A/n: so i know i have like 10001 other fics i have to write but this is just a fun little thing i wanted to try and its semi more lowkey than what i usually do plus there are zero hongjoong smaus (Also thank you Luna for helping me with the header <3)
Summary: Y/n and Hongjoong were only acquaintances in college. They were on the same dance team but never crossed paths until one day both took notice of the other. One magical night after a party resulted in Y/n leaving with a guilty and angry conscious and surprisingly a blue stick. Three years later, Hongjoong is a hit producer and Y/n is a successful single mom. What happens when their paths cross yet again?
Genre: fluff, comedy, angst, social media!au, single mom!au, non-idol au, series
you’re elle greenaway’s little sister, although you don’t exactly go around advertising that (the last name says enough). just when you think you’ve wrapped enough barbed wire around yourself to become impenetrable, in walks spencer reid. he’s not what you expected. but maybe — just maybe — he’s exactly what you need.
✃ meet the reader here!
this isn’t a traditional series, per se — it’s a character archetype universe showcasing the slow burn between greenaway!reader & everyone’s favorite boy wonder, dr. spencer reid.
highly suggest reading as a series/in order, but most fics can technically be read as standalone oneshots.
universe timeline begins in mid-s3 of criminal minds
⤷ elle greenaway left the BAU without saying goodbye. a year later, you, her little sister, walk in without saying hello. you wear burgundy lipstick, leather boots, and emotional armor. you won’t let anyone get close. or… will you?
blackout | ⚡︎ ❀
⤷ a power outage strands you and reid in the basement records room. his flashlight is useless, your lighter keeps flickering out, and you’re pretty sure you said too much — but somehow, he never makes you regret it.
bullseye | ❀
⤷ you didn’t plan on staying late at the bar, hustling reid at darts, or flirting with him after trivia. you definitely didn’t plan on the coffee waiting on your desk the next morning, either.
gambit | ❀
⤷ spencer pulls out a travel chess set on the jet and offers to teach you. it’s a harmless way to kill time… until you realize how much you like the way he looks at you across the chessboard. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!
hot topic | ❀⚡︎ᢉ𐭩
⤷ after an injury in the field, you patch spencer up with a skull-print bandage. he gets a little jealous, you get a little deflective, and a quiet moment passes at 30,000 feet where you both admit more than you mean to.
fever dream | ꩜ ❀
⤷ you don’t get sick. you don’t let coworkers into your apartment. and you definitely don’t have vivid, full-body sex dreams about spencer reid. except today, apparently, you do all three. 18+ MDNI
night watch | ❀ ⚡︎
⤷ ever since he showed up at your apartment (and ever since that fever dream you’re pretending didn’t happen), you’ve avoided being alone with reid. unfortunately, hotch has another plan: assigning the two of you to an overnight stakeout.
liquid courage | ❀
⤷ you never call anyone when you’re drunk — except tonight, you do. margaritas, glitter, and one reckless drunk dial later, you’re in spencer reid’s car at 1am, wearing his coat and trying not to notice how good he smells.
head rush | ❀ ⚡︎
⤷ dayton, ohio. one asshole cop, one concussion, six hours of stay-awake poker, and a kiss that makes you see stars — right up until you slam on the brakes.
lies | ⚡︎
⤷ after ohio, you rebuild your armor and pretend the kiss didn’t happen. two weeks of awkward distance, a charged moment at the gun range, and a stairwell conversation later, you tell spencer the cruelest lie you can think of. it should end there — but then he finds the only evidence that can prove you wrong.
truths | ⚡︎ ❀ ᢉ𐭩
⤷ spencer shows up at your door with irrefutable proof you’ve been lying — to him and to yourself — but that doesn’t stop you from trying to deny it anyway. what follows is a late-night reckoning: small truths, careful boundaries, and the soft kind of honesty you usually run from.
adagio | ❀
⤷ at work, you and spencer try out adagio tempo until a hotel room debrief tests just how slow you can go.
heart eyes | ❀
⤷ spencer tries to focus on the case, but watching you translate grief into gentleness ruins his concentration until morgan snaps him out of it. // ficlet written for my 1k celebration event!
limited exposure | ⚡︎ ❀
⤷ at rossi’s book release party, the team’s playful teasing pushes you and reid’s “not-a-relationship” into a quiet fight, a real apology, and a red-velvet photo booth that develops more than just pictures.
october nights | ❀
⤷ you can’t hide the fact you love autumn from anyone — especially spencer. he gives you all the best parts of the season in a single day: leaves in the park, halloween decorations, classic horror films, and a night that spooks you in a way you hadn’t planned for.
just socks | ⚡︎ ❀
⤷ you buy spencer funny socks because they reminded you of him. which is totally normal. and casual. and definitely not girlfriend behavior. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!
scorpio season | ❀
⤷ you’ve never been a fan of birthdays, but celebrating spencer (and reluctantly allowing him to celebrate you too) might just change your mind.
out of the doghouse | ❀
⤷ your neighbor’s shy, sweet dog doesn’t trust men, and she definitely doesn’t trust spencer when he shows up to your place like he belongs there while you’re dogsitting for the weekend. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!
raincheck | ❀ ᢉ𐭩
⤷ you finally say yes when spencer asks to take you on a real date, but work interrupts the night before the entrees arrive.
shelter from the storm | ⚡︎ ᢉ𐭩 ꩜
⤷ in the cold aftermath of a fight left unresolved, you & spencer get stranded as a storm rolls in. with the roads underwater and only one vacant room at the motel, you’re left with nowhere else to run but straight into him. 18+, MDNI. sfw/under 18 version
call it what you want | ⚡︎ ❀
⤷ things between you and spencer are perfect, right up until a flirty grad student and a mandatory ethics training force you to decide what, exactly, to call the thing you’ve been pretending doesn’t need a name.
wear & tear | ꩜
⤷ after a brutal week on a case and an evening at o’keefe’s spent hiding your relationship from the team, you and spencer finally get each other alone — and your fishnets do not survive the night. 18+, MDNI.
can’t keep my hands to myself | ❀ ꩜
⤷ spencer can’t keep his hands off of you during a rare day-off movie marathon, so you call him out and turn it into a no-touching bet with paperwork on the line. 18+, MDNI. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!
