him before.

Jisung hates to think why this time is so special.

Jisung’s been tempted to go down before and talk to this guy, find out something about him, but stops himself every time with the thought that that’s probably how he’s going to get killed.

And, sure, maybe he’ll be killed this time, but it’s been long enough. If this guy’s intention really is to kill him, like his friends think, he’s sure he would have done it already.

Before letting his brain think about all the ways he could be killed, Jisung gestures for the man to wait a moment, standing up and pulling a hoodie over his vest to try and cover himself up a little. He ignores his nagging thoughts telling him to take the sticky note on his mirror, Seungmin’s number, a quick contact in case anything goes wrong, and slips his aging sneakers on instead.

His brain plays white noise as he fumbles with the key, unlocking his apartment door and carefully stepping down the stairs.

Each squeak of his squeaker’s dull grip on the stairs sends sharp stings through his chest. His joints are unnaturally heavy, heart thrumming in his ears, moving dangerously close to his throat. God, he hopes he doesn’t vomit out of anxiety onto the guy’s shoes.

When he leaves the building and shuts the door with a quiet click, Lee Know is directly in front of him, almost trapping Jisung between him and the entrance.

“I didn’t think you actually would come down. It’s a pleasure,” he murmurs. The voice Jisung has only ever heard in his head, imagining what he sounds like late at night. His voice is much sweeter in actuality, less gravelly and rough than he imagined.

The man presents the flower again. “Take it. It’s an aster. It looked pretty.”

Jisung clenches his jaw but still plucks the flower from his hands, looking over it.

An aster. Right.

He had gone shopping with Chan, the guy who helps him mix his songs, earlier that day, and he saw the flower on the side, just placed down. Chan had laughed at how obscure it was, still being freshly picked and randomly placed. He had put it in Jisung’s hair.

“Apparently they’re September’s flower,” Chan had told him. “Therefore, should suit September babies. I think it’s cute.”

“I’m not wearing a flower around,” Jisung had grumbled almost immediately, taking it out of his hair and putting it back on the side.

Maybe for the best, if Lee Know was with them.

“You were there?” Jisung asks quietly, eyes on the plant, examining each petal before flicking his eyes back up to meet Lee Know’s dark ones.

“Of course,” the man replies without missing a beat.

He raises his hand to tuck a curl behind Jisung’s ear. Jisung immediately backs. Lee Know drops his hand back down to his side. Disappointed.

“I put it there,” he continues. “I was sad that you didn’t want to keep it.”

Jisung lets out a short breath, one that shakes his ribs and makes Lee Know smile. A cocky thing, his smile.

His hand drifts up to Jisung’s hip, thumbing at the hem of his hoodie, the touch light. Jisung doesn’t back away in time.

The grip tightens on his clothing. Caught.

“Let me come in,” Lee Know demands in a gentle voice, muffled only slightly by the face mask.

Jisung swallows dryly, saliva not appearing no matter how much he tries to supplicate it. He can’t even hear the gentle July wind anymore over the sound of his own blood thrumming in his ears.

“I don’t…” he trails off, before looking away, down at the dark pavement beneath their feet. “I don’t know you.”

“No, but you want to,” the man insists, words so confident that Jisung nearly believes him. “You’re not running away, are you? You’re still here. Let me in, Jisung-ah, let me take care of you. Let me treat you like you deserve.”

Jisung wants to say no, but he can’t find the word in his vocabulary.

“If I let you come in, will you hurt me?” Jisung squeaks out instead.

The question seems to strike Lee Know as funny, given the small huff of air punched from his nose.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says in a soft purr. “I don’t want to ruin your pretty skin with any bruises.”

Jisung visibly shivers. It’s not cold outside, given it’s the middle of summer and he’s been lucky not to wake up in a layer of sweat every morning, but Lee Know’s stare is enough to send chills down his spine.

“Will you tell me about yourself first?” He tries meekly.

“When you let me in.”

Lee Know’s hand travels further to Jisung’s lower back, grazing the material of his sweatpants, and, okay, it’s obvious he isn’t giving up.

Jisung keeps his mouth shut, trying to think, and yet he feels he doesn’t have a choice in the matter at all. Who’s to say what he’ll do if he’s not invited in? Is he like a fucking vampire, or will he just force his way inside instead?

He doesn’t particularly want to deal with a broken window.

Whatever. He can always call the police, and he can’t think rationally when Lee Know is looking at him with such intense eyes, anyway.

Before his brain could even consider that what he was doing was wrong, Jisung immediately steps back again and turns back into the apartment building, simply assuming the other will follow.

This is stupid. This is stupid, this is dumb and this is how people get killed in horror movies when the villain is played by a stupidly hot actor.

It won’t be for long. He’ll talk to this guy, figure out at least something about him, and then… decide what to do then. He just isn’t sure quite what yet.

Jisung tries to ignore the breathing behind him with every step up, finding the door number through blurry eyes and pushing it open, having left it unlocked. He puts the aster down on the table he eats on and turns back to see the other’s eyes dart around the room. Looking over the layout like a hawk.

“Cozy,” the man hums and shuts the door behind him, as if it was his own place.

“Tell me who you are,” Jisung says immediately, awkwardness tinging his attempt of a stern tone. He can’t afford to waste any time.

Lee Know leans against the wall, takes one good look at Jisung, head to toe, before humming with a smile.

“I’m Lee Minho.”

Lee Minho.

Jisung mouths it subconsciously, testing how the name feels on his tongue. It suits him.

“I’m twenty-eight,” he continues once Jisung’s mouth stops moving, “I used to work at security at Incheon Airport and I have three cats. What else do you want to know, sweetie?”

Whilst talking, Minho had pulled off his face mask and tucked it into his pocket, revealing more of his face. It’s the first time Jisung has seen more than just his eyes and fuck, it’s just as pretty as the upper half of his face.

His pouty lips are slightly rosy in the center, his nose perfectly sculptured and jawline sharp. The type of face you see in magazines and never in real life.

Jisung internally curses the universe for making his stalker look like a gift from heaven. Life would be so much easier if he was a greasy-haired guy with a shabby style and no sense for self-hygiene, not someone who looked like they wore sheet masks every day and bathed in gold.

Jisung nods slowly, trying desperately not to show anything on his face and continue what he’s planning to do. “Used to..?”

“Mhm. Used to.” Minho pushes himself off the wall and begins to slowly pace around Jisung’s apartment.

Jisung’s heart beats nervously, looking over the furniture and scanning the laptop that had gone to sleep from lack of use just a beat after Minho does.

“I got bored,” he finishes, an explanation for a question Jisung didn’t ask.

“..Okay,” Jisung murmurs. That’s probably all he needs from that. “So, why me? Why did you decide to go after me..?”

Minho’s pacing pauses and Jisung’s heart stops, worrying that he said the wrong thing. Whatever the right thing would be in this situation.

“Because you’re beautiful,” Minho says in a soft tone, gentler than anything else he’s said all night. “When I saw you, I just knew. I watched you and watched you, and I could tell so easily that you needed someone to care for you. Someone like me.”

Jisung’s brain lags a little behind, words struggling to process. A bubbling feeling of annoyance fizzes in the bottom of his stomach at Minho’s almost pitying expression — needed someone to care for him? The fuck did that even mean?

He shakes the thought. This isn’t a good time to argue about his masculinity being threatened.

“..How much do you know about me?” He asks next, as if in an interview.

“Enough,” Minho responds almost instantly, gaze flicking back to him. “I know that you rap and have a penchant for horror movies, even though you can’t sleep after them. I know that you keep a picture of your dog in your wallet because you haven’t seen him in months, I know your favorite cafe and I know your order.”

Minho’s body turns to face Jisung directly.

“I know that you hate cheap socks because the seams upset you, but you buy them anyway because you don’t want to waste money. I know your family tree up to three generations off the top of my head, and I know you’ve not talked to your brother for two months. I know your favorite body wash, and I know you hate—”

“Okay, okay!” Jisung interrupts, royally freaked out. “Okay...”

Holy shit, he’s like a human Han Jisung encyclopedia. Sure, lots of those facts could have been sniffed out by listening in on conversations, and yet he seems to know more than the surface level.

Things Jisung had never said aloud, almost like Minho had crawled in through his ear and read his brain like a textbook. Creepy.

Minho shuts his mouth with a smile and steps a little closer, ghosting his fingertips up the fabric of Jisung’s hoodie, taking in his face that Jisung could feel was furrowed in distress. Unable to unknit it.

“I know you.”

Jisung’s throat feels tight, but urges himself not to make himself obvious. Just keep the questions going.

“How often do you watch me..? Do you have a job?”

Minho chuckles at that, teeth glistening in the dim light. Too pretty for Jisung’s liking.

“I don’t work anymore, sweetie. Why would I?” He states, like it should be obvious. “All I have to do is watch you, enjoy you. You’re my work.”

Jisung’s blood runs cold. It wasn’t just a creepy hobby, then.

“And you don’t want to hurt me..?” He squeaks out in almost disbelief.

Minho brings his fingers up, dancing around the neck of his hoodie, stroking the hole for the drawstring with his thumbpad. Expression dreamy, soft, scanning over Jisung’s face, scrutinizing him.

“No, Jisungie. Not you. I want to keep you safe.”

If Jisung had bigger balls than he does, he would have laughed. Safe? People like Minho don’t do the whole ‘safety’ thing, on the whole. In his experience (two Netflix documentaries), people like Minho are the ones to threaten safety that was perfectly intact to begin with.

And yet, Jisung has no option but to listen. He swallows back the doubt into his stomach, prickling the lining and threatening to singe a hole through.

“What do you want to get out of this..?” Jisung’s questions, voice not sounding twice as confident as he wanted.

Minho doesn’t reply for a moment, sharp eyes following his fingertips as they trace circles over his shoulder. His touch is gentle, careful even. As if Jisung will break with the slightest impact.

“You,” he hums after a moment. “I just want you. You need someone’s care, someone’s protection and I want to give you it.”

The challenging annoyance bubbles in the bottom of Jisung’s stomach again. This guy.

“Why do you keep saying I need someone to take care of me..?” Jisung asks, furious heat burning at… somewhere in his body, anyway.

Minho laughs at that. A pretty sound, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Because you do. I know you better than anyone else, Jisungie – I can see what annoys you, and I can see what type of care you need.”

Jisung watches Minho’s face morph into an almost meditative gaze, the prominent dark circles under his eyes accentuating his bloodshot scleras when they glisten.

“I’ll give you everything you need and anything you want.”

“Like what?”

Minho takes a moment to look at him, blinking slowly and deliberately. Jisung nearly crumbles under his gaze.

“Anything,” Minho repeats. “Money, meals, company… whatever you want. I’ll take care of you and you’ll never have to worry about anything ever again. I just want to keep you safe. That’s all.”

And Jisung is meant to believe that. Believe that this man only wants to ‘keep him safe’. Repeating the phrase like a mantra.

Yeah. Right.

“And if I say no..?” Jisung asks meekly.

Minho’s soft smile drops. Jisung’s stomach does too. His eyes pin Jisung down, watching each slight twitch of his body.

“Don’t say no,” Minho murmurs, deadly quiet. “Don’t say no, Jisungie, I would hate to force you to come with me.”

Jisung’s throat runs dry at the implication that his brain immediately goes to.

He has no idea actually how dangerous this man is, or what forcing even entails to him. Drugging? Blackmailing? How prepared is he if Jisung refuses..?

“Is… is that what you would do, then..?” Jisung asks in a small voice, scared to be even slightly too loud. “And if I call the police..?”

A silent moment passes, before a low chuckle rises from Minho’s throat, forcing Jisung’s stomach to twist into knots.

“I’d have you bound and in my hands before the police even get in the car,” he murmurs, the pad of his thumb now digging just slightly painfully into Jisung’s jaw. “Is that really want you want, precious?”

Jisung’s brain haywires. He should feel afraid at the threat, and yet he can’t ignore the feeling of his pants filling out as he pictures it. The hottest man he has seen in his life, tying him up, forcing him into his car and driving off.

God.

“You’ll kidnap me?”

He watches as Minho’s tongue pokes out, wetting the seam of his lips, making them glisten in the dim lighting.

“Kidnap is a strong word, pretty boy,” he whispers softly. “I’m trying to help you, trying to save you from your lonely little life. I’m bringing you home and taking care of you. Don’t you want that?”

Jisung’s knees wobble like rubber. His body feels 20 kilograms heavier.

“Aww, baby, you do,” Minho coos cruelly, eyes practically glowing as Jisung’s body gets just slightly weaker. “You want me to take you, yeah? I’ll treat you so nicely, I’ll take care of you just how you want, how you need. Isn’t it so nice of me to care so much?”

Oh, fuck.

Jisung digs his nails into Minho’s forearm, the ache between his legs making him dizzy. He lets out a strangled mewl that he can’t fight back.

A smile tugs at Minho’s lips, forming an expression that’s bordering on maniacal.

“How adorable,” he murmurs, pressing his thumb in small circles just under the other’s jaw. “There you were, complaining about how sick I sounded when you’re just as sick as I am.”

Jisung wills and wills and wills his brain to string a sentence together and spit it out, telling Minho to go away, that he’ll call the police, but nothing comes. His mouth opens, straining against the plush of Minho’s thumb, then shuts again.

Minho takes a step forward, pressing Jisung flat against the wall of his apartment.

Smiling.

Triumphant.

“Poor boy,” he purrs, “you need this, don’t you? Need someone to care for you, keep you nice and safe and protected…”

When Minho’s knee comes up between Jisung’s thigh and his muscle applies pressure, Jisung keens and immediately presses back down onto him. Minho laughs cruelly at the reaction, dizzying the other’s brain, compressing it to mush.

“So desperate…” Minho sighs, like he’s biting back a laugh. “Is that why you’ve been so lonely? No one to take care of such a needy thing as you? Can no one else deal with all that work?”

The mocking makes Jisung’s head spin.

“What—” his words are cut off with a strangled noise as Minho meanly flexes the muscles in his thigh. “What are you gonna do..?”

“I’ll take you,” Minho murmurs, words low, confident. “I’ll put you in my car and bring you back to my place. I’ll tie you up nice and pretty when we get there if you’d like, and I’ll keep you. I’ll keep you all for myself, away from everyone else.”

Minho’s tone sounds almost dreamy.

“No one’ll have to talk to or touch you ever again, just me, darling. Wouldn’t that be so perfect?”

It’s pathetic how easily Minho’s words are turning Jisung’s brain to mush. It makes his breath quicken, makes his chest ache and makes him warm in all the wrong places. He isn’t even sure why Minho has this intense effect on him, an effect he had never felt in his life before now – all he knows is that he’s crazy and insanely gorgeous, and apparently that’s enough for him to melt.