operation mystery girl | ᢉ𐭩 ❀
⤷ when the team realizes spencer has a secret girlfriend, garcia launches a glitter-covered investigation that’s equal parts profiling and meddling. the only problem? their “mystery girl” profile is so wrong it hurts — and then the case cracks wide open, whether you’re ready or not.
something borrowed | ❀
⤷ a very simple, very sweet, very boyfriend-coded gesture from spencer in the BAU bullpen becomes the team’s newest obsession. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!
the comet | ❀
⤷ you wake up in spencer’s bed to feather-light fingers tracing your freckles like they’re constellations. // ficlet written for my 2k celebration event!
tethered | ᢉ𐭩
⤷ spencer has spent so long being the one who steadies you, up until an unsub he sees too much of himself in knocks him off-balance. he asks for space but ends up at your door anyway, and you become the tether you didn’t know he needed.
liminal | ⚡︎ ᢉ𐭩
⤷ you’re caught between breaths, between doors marked STAFF ONLY, between the life you had and the one you might not wake up to. spencer waits on the other side, choking on words he should’ve said sooner while a ghost from your past sits beside him in the waiting room.
house rules | ᢉ𐭩 ⚡︎ ❀
⤷ getting shot was dramatic, but recovering is worse. especially now that spencer reid has a key to your apartment and a color-coded plan for your survival.
like real people do | ꩜
⤷ a follow-up doctor’s appointment leaves you with medical clearance, a filthy dream, and a rapidly deteriorating ability to act normal around your boyfriend spencer reid.
nothing serious | ❀
⤷ you agree to girls’ night to celebrate your first week back at work and end up a little too drunk, a little too honest, and very much forced to confront how serious your relationship with spencer has gotten.
you’re all i have to lose | ⚡︎
⤷ after spencer is exposed to anthrax, the hardest part isn’t being afraid. it’s knowing you love him for the same reasons you’re furious with him.
& more, coming soon!
what are greenaway!reader’s vibes .ᐣ.ᐟ
extras
⟢ greenaway!reader pinterest finds
⟢ headcanons 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
⟢ text messages 📱💬 | text messages pt 2
⟢ greenaway!reader fanart by gummy-cat-writes
⟢ apartment moodboard
⟢ hotch & emily’s relationship w/ reader
⟢ spencer said he “notices things” about reader. what does he notice?
⟢ why is greenaway!reader so avoidant/afraid of relationships?
⟢ greenaway!reader’s complex relationship with her sister Elle
⟢ how would greenaway!reader react to spencer going to prison? / part 2
⟢ things spencer has said to greenaway!reader that made reader not want to run
⟢ what did spencer & greenaway!reader each do with their photo booth strips from limited exposure?
⟢ greenaway!reader timeline
⟢ greenaway!reader marathon event
⟢ greenaway!reader’s MySpace page
⟢ greenaway!reader series playlist
⟢ a peek inside greenaway!reader’s camera roll
I’m constantly yapping about this series/reader, so check out the #greenaway!reader tag for even more content!
yunho might have been the superstar out of the two of you, but you have always been the center of his universe. (you — it's always been you.)
▷ genre, warnings. bffs2l, childhood friends 2 lovers, pining, popstar/singer au, swearing, fluff, humor, angst, hurt/comfort, kissing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of anxiety/nervousness, they physically cannot be apart for too long sorry they've got Attachment Issues low-key..., one kiss (is all it takes—)
▷ word count. 16.3k (guys,, this was supposed to be only like 6-8k i swear 😭) (ao3 link)
▷ associated tunes. keep smiling (demxntia), gone too long (lullaboy), tear in my heart (twenty-one pilots)
a/n: hope u guys like this :'))) i had one of the scenes from here stuck in my brain for awhile and so i had to build the rest of the fic around it, and it turned into this monster, so uhm yes... also much love to @jaehunnyy tysm for reading thru it for me 💖
THE DAY YUNHO'S ALBUM hit the Billboard Hot 100, you knew that you were going to need a lot more hands on deck than just you, your roommate, and Jeong Yunho himself.
“There's not enough albums, not enough time in the day, not enough of you!” you exclaimed with your fingers shoved into your hair as you took in the landscape of chaos before you on your living room floor. “Yunho, why couldn't you be ambidextrous?”
His eyes widened, body frozen where he was shoving a slice of beef jerky into his mouth. “Mwe? Pwhy are pyu yellinh ap mwe por?”
“I'm not yelling at you; I'm just wondering why you weren't born with eight arms instead of just two.” There were simply too many albums for him to sign before his agent came to pick them up in two hours, and there were also too few albums for the amount of demand. You always knew your best friend would make it big one day, but you also thought he would have had a whole team by that time.
Technically, you were his team—you, your roommate Trinity, and Mingi who was at his grandmother's for the long weekend. Mingi was five texts away from driving back down to help you guys four hours ago though. But his family needed him right now, and Yunho was firm in ensuring Mingi didn't have to come down and help. We got this, he'd said. It'll be easy, he also said.
Sure. Easy.
“We can't just forge his signature?” Trinity joked in a sleep-deprived daze as she leaned back against the couch cushions. Her mouth opened wide in a yawn. “I'm kidding. Let's not ruin his career.”
Yunho swallowed his bite. “That would be nice.” He cleaned his fingers on the Wet Wipe he had handy by his thigh, then picked up his black Sharpie, spinning the writing utensil between his fingers. “Now where were we? Album number fifty-six—?”
This had taken place just four months after Yunho released his second album, Aurora. It had been nearly a year and a half since Yunho debuted himself onto the music scene, and it was about time people finally began to recognize your best friend for all that he was—multi-talented, charismatic, handsome (on some occasions; you wouldn’t let him catch you slipping up there, though).
Within the next year and a half, Yunho skyrocketed into further altitudes of fame.
There were plenty of changes that occurred, many evolutions to Yunho's team and additions to his discography, but you were always a part of it. Even with your own career dealings, you would drop anything to be there for him, and him for you. Between the morning show interviews and late night recording sessions, there were also the research presentations and study session pick-me-ups.
“Are you sure you don't wanna come with?” you asked from where you were stationed in front of the bathroom mirror, putting on the final touches for your look this evening.