Minho notices the reaction, how Jisung’s body involuntarily shudders and his ears heat up. He pushes his knee up a little harder, Jisung involuntarily twitching inside the fabric.

“You like that idea, don’t you?” He coos. “You want to be my little pet, hm? All for me to look after and spoil?”

Jisung gasps and nods. Fuck, he nods, and he doesn’t even know why.

Minho’s eyes glisten just a little before a sharp, breathless laugh leaves him. He presses himself to Jisung fully, a possessive weight that’s both too much and not enough.

“I’m not surprised,” he murmurs. “I know how that little brain works, I know what breaks you.” Minho hums and replaces his thumb against Jisung’s jaw with his lips, planting little soft kisses down the honey skin, chuckling when Jisung tenses. “You’d look so pretty in my bed, I just know it.”

Jisung’s brain breaks in half. He whines and nods dumbly, shivering as Minho rubs his hand down Jisung’s side, squeezing when he reaches the waist.

“Ah… so lovely, so sweet…” he purrs, fingers trailing to rest above his hip, pinky finger at the waistband of his sweatpants. “I’ll treat you so nicely, Jisung-ah, I promise.”

When Minho’s hand slips beneath Jisung’s hoodie, his knees shake, grabbing the other’s forearm again to keep him steady. Minho says nothing and pulls back from Jisung’s neck, fingertips tracing over each bump of Jisung’s spine, eyes scanning his face.

When he whimpers, he smiles again.

“I’ve thought about your little noises so much,” Minho murmurs, “I’m delighted that you’re making them because of me.”

Minho’s dipped his head back down and started attacking his neck with those pouty lips before Jisung’s brain had even clocked his words. Minho, thinking about the noises. Jisung’s noises. His whimpers, his moans, his whines.

“Y-You have?” Jisung breathes out.

“Of course I have,” he hums, vibrating the skin beneath his lips. “I’ve thought about you plenty. Your cute little voice, your pretty face… how pretty you would look in my bed with my hands on your body and my name on your lips.”

Jisung whimpers, nails digging harsher into Minho’s skin.

He tries to justify the heat coiling up in places they wishes they wouldn’t. This was fine to feel, right? He was a hot, mysterious man who wanted to whisk him away and ‘take care’ of him.

Minho’s hands rub slow circles in the skin of Jisung’s back in an almost soothing motion, despite the words leaving his mouth. He rubs him with one hand, the other trailing up to gently cup his jaw and tilt his head back, exposing the skin of his neck.

He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the skin under his chin.

“You’ve got such a perfect body for me to mark up.”

Jisung’s body rattles with a shiver and half-heartedly tries to push him off, the words and touches overwhelming him — not necessarily wanting him to stop, but wanting to feel as if he wasn’t simply letting this happen. He wants to do something, to fight him off, but–

“Oh, Jisung, don’t do that,” Minho breathes, pushing Jisung’s back flat against the wall. “No pushing, sweetheart.”

Jisung whimpers and his head spins.

“Can’t—“ he gasps, palms pressing at Minho’s mid section, causing him to simply chuckle.

“Can’t?” He echoes, body unmoving like a brick wall. “I told you, no pushing. I’ve been so gentle with you, don’t make me change that, sweetie.”

Jisung whimpers at the mix of emotions his stomach.

“I-I thought you weren’t going to hurt me…”

Minho sighs and presses the pad of his thumb into the muscle just under Jisung’s chin, just where he had kissed, looking at him.

“I won’t if you behave.”

Jisung’s eyes burn, as if staring into the sun. He really is gorgeous. And unhinged. And borderline psychotic, but who’s counting?

Minho smiles back at him, gaze seemingly softening his entire demeanor as he leans in, pressing his lips tenderly to the skin of his forehead.

“Shh shh, pretty boy,” he hushes, rubbing circles with his thumb. “No reason to cry, I’m taking care of you.”

Minho leans up and traces a few more light kisses over Jisung’s skin — his forehead, his flushed cheeks, his eyelids, his nose, before his lips ghost over his. He hovers for a moment, looking up into Jisung’s eyes with his glimmering ones.

His lips press down just a little. It’s sweet, gentle.

He smells like sandalwood. He tastes like mints and coffee.

Jisung hesitates. He isn’t exactly kissing him back (and definitely won’t be when he recounts the story), but finds himself unable to stop his mouth from moving. Minho hums in satisfaction, his tongue flicking out to swipe along the seam of Jisung’s lips.

Teeth catch onto Jisung’s bottom lip, the small plush of flesh being sucked into Minho’s mouth as he gives a small tug. Jisung’s breath stutters.

Minho’s hands trail down, resting on Jisung’s hip against and giving a small squeeze. When he breaks away for a breath, Jisung almost whimpers at the loss.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna keep you forever.”

“Forever?” Jisung squeaks.

Minho smiles and cradles Jisung’s jaw in his palm, grazing the freshly shaven surface.

“Forever. Gonna take you back to my place, okay? Tie you up, keep you nice and safe and protected.”

Jisung gulps.

“Y-You’re a psycho—“ he chokes out, only for his train of thought to be interrupted by Minho’s knee on his groin again.

“Gosh, that’s not very nice now, is it?”

The arousal twangs in Jisung’s throat, and fuck, he’s going to get himself killed.

Minho hums at the reaction and dips his head back down, kissing soft and sweet spots over his skin. He starts up a leisurely trail of lovebites, marking the skin in morse code, spelling out love professions as he moves. Jisung feels every word.

He feels pathetic. He’s just letting this happen, survival instincts singed and destroyed by Minho’s smooth words and pretty mouth.

“I’m scared,” Jisung breathes out before thinking.

Minho’s teeth close on a spot, biting down and sucking a dark mark into fruition. When Jisung whimpers and twitches against him, he presses a soothing kiss to the mark, tongue swiping over the flesh.

“I know. It’s exciting, isn’t it, love?”

Jisung nearly comes in his pants right there and then, because it is.

Minho pulls back and his eyes glimmer as he looks down at the bruise, brushing the back of his finger over the mark.

“Looks so pretty on you. I can’t wait for you to see what I’ve got planned.”

“You have things planned..?”

“Of course I do,” he purrs, eyes flicking between the mark and Jisung’s eyes. “I’ve fantasized about this day for so long, what kind of person would I be not to plan it at all? I want it to be perfect for us.”

Jisung hates to think about how long Minho had been dreaming of this day. Maybe he has a drawing board up of Jisung’s routine, planning things from there, Maybe he has a list that he’s been perfecting from day one. Maybe he’s just lying,

His thought process is cut short, however, when the pressure of Minho’s knee between his thighs disappears. He almost cries at the loss.

“So, I think it’s time to take you home now.”

Jisung blinks, unsure if he heard that right. Now? He thought he would have more time, get some things together and try to fool himself into thinking this was safe. He wasn’t expecting this to all happen so quick.

“Now?” He echoes.

“Now,” Minho confirms. “I don’t want to wait any longer, sweetie, I want you to be cared for and safe under my own roof.”

“But...” Jisung blinks, confused. “But what—“

“Jisung-ah,” Minho interrupts, shutting Jisung up immediately. “You need to stop asking so many questions, sweetie. Me and you both know that tonight’s ending with you back at home, so let’s just leave it at that.”

Jisung gulps. An order. An order and, God, he’s going to follow it.