You could hear Trinity's fingers clacking away at her keyboard at the speed of light through her open bedroom door. “I'd love to, but I unfortunately did screw myself over by procrastinating on this paper. Have fun though, and tell Yunho congrats for me.”
Tonight was the album release party for Yunho's third full studio album entitled Youth. It was something he had been working on for years now, only recently having become satisfied with the tracks he chose and produced for it. Due to his sudden rise in fame, the release party was said to be hosting a myriad of big name celebrities and figures in the music industry. And of course, you. You were no one special, in hindsight, but Yunho couldn't begin to imagine celebrating a milestone without you by his side.
By eight o'clock, you were ready to head out.
You bid Trinity goodbye as you hustled out the front door of your apartment and down to the street below. Yunho and Mingi and everyone else would already be at the party; you would arrive on your own via Uber. You wished you could've been with him to get ready like all the other times, but your schedule had been unfortunate as of late. You were lucky enough to have gotten off of work this early.
As you sat in the backseat of your ride, you anxiously fidgeted with your phone in your lap.
(You were, without a doubt, excited to arrive at the party. Due to yours and Yunho's ever-busy and ever-conflicting schedules nowadays—yours because of work and PhD candidacy stuff, Yunho's because of rehearsals for his upcoming world tour—it had been awhile since you were able to hang out in person. You missed your gentle giant of a best friend.)
A loud vibration from it made your heart leap into your throat, and your face lit up in the dark with the incoming notification.
rockstar 🤟: pls tell me you've left the house
You snorted and typed out a swift reply. If I told you I was still in my pajamas…
rockstar 🤟: then i would call u a liar cuz u don't go to work in pjs, weirdo
rockstar 🤟: just getting antsy tbh
rockstar 🤟: need my star here w me :’)))
You couldn't help the touched pout that came to your face. I'm almost there, don't worry. And who are you calling a star when that's you? He always got a little sappy when he was nervous.
rockstar 🤟: im literally not having fun here without u hurry up ://
your phone: isn't this UR album release party 😭 yun, why aren't u having fun?
rockstar 🤟: just hurry up
your phone: aish okok 🤧 eta 8min mr. impatient
You knew it was the jitters making him say things like that. Once you got there, you hoped you could help reassure him that he could stop worrying for just a second to enjoy himself. Even if Yunho worried about the album and what people thought, you were just as nervous. You hadn't even heard the entire thing—he’d been cheeky and didn't tell you he added a song to it last minute, but you'd listened to everything else.
You just hoped that people would continue to celebrate him and give him the love he deserved.
When your Uber driver pulled into the drop off loop at the front of the venue, you thanked him on your way out and threw the strap of your small purse over your shoulder. Already, however, as you were met with the residuals of flashing camera lenses and frantic paparazzi calls just a little ways down the driveway, the anxiety slowly began to settle in the pit of your stomach.
You could see the celebrities going up the entrance with people asking them to pose for their cameras, to say a word into their recorders.
Immediately, you turned on your heel and began slipping your way to a side entrance. The last thing you wanted was for dozens upon dozens of people to be staring at you, wondering who you were and why you were important. There were definitely people who knew you—you were plastered all over Yunho's social media because that was just what best friends did. But compared to everyone else walking up that driveway? Not a chance. You were nobody, and that was ay-okay to you.
Just as you thanked one of the employees coming out the side door for letting you in, you felt your phone buzz in your hand again, this time with an incoming call.
You picked it up and squeezed it between your ear and shoulder. “You're gonna need to speak up—the kitchen is super loud.”
“You're here finally!” Yunho exclaimed through the phone. “I was starting to get worried.”
You chuckled as you ducked out of the kitchen and into the main lobby to get to the elevators. The party was taking place somewhere on the seventh floor… if you could get there without getting lost. “Hey Yun, do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Calm down, man.”
The elevator sang its arrival and you stepped inside to the sound of Yunho sucking in a deep breath, then exhaling slowly. “I am calm… wait, are you in the lobby? Let me come down and get y—”
“I just got in the elevator, so don't worry—and I really don't think you should be leaving your own party, rockstar,” you teased. “Man, Mingi and Hwa really pulled out all the stops for this place,” you marveled quietly as you gave the elevator carriage a thorough look. It was made of marble and mirrors, every surface polished and crisp, like that of a tailored suit if tailored suits were made of crystals.
“Yeah, it's really great,” he agreed. “Remember the release party we threw for Crescent?”
A fond laugh tumbled out of your lips as you stepped out of the elevator and onto the seventh floor. Your mind filled with memories of his debut album's release party hosted in yours and Trinity's living room with three extra large Domino's pizzas, root beer floats, and a cheap disco ball. It had been a party for four that night—you, Yunho, Mingi, and Trinity—but your friends didn't need the fancy shit to have fun. “Definitely leagues away from this.”
There was a bouncer at the far end of the hallway, and you were certain now that you were in the right place.
“I kind of miss it,” Yunho murmured. You heard the sound on his end shift, simultaneous to watching the doors in front of you crack open and see Yunho's head pop out into the empty hallway.
“I kind of miss it, too,” you said into the phone, your eyes locked on his and a smile blooming over your features at the sight of your best friend, in the flesh.
There was a tender gleam in his eyes as he took you in and said something in a low tone to the bouncer. He stepped out into the hallway, letting the doors behind him shut fully.
“Slowpoke,” was his greeting to you as he scooped you into his embrace. The smell of his cologne was something familiar and delicious, and permeated your senses.
“Worrywart,” you quipped back, wrapping your arms around him to reciprocate.
When you both pulled back, he kept you at arm's length so he could take a better look at you. “I can't believe you're calling me the worrywart! I do recall that one night when Aurora hit the Top 100—”
You silenced him with a look and a playful punch to his shoulder. You pressed your lips together to suppress a smile as he tilted his head back in a jovial laugh. “Quiet, you. For once, I can't believe you're more nervous than I am.”
He gave a sheepish grin, fussing with the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt, adjusting the chain he wore on his collarbones so the clasp sat right at the hollow of his throat.
You softened. Oh, he was really nervous.
“This album's just big for me; you know that,” he said, almost like he was trying to brush it off.
“I do.” The two of you began slowly making your way back towards the party doors. “Though, I'm excited to hear this mystery song that you snuck on there. I'm sure everyone will fall in love with the album, just like I did.”
He peered over at you then, and you couldn't understand why you were unable to read his expression then. It was… different. “Really?”
You blinked. “Of course,” you replied automatically. “I mean,” you added, “it's you, Yun. What's not to love?”
Yunho seemed speechless for a second, but moments later, he was breaking into a soft-cornered smile. “You always know what to say, Yn. Come on, there are some people who are dying to meet you.”
“Dying to meet me?” you laughed in disbelief as the bouncer let the two of you into the party.
The party room was a rented out lounge space with wraparound windows that looked out at the skyline in the valley below. The main lights were kept low and warm, illuminating strategic places throughout the space to highlight the prohibition-like interior design. It was something out of a 1920s speakeasy with its velvet couches and dark mahogany wood finishes.
Yunho took you over toward the side of the room to get food first. There was a variety of snacks and small bites on the buffet table, and there was a bar counter shoved into the far corner where a bartender served drinks.
“I've pretty much socialized with everyone in this room already,” Yunho murmured to you as he shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned. “Meaning I can bug you for the rest of the night.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “There has to be, like, fifty people here. We still have the whole party left.”
“Yeah, but I have more fun with you anyway,” he said with a shrug. He reached for one of the little serving cups that held a little roll of rice armed with a slice of wagyu beef on top, all wrapped together with a strip of nori. “Now these—these are fucking amazing, dude. You have to try one.”
You snorted, but grabbed one of the little cups. “How many of these have you eaten already, Yun?”
He tapped his cup against yours like he was clinking glasses together. He chuckled, averting his gaze. “We don't have to talk about that…” His eyes caught onto someone nearby, and he perked up, shoving the entire bite into his mouth so he had a free hand to flag down whoever it was. “Mmh!”
You nearly choked on your own bite as you watched your best friend, whose cheeks were stuffed like a chipmunk's, flap his arm around in the air to get this person's attention because his mouth was currently occupied.
You turned your head to see who he was waving over, and nearly choked again, having to cup your hand over your mouth to prevent rice from falling out. Your eyes widened an alarming amount. “Mmno—” you shrieked through your bite.
“What? I can't hear you,” he snickered. “Hongjoong hyung! There's someone I want you to meet.”
You made a crazed gesture—no, no, I'm not ready! How dare you ambush me with social interac—you swallowed the food in your mouth as Hongjoong made his way over. You had never met the famed Kim Hongjoong—legendary producer, prodigy musician, favorite model to ever strut down the Paris Fashion Week Runway. He dropped off the grid for a brief three-month hiatus until he suddenly reappeared, but in your best friend's Instagram story. At some point, Yunho had met Hongjoong and won his favor. Then again, it was easy for Yunho to win over anyone's favor.
No one really knew why Hongjoong disappeared like he had, but some speculate it had something to do with his new relationship status: single.
You were always starstruck seeing Hongjoong on Yunho and Mingi's social media, as well as Hongjoong's own platforms. Tonight was no exception.
Hongjoong's hair of the season was a simple light brown that complimented his skin tone and the warmth in his smile. You were used to seeing him in more extravagant garb, but tonight, he chose something very simple, but chic like Yunho.
Yunho and Hongjoong clasped hands in greeting. “What's up, man?” the latter chirped, eyes flickering over to you as you attempted to behave normally.
Yunho gestured toward you, his eyes twinkling as he swept his arm around your shoulders to bring you forward. “This is Yn. Yn, this is Hongjoong. He's the one who produced the album—”
“Now, don't downplay your own efforts, Yunho,” Hongjoong cut in with a knowing look. “You produced so much of it on your own; I fine-tuned and made a couple tracks, but the rest was all you, man.”
“I always tell him he's far too humble,” you agreed.
Hongjoong sent you a smile, extending his hand out. “Great minds think alike, Yn. It's very nice to meet the person this guy doesn't ever stop talking about.”
You laughed good-naturedly and saw Yunho's flushed sheepishness out of the corner of your eye. You shook Hongjoong's hand with a firm, confident grip. “Nice to meet you, too. You're—you’re incredible, by the way. I remember when Yunho posted a photo with you, and I literally screamed his ear off over the phone.”
Yunho winced and held a hand up to his ear, as if remembering the physical sensation of that phone call. “Yup, definitely damaged my eardrum that day.”
“Well, thank you; I'm flattered,” Hongjoong replied pleasantly. “So I'm assuming you've probably heard as much of the album as I have then?”
“I'm sure you've heard the whole thing,” you said. “Yunho has withheld one of the tracks from me, but I've listened to all the rest.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Oh? Which track did—oh.” As he and Yunho made eye contact, you watched as a silent understanding passed between them, and Hongjoong's mouth tugged upward in a teasing smile. “That song.”
You blinked. “What does that mean?”
Hongjoong flourished his hand as if to wave away the thought. “He just wanted it to be perfect, so we were working on it up to the last second. Nothing terribly concerning.”
Ah. You relaxed, but the curiosity still lingered in your mind's eye. “I'm sure it's great, nonetheless.”
“Oh yeah, you're gonna love—”
“Oh-kay! That's enough about the song,” Yunho chuckled nervously as he grabbed your shoulders and began steering you away from a clearly amused Hongjoong. “Let's go say hi to Mingi, hm?”
You threw him a look from over your shoulder, but went along with him toward wherever he'd seen Mingi wandering around. “What has gotten into you tonight?” you teased, though, you also hoped to know why he was so jittery. He wasn't even this nervous about dropping his debut album.
Yunho showed you a bright smile, the same kind of golden-retriever expression that the media knew him well for. It would have been enough if you didn't know him. “Again, it's an important album to me. And the song I added last minute is on the deluxe version, so I wasn't really confident in putting it on the original release.”
“Ah,” you murmured. You reached up to pat the hand that rested on your left shoulder reassuringly. “I'm sure it really is a great song, Yun, and I'm not just saying that. You can make an awful omelet, but you can't make an awful song.”
Your best friend bursted into laughter at the latter comment, and your heart soared to see the genuine smile on his face now. That was your Yunho shining through. “You're right—if I can't scramble eggs, at least I can write a song.”
Over the next hour and a half, Yunho took you on a tour around the room, jumping from friend to friend to introduce you to more of his world. For the most part, however, it felt like an excuse for you to bond with all his friends in teasing him about something or other. But he seemed content enough to see you getting along well with the other people close to him.