“You don’t need a bag,” Minho smiles. “Everything you need is there, you won’t need to bring anything else. Just yourself.”

Jisung hesitates, but slowly nods. Okay, maybe that isn’t so surprising. Minho had bought him clothes before and dropped them off at his front door, so he obviously knows his size. It’s not too crazy for Minho to already have clothes prepared.

“C’mon, lovely,” Minho murmurs, taking a step towards the door. “I’ll drive us there, all you have to do is come in with me.”

Minho reaches his hand out and clasps Jisung’s firmly, lacing his fingers with his as he gives it a sharp yet gentle tug, urging him to follow.

Jisung’s feet move before his brain tells them not to, following Minho out of the apartment. The safe, homey apartment. What the fuck?

He doesn’t understand what’s going on, he doesn’t understand what Minho’s plan actually is, and he most definitely doesn’t understand why he’s agreeing. It’s not like he had some sort of sensible plan, like following so that he can call the police, like a smart person would do.

Besides, what would he even tell the police? It’s not exactly kidnapping if his dick was agreeing too.

The man’s thumb runs a gentle circle along the back of Jisung’s hand, an almost soothing gesture as he leads him down the stairs of the apartment block, each squeak of his heel echoing out.

When they leave the building altogether, Jisung feels like he might vomit.

Minho leads him to his car in silence, only parked a minute or so away. Jisung keeps his head down, not wanting to dare to look up at the surroundings he was so familiar with in case he will never ever see them again.

The car is… actually okay. He doesn’t know what he was expecting — it was obviously going to be a decent car, as he seems to have the money. It is nice, though. Sleek, black, no scratches at all, windows clean.

Minho drops his hand once they get to the car and opens the door of the passenger side.

“Hop in.”

Jisung steps in clumsily with his heart in his throat and Minho shuts the door after him, circling around the car, slipping into the driver's seat himself. He starts the car and rests his hands on the sleek steering wheel, watching intently as Jisung pulls the seatbelt over himself, hands sweating.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, barely audible before he pulls out from the parking lot. Jisung isn’t sure if he was intending for him to hear it or not.

Once he pulls out into Route 6, Minho begins humming to himself, a light tune, and Jisung begins to think.

Maybe he’ll never see that apartment again. His laptop with all his work in progress songs on, or the neglected cactus that his brother had given him years back, or the stash of birthday cards from his friends that he’d been collecting for years.

Jisung’s throat gets a little tighter. God, his friends. Seungmin, Chan, Felix… what will they say when they find out? Will they even find out? Is he even allowed to text them at Minho’s place? Maybe not.

As they pass a sign, pointing some way away to a town he recognizes, he thinks about his family. His mom, his poor mom, she’s home alone… and now she won’t even know where he is.

Jisung’s chest rattles with a sharp intake of breath, trying his best not to start crying as his chest tightens. Why did he agree? What the fuck was he thinking? Is his horny brain really that bad?

Minho stops humming.

“Oh, baby, no crying,” he coos, purring softly to probably try and soothe him. “Everything’ll be okay, love, don’t cry. I promise I’ll take good care of you.”

Jisung can’t help but let the tears fall despite his words, throat aching as he swallows back his saliva.

“What about my f-family? My friends? What..?” Jisung trails off into another shaky sniffle.

Minho shakes his head a little, eyes straight and focused on the road ahead of them.

“They’re fine, they’ll be fine,” He murmurs. “But you don’t need to tell them what’s going on, okay?”

Jisung sniffles again and swallows back the disgusting mucus that has culminated at the back of his throat, looking out to the city around them. He spots his teary face in the reflection of the window and almost winces.

He’s a mess.

The drive from then on is mostly quiet, the only noise being the gentle hum of the car’s engine and Minho’s little songs, which he continues to hum softly.

After only a few minutes, Minho suddenly turns off the road and parks underneath a building. A building Jisung immediately recognizes as the fancy block of apartments he would wistfully look at every now and then, fantasizing for a day that he would miraculously be able to afford it.

Minho slips out of the driver’s seat, circles around the car and opens Jisung’s door, the cool air prickling at his nose. As soon as the door opens, Minho’s hand reaches out immediately to gently take Jisung’s wrist, as if worried he was going to make a run for it.

Like he even could.

Jisung stands shakily from the seat, Minho supporting him up before shutting the door and pocketing the keys. He only manages to glance up at the building long enough for that deep, twisting feeling in his stomach appear again before Minho gently squeezes his wrist.

“Come on, baby, inside. You’ll feel better then.”

Minho leads him through a small side door, and Jisung’s feet follow with an air of uncertainty. It’s definitely too late to try and run, but from what he can tell, Minho lives a rich life. Maybe this isn’t too bad. This could be okay.

Minho keeps Jisung’s body pressed up close to his side and leads him to the elevator down a large corridor, smiling kindly at the concierge. Jisung’s vision goes a little hazy when he runs his thumb over Jisung’s wrist, stepping through the elevator doors and clicking the button for Floor 7.

“How do you live in such a fancy place..?” Jisung breathes, planting his feet firmly on the floor in an attempt to not fall over. He’s dizzy.

“Daddy’s rich, darling,” he chuckles as the doors shut as if it’s the simplest of answers. “You like it? Once you’re moved in, you can change things if you aren’t so fond.”

Jisung laughs shakily. What?

“Does this really count as moving in..?”

Minho chuckles again.

“Of course it does. Why would you ask a silly question like that?”

The elevator stops and the door opens, Jisung flinching when a woman’s voice announces the floor number through the speaker. Minho moves his arm to snake around Jisung’s waist and gently guides him forward.

Minho’s breath tickles the shell of his ear.

“Even if you tried to run, I would find you and bring you right back home, so don’t even try, okay?”

Jisung gulps and walks with him. He glances at the paintings scattered around the hall as Minho stops at the front door, unlocks it, and pushes it open.

“Come on, inside.”

Jisung takes a deep breath and steps forward into the apartment – it’s a penthouse. An expensive one at that.

The floors are wood, a smooth golden brown beneath his feet and the walls are white, accented by some more abstract paintings that he can’t quite understand.

Minho steps in behind him, locking the door with a click. His hands come to rest on Jisung’s sides and gently pulls his back against his chest, causing Jisung to let out a small squeak.

“It’s… nice.”

Minho hums, resting his chin on his shoulder and looking around with him.

“Yeah?” Minho asks in a gentle tone, rubbing his hands along Jisung’s sides. “Good. I designed it for you.”

Jisung goes dizzy when Minho presses a small kiss at the base of his neck.

“For me..?”

“Yes,” he confirms softly, teeth closing on another small spot along his neck and sucking on the skin gently, pulling off with a pop. “I’ve wanted a pretty little puppy for a while now. So, I got this nice place, found out just what things you like about a home, and then you...” He kisses over the mark again. “You were the last piece I needed. Aren’t you lucky?”

Jisung shivers. Does he even want to know?

He doesn’t, but he finds himself asking anyway.

“How did you know what I liked..?”

Minho’s breath fans out over the skin as he chuckles, fingers gracefully playing with the fabric of Jisung’s hoodie.

“You were so easy. I could watch through the window, watch you in your bed with your little blonde friend, listening to your sweet little voice tell him about your plans for the home you want to buy someday.”

Jisung’s vision goes white for a second. He’d only talked about his dream home to Felix once, and that was way before he had even suspected there was someone following him.

Fuck.