He had met plenty of your friends at your work, so it was only fair that you got the same opportunity.
At some point while you were with Wooyoung and San discussing all of the rehearsals for Yunho's upcoming world tour, Hongjoong summoned everyone's attention to announce that it was time to listen to the album. It would be a rather casual affair with the Youth album playing in the background of the party, but you were certain people would minimize their conversations to listen in.
You craned your neck to peer around the crowd to see where Yunho had gone off to. “Wait, guys, did you see where Yunho went?”
Wooyoung and San joined your search, but quickly hustled you into a nearby booth to sit and enjoy the album with your drinks. “He'll find us,” Wooyoung assured you as the three of you slipped into the leather seats. “He wouldn't miss this.”
“He'll at least be here by the last song,” San said offhandedly, his eyebrows wagging up and down.
Your lips parted, your face morphing into feigned offense. “Wait. Did he let you guys listen to the deluxe edition song, too?”
“Maybe,” Wooyoung giggled.
San cooed at your pout. “Awwh, don't take it to heart, Yn-ie. It was supposed to be a surprise for you.”
You raised your drink to your lips, sighing before taking a sip. “Everybody talks about this damn song as if he wrote it for me.”
Unbeknownst to you, the two others at the table exchanged pointed looks between one another when you were looking away. It was a wonder how Yunho was able to keep this all a secret from you. Though, even San and Wooyoung knew how busy you could get nowadays, so perhaps it really was just that easy. Plus, they had all at one point or another been privy to Yunho’s feelings—
“Speak of the Devil,” you perked up at the sight of your best friend emerging from the crowd with the others—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Jongho (vocal coach and album feature), and Yeosang (PR management)—in tow behind him. “We were wondering where you had gone off to.”
Yunho grinned as the lot of them squished into the circular seating arrangement with you, San, and Wooyoung. “Sorry, had to go round everyone up. The album should be queued up and ready to go.” He chose to sit on the end of the booth to your right while everyone else filled it up from the other side.
You offered him a sip of your drink, and he gladly took the glass from you. “So San and Woo were just telling me about how their tour prep is coming. You guys are leaving—what was it—two weeks from now?”
He hummed, smacking his lips as he set the glass back down on the table. “Yeah, it should be just about two weeks,” he said. His arm came up to rest against the back of the booth seat behind you. “You know, you can still come to the first stop with us…” This was said with a very pointed look at you from Yunho, followed by similar expressions from everyone else around the table.
“And you know that day’s when my supervisor holds quarterly meetings that are mandatory,” you shot back. As much as you hated the timing, the day that Yunho and the team planned to fly to their first stop on his world tour, you were required to be present for a very important meeting at work.
The Youth World Tour was something Yunho had been looking forward to and preparing for a long time. Besides working on the Youth album itself, his working hours extended over the past year or so to get ready for this major milestone. You would definitely be able to meet up with them at one of the tour stops, you just weren’t sure which one yet.
Things at your workplace were a little rocky as of late due to shifting management, but you would play it by ear. For your best friend, of course you would make it work somehow.
Your ears pricked up at the sound of strings strumming overhead and your heart leapt out of your ribcage for a moment. “Oh my god, I love this song.”
“You and me both, Yn,” Hongjoong chuckled across the table from you, reaching over so you could bump fists with him, “you’ve got good taste.”
“You’re only saying that because you wrote this one specifically,” Yunho sputtered out a laugh while rolling his eyes.
“It’s a good message,” you said, picking up your drink to take a generous gulp of it. There was a little left at the bottom of the martini glass and you swirled the liquid around before handing it over to Yunho to finish. “I think this one will definitely make it onto my work playlist.”
Yunho draped the back of his hand over his forehead, setting the now empty glass on the table. “Wow, relegated to the work playlist. Is that all I am to you?”
“You are a mood maker,” you pointed out with a teasing smile.
“Bro, you're complaining as if Yn doesn't put her work playlist on for everything she does.” Mingi arched his brows over the rims of his sunglasses. (Why was he wearing sunglasses indoors and at night? You didn't know; he said something about looking cool.)
Wooyoung chuckled. “What? So let's say you're trying to sleep—”
“Yah, I have a different playlist for that! I'm not completely unreasonable.”
“Completely,” Yunho and Mingi said at the same time, then looked at each other with wide, excited eyes. They bursted out laughing at once, too, leaving you to deadpan at the two clowns to your eleven o'clock and three o'clock.
You sighed. “I hate you guys.”
That only made them laugh louder, spurring on the others to crack smiles and for you to do the same.
Yunho calmed slightly, his cheeks hurting from smiling. “Aw, you walked right into that one, Yn.”
“So you're saying you are, in some capacity, unreasonable—oh my god, don't hurt me!” Mingi shrieked as he shoved Yeosang's body in front of him like a human shield as you lurched forward and threatened to grab him.
Yeosang sent Mingi a dirty look as he wrestled out of his neighbor's hold. “Dude.”
“Jongho, protect me.”
The vocal coach popped the olive from his martini into his mouth. “If you can't handle the heat, hyung, stay out of the kitchen.”
You nodded, raising your pointer finger up. “Exactly.”
For the next hour, you and your friends shared good company and conversation, while also commenting on, praising, and enjoying the tunes from Yunho's Youth album. There were a good thirteen songs featured on the album, and while most of them were inspired by real life, you remembered the days and nights when Yunho would break out the white board under his bed to draw out a concept map of the storyline he'd created in his head for some songs. It was like a miniature Easter egg hunt for fans to piece together from album to album.
When the clock hit nearly midnight, you recognized the song that marked the end of the conventional album—track number thirteen, 22. It was a song that reflected and lamented on his early stages of adulthood, all the goods and bads, all the hopes and dreams he had left. It was something that tied the regular album with a satisfying bow, but you were also giddy to hear the secret fourteenth deluxe track.
But as his ethereal voice from 22 faded out, the same guitar chords from the first song of the album began to play.
Everyone at the table paused in confusion.
“Uhh, I thought you were revealing the hidden track tonight, Yunho?” Seonghwa asked from across the table.