Minho, noticing Jisung’s fear, simply chuckles and turns him around to face him. Jisung whimpers at the look on Minho’s face — almost dazed, dark, burning holes into Jisung’s retina just to ensure he won’t forget his stare.

“The only thing I didn’t know was how beautiful you look after a nightmare,” he purrs softly. “So pretty, trembling and crying… I was so lucky when I saw it. I really won the jackpot.”

Jisung look back at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to say that he was lying — the words never come.

“How..? My curtains…”

Minho practically beams.

“You think a curtain is enough to keep me from seeing you?” He smiles cryptically, lifting a hand to cup Jisung’s cheek and letting his thumb trace soft circles over the skin, causing his breath to hitch. “I needed to make sure you slept well, darling. Don’t you think it’s sweet? That I care about you enough to make sure no nightmares or sleep paralysis take you?”

Fear spreads through Jisung’s chest, his blood running cold.

“How? I don’t—”

Minho presses his thumb against the plush of his lips and makes soft, hushing sounds.

“I already told you to stop asking so many questions, Don’t think about it.”

Jisung lets out a small whimper, another sting of tears threatening the back of his eyes.

“I-I don’t understand—”

Minho hushes him again, shaking his head with a soft tut.

“Calm down, sweetie, just calm down. You’re getting worked up over things that are over now, there’s no need to get upset. You should be happy that I care so much about you, hm?”

Jisung presses his lips into a line and blinks rapidly, willing the tears back into his head. Minho takes his thumb from his lips, sighing as he sees Jisung’s expression.

“Just think… I can watch you sleep at all hours now. Protect you from those bad dreams. Doesn’t that sound better?”

Jisung nods without thinking. In some, twisted way, it is slightly better. At least he’ll know Minho’s there.

Minho simply observes Jisung for another few moments silently, before smiling and pulling Jisung’s bottom lip down with the tip of his finger.

“Good boy, such a good boy,” he praises gently, eyes flicking over the inside of Jisung’s lip. “Open your mouth properly for me, darling.”

Jisung’s jaw moves like rubber and opens before he can shut it, making Minho huff out a breath of laughter at the obedience. Slipping his thumb inside. Gently rubbing over the muscle.

“So pretty. Just as I thought…” he murmurs, pressing his thumb down a little more before removing the digit, having had his fill.

He hums down at Jisung’s expression before pressing a short, sweet kiss to the tip of Jisung’s nose.

Sweet.

It doesn’t feel malicious, despite the fact he was telling him how he watched him sleep just moments ago. It feels sweet and caring and fuck, Jisung needs to pick his brain up from the floor and give it a clean.

“So…” Jisung starts in an attempt to stop his thoughts, the alarm bells that he kept switching off. “Um… where am I sleeping?”

“Our bed, of course,” as if there’s ‘our’ anything. “I don’t want to be away from you for a second now that I have you here.”

“Okay,” Jisung says, mouth dry. “Didn’t you say… you had cats?”

Minho hums, a soft smile on his lips.

“I do. They’re with my mother for a few days. Don’t want you sneezing as soon as you get in.”

Of course he knows about his allergies. He shouldn’t be surprised.

Minho smiles softly back at him, eyes sparkling as he does. He runs his hand down Jisung’s back and lets his hand rest just above the curve of his ass, pressing his fingers against the fabric.

“Do you want to see the room?”

Jisung nods wordlessly.

“There’s a good boy,” he coos as if talking to a puppy.

He steps away, hands pressing on Jisung’s lower back, and leads him through the penthouse to a slightly ajar door. He pushes it open with his free hands and gently urges Jisung inside.

The room is alarmingly similar to Jisung’s apartment. There’s a large bed in the middle with a fluffy grey duvet lying on top of it and two bedside tables, each with a different lampshade on. The floor is the same wood as the rest of the place but with a couple of soft rugs laid on top of it, warm under Jisung’s feet.

He glances over the paintings on the wall, the sleek wardrobes, the polished desk, before his eyes fall on one of the lamps. A soft, cream color with small leaves embroidered into the fabric.

“That’s…” Jisung breathes. “That’s my lamp…”

Minho hums from behind him and presses him forward towards the bed.

“Of course it is, honey. Everything in our room is something I know you like. Isn’t that sweet?”

Jisung’s stomach twists as he sits on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on it. It’s his lamp, the one at his parents’ house. In his bedroom, his childhood bedroom, there’s the exact same lamp.

Minho’s eyes obviously catch the look of sickness in his expression. He sighs softly.

“What’s wrong, baby? Do you not like it?” He asks innocently, as if he doesn’t know.

Jisung hastily shakes his head and looks back up at Minho, tearing his eyes away.

“Nothing, nothing… it’s nice,” he insists.

The smile that spreads across Minho’s face is sickeningly gentle, bringing his hand up to brush the hair from Jisung’s face.

“I bought it because I wanted my puppy to be happy. To feel at home.”

“I am!” Jisung says quickly, not wanting him to be upset. “I am, just… yeah. I am… thank you.”

He’s not. He’s not happy.

His stomach twists into knots, pressure harsh on his eyes. Minho’s fucking crazy.

There’s no other way to put it. He’s crazy, and he’s scary and Jisung wants his mom. He wants to go home and see his mom and see the lamp that’s meant to be there. Not here.

Minho either doesn’t pick up on Jisung’s discomfort or simply ignores it, smiling and pressing his lips to Jisungs forehead with a noise of content.

“You’re welcome, love. Anything for my precious Jisung-ah,” he coos, before sighing, his hand falling back to his side. “I’m tired, darling. Do you want to get cozy in bed for the night?”

Jisung hesitates.

“Can.. can I have a little look around first?”

With the way Minho’s eyes flash at the question, he regrets asking.

“How about in the morning?” Minho asks in a deceptively gentle tone, disguising the demand as a choice that Jisung didn’t have. “You always feel more at home somewhere once you sleep there.”

Jisung bites the inside of his cheek. He’s not sure if he possibly can sleep in the same bed as him. Too vulnerable.

“I won’t do anything to you in your sleep,” Minho says in a gentle tone, as if reading Jisung’s thoughts.

“Okay,” Jisung croaks out.

Jisung doesn’t believe him much, but Minho seems genuine. Somewhat.

“Okay,” Minho repeats. “Sleep in whatever you’d like. You’ve got pajamas in the wardrobe if you’d like them.”

Jisung gulps and nods, feet carrying him over to the wardrobe. He opens the door and rummages around for something.

The wardrobe is identical to the one at home. The clothes he currently had folded up at his apartment were also here, folded up in the exact same order. God, even the shirts were hanging up in the familiar color order at home.

Jisung chooses to ignore this, simply reaching for a fresh pair of sweatpants. His hand hesitates, grazing over a white shirt, before grabbing it off the hanger and holding it to his chest, shutting the wardrobe again.

He never did like sleeping without a shirt on with company.

“I wanted you to feel at home.”

Jisung ignores Minho’s gentle words and gets changed, facing away. By the time he had changed and turned around, Minho had changed too, wearing just some black sweatpants. Chest out. Fuck, he was muscly.

“The bed’s comfy,” he hums, lying down. “Come here.”

Jisung tentatively lays down on the bed, leaving a large gap between him and Minho. The bed isn’t particularly big, so Minho could easily reach for him, but it gives Jisung an ounce of comfort. Minho frowns and pats the spot beside him.

“I don’t bite, Jisung.”