Yunho tilted his body out of the booth to peer into the sound booth at the very back of the lounge, a furrow in his brow. “I thought I was, too,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Before anyone else could say anything, Yunho disappeared past the door to the sound booth. You frowned as Hongjoong excused himself to catch up with him, mumbling something about helping with any technical difficulties.
In retrospect, it wouldn't be the biggest deal if you didn't get to hear the song tonight. You would simply listen to it when the deluxe album dropped in about a week, but you wouldn't deny that you were a little disappointed. Everyone else at this table had already listened to it—why had Yunho not shared it with you yet? Did he think you would judge him or not like it? You didn't think you were ever so harsh a critic, but that would explain why he was so nervous all night.
Regardless, you remained positive.
When Yunho and Hongjoong returned to the table, the rest of you all looked on to them expectantly.
“Something wacky is going on with the system right now and won't play the file for the hidden track,” Hongjoong huffed. He passed Yunho a sidelong glance, and you saw how Yunho avoided his friend's eyes like the plague. “Sorry to disappoint, Yn.”
Everyone's attention whipped toward you, and you straightened like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh, uhm, it's no biggie,” you said. You glanced over at Yunho who, if anything, seemed guilty. Or maybe it was just something apologetic. “Really—I can wait for it to drop officially.”
You didn't like how the air seemed to shift during this exchange, as if all the other boys were sitting on the edges of their seats, faces morphed into mixed ranges of confusion and disbelief.
You cleared your throat. “Anyone want more drinks?”
As the night waned and the party came to a close, you found yourself being helped into another Uber car to head home. After the supposed tech glitch, the remainder of the party passed by without a hitch. At the very end, Yunho popped open a theatrical bottle of champagne for all his guests to close out the celebration.
The backseat door closed just as Yunho ducked in with you, his hand waving out the window to San, Wooyoung, and Jongho passing by along the curb.
The alcohol had gradually made its way to your brain, and there was a light buzzing at the base of your skull that made you feel all warm and fuzzy. You yawned, leaning your head against Yunho's shoulder.
He chuckled, one of his hands coming up to gently pat your head. “Tired?”
“Mhm,” you hummed as your eyelids fluttered closed. “You didn't have to lie, y'know.”
You felt his shoulder tense under your cheek. If only you could feel the rapid beating in his chest, then he'd be as good as done.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he replied innocently, nimble fingers running over the chain links of his wristwatch.
Your eyes cracked open slowly. “Yunho.”
A beat passed, then he sighed. “Are you mad?” he asked quietly and his hand nearest to you found yours as he began to mindlessly inspect the chipped nail polish on your fingertips.
“No, silly. Why would I be mad?” When he didn't respond right away, you let out an exhale of your own. “I mean, I could tell you were nervous about me listening to the song all night. And if you weren't ready for me to listen to it yet, then I totally get that, and I'm okay with waiting. I just would rather you tell me that instead of make Hongjoong lie for you.”
He stopped playing with your fingers. “I'm sorry, for the record. Thank you for understanding.”
You hummed in reply.
The drive continued on with the accompaniment of a random radio station playing on low volume. You weren't going to fall asleep just yet with the alcohol still working its way through your system, but you kept your eyes closed nonetheless.
“I missed you, you know?” were his first words to break the next silence.
A small smile wormed its way onto your face. “I missed you, too. I feel like we haven't seen each other in forever.”
He chuckled, the low sound rumbling through his chest and into your ear. “Texting can only take us so far. Isn't that crazy? We can't even survive a week without hanging out, but we're… we're about to be separated for so much longer timewise and distance-wise.”
You grumbled. “Don't remind me—wait. Has it really only been a week?” You peeked one eye open, a frown coming to your lips. “No way.”
Yunho smiled, shaking his head. “Believe it or not, stargirl. It's been only a week.”
“In-fucking-sane.”
“You're telling me.”
“How are we going to survive?” you pondered aloud, genuinely. If you couldn't fly out to see him within the first handful of tour stops, you and Yunho at the soonest wouldn't be able to see each other for three weeks. And if you couldn't escape your work duties and your PhD responsibilities, then it would be longer than that. “You're gonna have a closer relationship with your Valorant account than me.”
Yunho snorted. “I already have a closer relationship with my Valorant account than you.”
“Shucks.” You breathed out. “Guess I'll just text Hongjoong then. You know what he told me tonight when we were exchanging numbers? All eight of you nerds have a group chat and he gets ignored like a mom in a family chatroom.”
Your comment made a laugh tumble out of Yunho's mouth. “Did he make that analogy?”
“No, Seonghwa did when he overheard.”
A wheeze. “That tracks.” Yunho licked his lips as he turned his head slightly to glance down at you leaning on his shoulder. With his free hand, he warmed his palm over your head like he could keep you here forever. “So what's this about texting Joong?”
You shifted your position to get more comfortable and clung to his arm to press yourself closer. There was still a little ways to go before you reached your apartment. “I told him offhandedly that I wanna pick up a new hobby… something about crocheting or something, and apparently that guy is like… amazing at everything, so he's gonna help me out.”
“Ah.” The sound was quiet. “I'm glad you guys got along.”
You smiled to yourself. “Me too. He's really cool.”
“Not cooler than me though, right?”
You blindly reached over to pat his chest in warm reassurance. “Don't worry, big guy. I guess you're still the coolest guy I know.”
He clicked his tongue at you with a weak chiding, “Yah. You only guess? Don't tell Mingi that.”
“Oh, I wouldn't dream of it.”
The Uber eventually pulled up along the curb outside your apartment complex. You lifted your head up from Yunho's shoulder and woke yourself up with a good stretch of your limbs.
He helped you out of the car, handing you your purse when you finally got your bearings. “Are you sure I can't walk you up? You look like your knees are about to buckle,” he chuckled.
You shook your head. The cool evening air was helping your brain to sober up. “No, no. Don't worry about it—I’m not as drunk as that one year.”
“Dear heart, how could I forget,” he teased. “Mingi still has the recording of when you begged to be bridal carried.”
Your face warmed at his mention of that memory and you wrinkled your nose at him. “I was gonna say ‘I love you’ along with goodnight, but I suppose not.”
Yunho froze. “What?”
Maybe you really weren't sobering up, because you didn't catch his strange reaction. “Nevermind,” you said flippantly. “Love you, Yun. Good night. Get home safe!”