Jisung doesn’t have a reason to believe him, and yet lets himself get tugged to Minho’s side, the comfort forgotten and replaced by… strangely, more comfort.

Minho’s fingers are warm as they curl around his waist, holding him securely as they dig into his stomach. He can barely wriggle, barely breathe, yet he relishes in the closeness. The security of having an arm around him.

Jisung’s resignation melts away.

It’s only been an hour or so, and he’s already fucked.

“Sleep,” Minho murmurs into his hair, pulling Jisung’s back against his front.

Jisung hums in agreement, signaling that he will sleep soon. When he lets himself get comfortable enough, he’ll sleep and have the few hours of sleep blissfully forgetting the choices he made. Until then, he can simply close his eyes and hide away.

Minho’s body is warm behind him, either asleep or deathly quiet, thumb gently grazing over Jisung’s shirt.

He’s soft, and Jisung is stupid.

“You’re a fucking liability!” His brother had snapped at him before when he found Jisung lying on the floor outside of their local police station. A stranger’s fingerprints bruised into his skin, face wet with tears when he pulled him up to his feet. “I can’t even let you out of my sight and you– fuck, you nearly get yourself killed?”

Dongsun had only said it out of worry, and even 12-year-old Jisung understood that, but it still stung. It dug a hole in his lungs because it was true. He was a liability to everyone around him. His mom was so worried about letting him live by himself because he was a liability.

But Minho doesn’t seem to care that he’s a liability. He likes it, even.

“I’ll treat you so nicely, I’ll take care of you just how you want, how you need. Isn’t it so nice of me to care so much?”

Maybe it is.

Jisung shuts his eyes, feeling Minho’s chest gently expand behind him with each breath.

He smells like sandalwood.

𖦹

Jisung’s dream is strange.

He hasn’t had a sex dream for a few years now, not since he was a teenager, and yet this one is so defined it almost seems real.

Gasping, sighing, jumbled expletives spewing from his mouth. His body aches, hands grasping for purchase on the man above him.

He feels full even in the fantasy, so full that his heart inches higher up his throat, threatening to fall out.

The man doesn’t have a face. Only big arms, pretty hands and gorgeous thighs. He’s practically glowing, mumbling praises in a voice he can’t quite make out.

Jisung almost cries when the man’s thumb caresses his side, a hazy sheen of white over his vision. The man shushes him tenderly, lips grazing his.

He tastes like mints and coffee.

When Jisung wakes up, he’s uncomfortable. Hot, clammy, sweat slicked over his forehead, sticking the sleep shirt to his chest. Clumsily rolling over onto his front, he lets out a strangled noise into the pillow as his bulge grazes the sheets, sweatpants working as a muffler. A barrier denying him what he wanted.

He slips out under Minho’s arm once he remembers his surroundings, careful not to alert him. It’s still dark outside, and the last thing he wants right now is for Minho to think he was trying to run whilst he was unaware.

Minho simply grumbles sleepily, before going back to his soft snoring.

Jisung remembers seeing a bathroom on the way in and tries to navigate his way there in pitch black, groin aching and urging him to hurry up.

He locks the bathroom door, slides down the cool, tiled wall and instantly pushes his palm down on his groin, releasing just a little bit of the pressure with a choked-back cry.

He squeezes his eyes shut, though he hasn’t even bothered turning the light on. His hand slips under the waistband, meeting his leaking and probably angry red tip, punching a sharp intake of breath from his throat.

When Jisung drags his hand down his length, he thinks of Minho.

He didn’t mean to think of him. If he had the thoughts or the power to redirect his thoughts onto anything, maybe a porno he’d watched in the past, he would – he does, but his brain drags him away.

Minho’s there, a burnt imprint on the back of his eyelids. Jisung can’t will him away, and he’s too turned on to care.

Jisung thinks of Minho again when his palm polishes his head, spreading the leaking substance over himself.

He thinks of what Minho would sound like in bed. He thinks Minho would be quiet, only making a sound when he comes.

He thinks about Minho’s cock when he squeezes himself. He thinks about how full he would be from him.

It doesn’t take long for Jisung’s breathing to quicken, for his thighs to twitch, the lewd squelching louder with the desperate moving of his hand. He rolls his nipple between forefinger and thumb, squeaking when he squeezes it.

He pretends his hand is Minho’s, and before he knows it, he’s seeing himself in his own bathroom. Minho breaking into his home, clambering into the bathroom and just taking him.

Maybe Minho’s wanted to before, but felt too nice.

Jisung trails his hand up and clamps it over his mouth, a half attempt to keep quiet, a half attempt to pretend it was Minho trying to keep him quiet.

Trying to muffle his screams of terror.

‘Shh, Jisungie. You don’t want anyone calling the police, do you?’

Jisung’s whole body twitches as he comes, spilling over his hand as he moans out Minho’s name through his fingers.

Shame settles in when he looks over himself, eyes having adjusted to the darkness just enough to see the mess on his fist.

Shame settles in when he stands on shaky legs, washing his hands in the unreasonably fancy sink. Avoiding eye contact with himself in the mirror’s reflection.

Shame sinks all the way to the bottom of his stomach when he pulls the sweatpants up over his hips again, unlocking the bathroom and stepping out.

Jisung can’t go back to the bedroom now. He feels nausea curl up inside him at the thought of seeing Minho straight after doing the most stupid fucking thing he could possibly do.

His feet bring him to the lounge that he had only just barely caught a glimpse of.

His eyes trail over the abstract paintings, following the lines, the shapes, observing how all three canvases connect to eachother.

Jisung’s not so good at abstract art. It’s difficult to find the meaning in seemingly meaningless shapes.

He walks up to the cork board he had noticed earlier out of the corner of his eye. Polaroid after polaroid pinned up, a thin string laying atop the plastic of the thumbtacks.

He tries to zero in on some of them. The few that he’s concentrating on are all pretty dark, the pictures blurry and unfocused. He tilts his head, trying to make any sense of what they’re of.

The light flicks on. Jisung’s eyes sting with the brightness.

“Puppy?”

Jisung feels nauseous again.

Hands settle on his hips, a warm, minty breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

“What are you doing out here, baby?”

Think, Jisung, think.

It’s the first time since even talking to him that he genuinely felt his life is in danger. How’s he supposed to know what Minho would do if he thought he was running?

“I-I couldn’t sleep,” Jisung whispers, clearing his throat. “Uhm… what are these?”

“Do you like them?”

Thumbs graze his hips.

“What are they..?” Jisung asks softly.

Minho’s hands gently wrap around Jisung’s stomach, pulling himself a little closer. Warm. His mouth connects with Jisung’s neck, causing goosebumps to freckle around the contact.

“Guess,” he murmurs, hand slipping down to softly pet his stomach.

“They’re too dark…”

“So look at another.”

Jisung does, eyes flicking to the other corner of the corkboard. It’s of a silhouette cast by side profile, the light warm and comforting. The side profile has a straight nose, mouth open as they’re obviously talking.

Jisung gulps.

“They’re… oh…”

Minho chuckles into his neck, tickling the skin with his breath.

“Ding ding ding. You got it, haven’t you? Such a smart puppy,” he coos. “What do you think of them? You look so pretty in them.”

A shiver runs down Jisung’s spine. He feels sick.

“They’re all so hard to see… how do you even see anything..?”

“Just knowing it’s you is enough for me, darling.”

Jisung’s eyes flick to another picture, a blurry image of him and Seungmin laughing at a club, before Minho’s fingers pull at his chin and angle his head.

His eyes are forced to look at a photo in the middle of the wall, and a chill hits him as he does.

It’s him, obviously, sitting up in his bed, looking back down at… something, with wide eyes. Like a scared rabbit.

Prey.

“This one is one of my favorites,” Minho hums. “I nearly didn’t want to put it up here, make sure it was just me seeing it, but oh…”

He trails off with a dreamy sigh, hand going back rubbing small circles over the fabric of Jisung’s sleep shirt, cool against his stomach.

“It’s perfect. Can you guess why, sweetie?”

Jisung hesitates. He can see a theme.

“Because I’m scared..?”

Minho hums thoughtfully, the vibration of his lips tickling Jisung’s neck.

“Sure, but that’s not what I mean.”

Jisung’s breath hitches as Minho’s hand slips to the front of his sweatpants, running along the elastic. Thumb touching the few threads that separate Jisung and his hand.

“This photo was taken right after I’d left a pretty little letter telling you about a nice dream I had,” he murmurs, breath warm on the shell of Jisung’s ear.

Jisung tenses and lets out a small whimper at the memory.

He had called Seungmin when he got that letter. In near tears, fumbling with his phone, scrolling through all the ‘S’ contacts he could possibly have.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jisung! I told you, report that guy!”

Jisung had winced at Seungmin’s harsh tone. Agreed, saying he will once he hangs up.

Seungmin offered for Jisung to stay at his place for a while. Telling him it wasn’t safe to be living alone when he gets letters like that. Jisung had refused, muttering some ‘I don’t want to get you involved’ excuse.

Jisung had jerked off to the letter that night. Well, not exactly to the letter, but he had found himself thinking of it when he came. Burnt it out of shame as soon as he cleaned up.

He isn’t quite sure why he’d been crying, either. It surely wasn’t out of fear.

“Oh, puppy…” Minho coos softly, hand slipping under the waistband and pressing over the front of his underwear, causing him to gasp quietly. “You still remember it, don’t you?”

Jisung nods reluctantly, shamefully twitching beneath Minho’s fingers.

“Poor thing, you were so scared,” he continues with a purr, words sounding almost excited as he softly palms over the fabric. Jisung nearly falls over. “I wanted to climb in and cradle you, kiss over your face, show how much I love you…”

When Minho’s fingers slip beneath his underwear, brushing against his weeping head, Jisung shudders.

He should not be this hard. He was always sensitive for ages post orgasm, but fuck, he was ten times more sensitive with Minho behind him.

Minho kisses the back of his ear softly, sending waves of warmth through Jisung’s skull, each of his bones feeling like putty. His hand finally wraps around Jisung’s cock, causing Minho to give out a low moan and Jisung to press his palms against the desk in front of him, whimpering.

Whimpering.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You feel just as perfect as I imagined,” Minho purrs, his dry swallowing loud behind Jisung’s ear. “Seeing you so scared… it just helped me remember what I was doing all this for, Jisung-ah. I can take such good care of you, even if you do get a little scared because of something I say.”

Jisung feels delirious. He’s too desperate, too pathetic, letting out a small cry when Minho begins to gently move his hand. Soft, like Jisung will break if he touches him any harsher. He’s too good at this.

Heat coils behind his bellybutton as Minho’s thumb brushes over his tip, collecting some of the precum to then slide it back down him. He’s too good at this.

“Does it feel good, puppy?” Minho breathes onto his neck. “Does it feel good to have your hyung take care of you?”

Jisung can’t speak. He can barely breathe, brain already miles away from the touch alone. He’s too good at this.

Minho just chuckles, continuing to stroke him in a slow, gentle pace, breathing a little heavier over the shell of Jisung’s ear.

“No speaking? You’re so cute, sweetie… does your brain just stop working when you feel so good, huh?”

Jisung whimpers, and Minho seems to take that as an answer, humming in satisfaction.

“I know it does,” he coos, “I’ve seen you do this enough times to understand exactly what you like.”

Minho’s thumb presses down on Jisung’s tip again, causing his arms to shake, nails digging into the surface of the desk.

Jisung is pathetic.

“Y-You’ve seen—?” He gasps, not sure if his words are even coming out straight.

His breath stutters as Minho grips his base just a little tighter.

“That’s right, sweetie, such a smart puppy. I’ve seen it… your cute, pretty moans… how you bite your lip when you get turned on, your little body shaking when you’re close…”

Minho hums dreamily, kissing another gentle kiss behind his ear.

“You’re so lucky that I know exactly what you like.”

Jisung tries to bow his head down low, mouth agape with heavy breaths as he watches Minho’s hand work him in his sweats, but Minho grabs his chin with his free hand, positioning it back up.

“Ah-ah, puppy, look at the wall,” he murmurs, thumb pressing on his slit. “I want you to have a good look, darling.”

Jisung can’t think, mind hazy and spinning. Nothing feels real, the touch on his cock making his brain shut down, forgetting everything.

He forces himself to try and focus on another dark one, trying to make Minho happy so that he kept touching him, before Minho points at a particular polaroid.

“Look at this one,” he purrs softly. “I don’t lie.”

Jisung tries his best. The warm lighting of his room in the picture is obvious, peeking through the small gap in his curtains, window slightly open, but Jisung can’t make anything else out with his vision so hopelessly blurry with arousal.

He blinks rapidly, digging his nails into the polished wood to try and ground himself.

Once his vision clears, he looks again.

Holy fucking shit.

Though just through a crack in the curtains, he can see a relatively clear view of him in bed, hand wrapped around his cock, jerking off.

“Ohmygod—”

“Shh, shh,” Minho hushes softly, peppering the side of his neck with small kisses, making a brief detour to his earlobe. “Don’t panic, sweetie. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

Jisung’s knees wobble, his dick feeling ten times more sensitive under Minho’s hand, fighting to stay upright.

“You— you, oh my god, you—”

“Shh, yes, I was there,” he coos gently, each pump of his hand getting firmer, tighter. “Do you want to know something more fun, darling? Do you want to know what I was doing while I watched?”

Jisung almost passes out, ass pressing back against Minho while simultaneously trying to rut into his fist. He feels faint.

He feels sick.

“Oh, baby, I think you already know, don’t you?” He hums, sucking a small mark into his neck and licking over it to soothe the skin. “I was almost jealous of your hand.”

Jisung feels the need to cry, the mental image of Minho jerking off with one hand, camera in the other dizzying him.

“How—” he gasps out, body trembling as Minho thumbs at the tip again. “You—”

“Darling… my darling puppy…” he purrs, almost mockingly sweet. “I climbed.”

Jisung lets out a small, broken noise, Minho pressing his hips forwards just gently. Jisung whines at the feeling of Minho’s bulge against the curve of his ass. Chasing back for it with a stupid desperation.

“Oh, Jisungie…” He moans softly, hand moving at a slow, agonizing pace, breath hot against his neck. “Your curtains were so annoying, honey. I was worried that would be the last time I would see you like that, but…”

A laugh bubbles out of him, waves over Jisung’s hair.

“You don’t think I’m silly enough not to have security cameras in my own house, do you?”

Jisung doesn’t understand, but he isn’t given the time to.

A firm pump. Jisung loses his grip, his sweaty palm slipping across the wood, forcing him to fall forward — but Minho catches him. Pulling him back up, hand flat against his chest and pushing him back against him.