He seemed to unfreeze, his lungs filling with breath again. A soft smile melted onto his pretty lips as he looked on toward you with a warm fondness. “Love you, too. Good night, Yn.”
He remained where he was outside the car door as he watched you dig your keys out from your purse and open the complex door. When you had one foot inside, you stopped, and turned back to him with a big grin on your face. “Hey!”
“Hey?” He laughed.
“I'm proud of you.”
For the thousandth time tonight, you made him lose his breath, his hold on reality. He swallowed—he wanted to kiss you. “I love you. Get some rest, stargirl.”
You waved to him in reply and he waved back. Then you disappeared through the door and left him there, his heart full and beating fast, the longing in his chest weighing heavier than before.
When you and Yunho were thirteen, you spent the longest period of time away from each other for the rest of your lives. It measured to about one summer break long when Yunho flew to South Korea to spend the entire vacation there and you could do nothing but chat with him via good, old fashioned e-mail.
Now that the two of you were older, even a couple days dragged on like an eternity. And because of your clashing and stacked schedules, a couple days almost always bled into a week.
A week since the release of Youth marked the inevitable release of its deluxe edition and the ever mysterious fourteenth track.
“Yn, wait, can you just help me finish this set of primers?”
You were this close to escaping the lab before one of your colleagues caught you. Taking a deep breath, you resolved to turn back and help them out. One less thing to worry about later, right? You could still listen to the track once you got home.
Except you couldn't, at least not right away. You saw the email on the bus ride home:
Hello TAs! One of your peers has unfortunately been involved in a motorbike accident early this evening. We have been informed that they will recover to full health, but because they are hospitalized, we will need to redistribute responsibilities regarding grades and as to who will cover their TA sections…
You skimmed down the email's contents, knowing you wouldn't be the one filling in as an actual TA. Because you were a first year graduate student in your first quarter, you opted to start off with grading work for now. But even if you didn't have to deal with a whole section of undergraduates, you could feel the blood drain from your face.
“You've gotta be shitting me,” you said, then slapped your hand over your mouth once you realized you'd said that aloud. You mouthed a sheepish “sorry” to a parent and her child nearby, then ducked your head to look at the contents once more.
There was no way they wanted—no, needed—all of those graded by tonight.
This was cruel and unusual punishment, but you knew you were going to do it anyway.
By the time you finished grading, shoveled dinner into your mouth, and took a therapeutically scalding hot shower, it was sometime past two in the morning. Thank fuck it was Saturday.
It was less than twelve hours later that you settled into the passenger seat of Yunho's Lexus sedan with a pair of shades covering your dehydrated, puffy eyes from the world and whatever paparazzi was stalking his car. Yunho glanced over at you with barely concealed amusement. “Well, good morning, princess.”
“You can't see it but I'm glaring at you,” you grunted as you strapped yourself in with the seatbelt. “I can't believe you wake up before noon now.”
“Unfortunately,” he chuckled, peeling his car away from the curb. After an unsatisfactory six hours of sleep, Yunho had woken you up with the obnoxiously loud sound of your phone ringing. You managed to negotiate for him to pick you up in two hours rather than half an hour—and now here you were. You never truly considered yourself a breakfast person and you would have happily slept all the way to lunch, but even through the exhaustion, you wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see you.
He would be gone by the end of the week, after all.
You leaned your head back against the headrest. “I used to have to lure you out of bed with the smell of bacon. Remember when you ate that entire plate of raw-ass bacon and pancake batter that Mingi made?”
Yunho let out a loud laugh that made you smile. He glanced over at you. “Bro,” he sighed, shaking his head, “you know I'll eat anything. Oh my gosh, I will never forget the horrified look on your face when you came out of the bathroom and found out what happened.”
“You looked like a kicked puppy when I told you that you shouldn't have eaten raw bacon,” you snorted. You'd felt so awful that Yunho was such a good eater who didn't complain; he didn't have any negative side effects afterward, thankfully, but you swore to never let Mingi in the kitchen or to let Mingi feed Yunho ever again, so long as you lived.
There was a café a few minutes’ drive from your apartment complex that the two of you liked to go to. It was a little hole in the wall, located on the second floor above a pet shelter, and the entrance could only be accessed through the stairs in the next-door alleyway.
Yunho adjusted the beanie over his bangs and you shifted your sunglasses up to the top of your head as you entered the establishment. There were a few people seated in the area to the right, but something you liked about this place was its hidden gem quality. (And the drinks and food they served, of course.)
“Hi, welcome in!” the barista behind the counter called before ducking behind the espresso machine. “Give me two seconds, and I'll be right with you.”
“No worries, take your time,” Yunho chirped back as he scoured the menu, eyes squinting and tongue darting out to wet his lips.
You had a general idea of what you wanted already, and you let Yunho know what it was before slipping off into the restroom.
By the time you emerged from the back hallway where the washrooms were, Yunho had finished ordering and was standing by one of the open two-seater tables by the far window with the soft autumn sunlight painting over his features. For a second, you stood at the opening of the hallway, just admiring him. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep making you envision the sunlight dancing around him as he sat down in one of the seats.
Heat rushed up your neck as your eyes met across the café. Gazes locked, you stood frozen, but a smile bloomed on your best friend's face like the coming of spring. It was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.
And then he made a face, cocking his head to the side like a puppy with a question. 'Why are you just standing there?’ he seemed to ask.
You shook yourself out of whatever strange daze you'd slipped into, then walked over to join him.
“You okay?” he asked as you took the seat across from him, a teasing lilt to his voice, yet there was still concern in the curve of his mouth.
You waved said concern away. “Yeah. I think I'm still waking up or something.”
“Ah,” he nodded in understanding. He frowned. “What time did you go to sleep last night?”
“Like… some time past two.” On cue, you let out a large yawn, lifting your sleeve up to cover your mouth. “It's okay. I'll just sleep early tonight or something. One of the other TAs got into an accident, so we just had to do some make-up work and I just happened to get home late as it was.”
You could already see the guilt manifest on his face for waking you up, and you were swift to add, “I'll be fine with food and coffee, so 's alright. What about you? How'd you sleep last night?”