“I was so happy,” Minho continues, panting softly when he grinds his hips back against Jisung’s ass, “I thought I was still dreaming. You acted so scared last night, just because I’d brought you here, but you liked it, didn’t you? Liked that I cared so much? To personalize this place just for you?”

Jisung can’t admit to it.

Even when reading the letters, tearing up when he feels his dick achingly hard against the constraints of his clothing, he couldn’t admit to it.

Even when shoving his dildo down his throat, aching for the burn while picturing it to be his ‘secret admirer’, he couldn’t admit to it.

Even when fucking into his fist in Minho’s stupid bathroom, thinking of his stupid face and stupid voice, he couldn’t admit to it.

“You said my name when you came, baby,” Minho whispers, hand pumping him firmly, deliciously tight. “God— I was so happy.”

Jisung’s hip stutter as he gets dangerously close.

“I— I didn’t— mean to—”

“Oh, that makes it so much better,” he purrs.

Jisung whimpers, hips shaking. He’s seeing stars, it’s all so much, he’s so close and—

Minho pulls his hand out.

“No—” Jisung gasps in protest. “No, n-no— don’t stop—”

“I’m sorry, darling, but I’m not letting you finish until you tell me the truth,” he hushes softly, squeezing Jisung’s hips. “You need to tell me.”

Jisung shakes his head, eyes swimming with tears.

“I can’t—”

“Yes you can, Jisung-ah, of course you can,” he purrs, nosing into Jisung’s now slightly sweat-damp hair. “It’s not like I don’t know, I just want to hear it from you.”

Jisung can’t. He can’t admit that.

“You like it,” Minho encourages with a soft voice. Rubbing a soothing circle onto Jisung’s hip. “You like that I take the photos. You like that I listen to you and watch you, even when you think you’re all alone. You like it, Jisung.”

Jisung nods with a broken sob, because, fuck, he does.

He does like it. He can never discern if it’s purely the fact Minho’s hot, or if it’s because Minho’s the first person to show him any interest in ages, or if it’s because he’s just sick in the head.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t particularly care why, because Minho’s hand feels good.

“Say it, puppy.”

Jisung wants a hole to form under his legs and suck him right in.

“N-No— can’t—“

“Jisungie,” Minho sighs, painfully gripping his side now. “I told you, I want you to say it. You want me to keep touching you, then you have to say it.”

Jisung feels spit pool behind his teeth and whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut and silently willing Minho’s hand back onto him.

He feels incomplete without him touching him. He shouldn’t, but he does. Minho’s too good at this. He’s too good at talking, he’s too good at talking, and he’s too good at making Jisung follow orders.

“I like it,” he rasps out, staring into the back of his eyelids. “I-I like that you watch m’… please, please…”

It’s pathetic, but it seems to work for Minho. He chuckles and his hand slips back into Jisung’s sweats, crawling under his underwear. When his hand wraps around his leaking dick again, Jisung nearly cries.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he purrs, hand resuming his strokes, eliciting a gasp from Jisung. He presses his hips back against Jisung’s ass, sighing and resting his chin on his shoulder. “Such a good boy, thank you.”

Jisung feels insane. He feels like crying, screaming, vomiting, whimpering, begging Minho to leave, begging him to stay.

His vision goes white and without warning, he spills out over Minho’s hand, letting out a pathetic cry when his hips stutter.

Minho purrs and presses his hips up against the curve of his ass with a low and shaky groan. Whispering praises while stroking him through the orgasm, Jisung shaking with the intensity of Minho Minho Minho.

Jisung’s breath comes in irregular pants, lifting his head to try and focus on something and bring him back to Earth.

He feels dirty. He feels good.

Minho gently presses his forehead into the back of his shoulder, stilling his hand as he breathes out a shaky breath, tickling Jisung’s skin.

“All better now, hm? We’re going to sit in bed after I get you all cleaned up,” Minho states softly. “Then we can just talk if you want to. Is that okay with you, puppy?”

Jisung blinks rapidly and nods, brain floaty. That sounds good. Minho’s voice sounds good.

Minho takes his hands from Jisung’s pants and steps away, giving him a little bit of space. By the time Jisung has collected himself enough to turn back around, he just barely sees Minho’s fingers leaving his lips.

“You taste as perfect as I ever hoped.”

The words go through one ear and out the other and he’s too fucked to care. Jisung leans back against the desk behind him to hold him up, cheeks wet and stained with tears.

“C’mon,” Jisung hears Minho murmur at some point, taking hold of his elbow gently. “I need a change of clothes too, so I’m sure you’re just as uncomfortable.”

Jisung lets him move him to the bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed and looking up at him with slow blinks.

He lets him strip him. He lets him wipe up the mess down his dick, shushing Jisung softly when he whines at the touch.

Minho presents some pretty sleep clothes and helps Jisung put them on, soft praises leaving his lips.

Jisung lets him.

Minho positions him on the bed and Jisung closes his eyes almost immediately, exhausted. By the time he opens them again, Minho is changed into some fresh clothes, looking over at him with a gentle smile.

A pretty smile.

Minho’s really pretty.

“You’re so sleepy, aren’t you? Poor thing,” he murmurs with a gentle, adoring smile and slips into bed.

Jisung instinctively shuffles closer to him. Warm.

“Not tired,” he mumbles, voice quiet as he looks up at him, making Minho chuckle. A pretty chuckle.

“No?” He smiles, cradling Jisung’s jaw. “I think you are. Those pretty eyes of yours are going all blurry again.”

Jisung shakes his head, blinking up at him.

“I’m not tired, jus’... confused,” he says quietly. “Dunno what I’m feeling. About you, or… things…”

Minho plays with a chunk of his hair gently. Tenderly. Jisung might cry again.

“That’s okay, Jisung-ah. I understand. It’s a lot to come to terms with, hm?”

Jisung nods and hums quietly. Thinking.

“You came..?”

Minho breathlessly laughs.

“Yeah.”

“In your pants?”

“Yeah,” he repeats.

Jisung scrunches up his nose, but lets his head rest on Minho.

“Gross.”

He doesn’t care, really, because he likes cuddling up to Minho.

The sunrise from outside makes Minho’s face glow, makes his eyes twinkle when he looks down at Jisung. Makes him so pretty when he smiles down at him lazily.

He doesn’t care, really, because he thinks he just likes Minho.

Somehow. He doesn’t particularly like the lamp, he doesn’t particularly like that Minho knows everything about him, but he’s willing to look past it. Somehow.

“..I’m still scared,” Jisung whispers after a few moments, resting his cheek onto a soft part of skin on Minho’s chest.

“I know you are, puppy,” Minho says. “It’s alright. I get that I’m a bit scary, and I didn’t give you much time to understand what was going on. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Jisung wraps his arm around Minho’s torso, keeping himself close. As if Minho would push him away.

“Promise..?” Jisung asks, seemingly for the millionth time.

Jisung feels Minho hum, his chest vibrating.

“Promise. I’m never going to hurt you.”

Jisung shuts his eyes and squeaks out a yawn, deciding to believe him for now.

“You’re gonna have to get rid of the camera in the bathroom.”

Minho laughs. A pretty sound, his laugh.

“There isn’t one. I was just listening.”

Jisung whines.

“Then don’t listen!”

It’s comfortable silence from then on. Jisung’s head moving with each of Minho’s breaths, the elder’s hand in his hair. Stroking through the locks.

He smells like sandalwood. Jisung hopes he does too.