“I slept decently,” he replied, leaning forward to rest his cheek against his fist. “I didn't end up dropping the deluxe album, so it was a little more restful than—”
Your brain took a second to catch up. The… the deluxe album… oh. Your eyes went from half-mast to wide open. “You—you didn't release the deluxe? Sorry, I was so busy yesterday that I didn't check my socials.”
“Don't worry about it,” he said with a sheepish smile. “But yeah, I told my manager that I still wasn't ready to release it to the public just yet. I don't know when I'll postpone it to, but it probably won't come out until while I'm on tour.”
Ah. There was that disappointment settling in the pit of your stomach again. This wasn't about you, but why did it seem like he was avoiding your eventual listening to this song? He was almost always sending you audio files without prompting, so what made this one different?
Nonetheless, it wasn't your song. You would respect Yunho's privacy if he wanted to keep this one to himself and his friends.
You unconsciously rubbed your arm. “Oh okay. Yeah, I mean—take your time, Yun. I'm glad you don't feel pressured to release it when you aren't ready.”
His expression softened to something tender that made your chest feel fuzzy. “You'll listen to it soon, I promise.”
The barista called out Yunho's order number, and your friend stood up to go retrieve it. You sighed as you fiddled with the sleeve of your shirt and peered over your shoulder as a pair of newcomers asked him for his autograph and a picture. You watched the pleasant smile spread on Yunho's face as he conversed with them as easy as breathing air, alongside the faint blush over his cheekbones.
You didn't know what had gotten into you this morning.
“No, no. You have to loop it through this piece here—yeah, there you go.”
You were so concentrated on following Hongjoong's directions that you didn't even register the sound of Yunho's front door opening and closing. Hongjoong clicked his tongue and scooted closer so he could direct your hands and the crochet hook himself.
“Uhm… hey?”
Both yours and Hongjoong's heads whipped up at the sound of Yunho's confusion. He stood at the entrance to the living room area where, scattered all around you and Hongjoong, were clothes, toiletries, and other essentials laid out for Yunho to throw into his bags.
Tonight marked the evening before Yunho and the team were to set off on the Youth World Tour. Tomorrow, they would fly out sometime in the afternoon, which meant that you would have time to send them off before heading to work and class. However, because you hadn't seen Yunho since this past Saturday when he dragged your ass out of bed for breakfast, you invited yourself over to his apartment to oversee his packing. Hongjoong just so happened to be swinging by Yunho's apartment and you asked if he was up for an impromptu crocheting lesson.
Hongjoong arrived some time while Yunho ran out to the Chinese place down the block to grab dinner, and the two of you had been hunched over the ball of yarn and hook ever since.
“Oh, you're back!” you exclaimed. In your distracted state, Hongjoong took the opportunity to take the crochet piece from you and subtly fix the mistakes you made.
Yunho's brows creased, eyes darting from you to Hongjoong as he slowly placed the takeout bags on the semi-cleared coffee table. “Yeah… Joong, when did you get here?”
You leaned forward to help clear off the rest of the coffee table and to also assist in unpacking all of the takeout containers. Yunho shucked the baseball cap he was wearing off to the side, carding a hand through his dark locks.
“Like… seven minutes ago,” he replied cheekily. His mouth curled into something mischievous as he locked eyes with Yunho. “I can leave, though, if you wanted to be alone—”
“Hyung—”
“I'm messing with you,” he snickered as he handed you the yarn and hook. “I only came by to drop off the emergency backup files hard drive and to give Yn-ie a sneak peek of her crocheting lessons to come.”
(Yunho's eyes narrowed a millimeter. Yn-ie?)
You set the unfinished crochet square down on the couch to walk Hongjoong to the door. “Are we still on for tomorrow, by the way?”
“What's tomorrow?” Yunho twisted around where he was seated on the floor to watch you and Hongjoong make your way to the front door.
“You,” said Hongjoong with raised eyebrows at your best friend, “are going on a plane with everyone else. Because I'm not leaving until the day after tomorrow, Yn and I are bonding over lunch after we see you all off.”
You and Hongjoong finished up finalizing plans in the doorway, followed by amiable farewells. Yunho called out a “good night” to his friend as Hongjoong slipped out the door, and left you and him to the apartment by yourselves.
You claimed the spot on the floor next to him and accepted the pair of wooden chopsticks he extended to you. “I'm sorry if I wasn't supposed to invite him in. I probably should've asked,” you said sheepishly as you snapped the chopsticks apart.
“Oh, no, he's been over quite a few times, so it's all good,” he replied swiftly. “I just didn't expect you two to be so close.” He added a laugh at the end that sounded more nervous to him than it was supposed to.
“We've been texting back and forth, but I guess so. Nothing like the two of you,” you jested, lifting your eyebrows up and bumping your elbow against his.
Yunho grinned. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You guys spend all that time together in the studio—WHA—NO! Keep those hands to yourself!” You shrieked, rolling out of the way to dodge his hands that threatened to tickle you into submission. Yunho had thrown his head back in a carefree laugh, a beautiful expression in itself, that had you reciprocating.
When you were sure he wasn't going to attack you (affectionately), you scooted back over to your original spot next to him. He smiled to himself at the sidelong glance you casted him, and he went and grabbed one carton of rice for himself and the other for you.
“Thank you for dinner, by the way,” you told him as you opened up your carton, his somehow already opened and spilling over with food.
You once again caught him with his mouth full, and Yunho swallowed the bite of food he had before replying. “Yeah, man. Of course.”
“I swear that I will definitely get the next meal we have—”
“Yn.” He bumped the back of his hand against your arm to draw your attention to him. “You literally were the one to make sure I made it out of college alive, like, I can never thank you enough for how much you did for me then and continue to do for me now.”
You swallowed, suddenly blown back by the way he looked at you right now. “I did it because I care about you, Yun. It's not something I expect to be repaid for.”
“I know,” he said with a nod, lips pulled into a tender smile that made your stomach do flips. This was the look no one else got to see from him. Sure, he could fill stadiums of people who would see his big, bright grin that shone brighter than the sun, but… but this one, this smile, was yours. “That goes the same toward this meal, okay?”
Yunho notched his finger under your chin and tilted your head up slightly to meet his eyes. “Don't worry about it.”
You set your carton of rice and chopsticks on the table, he copied your movements, and you wrapped each other in your mutual embraces. The startling realization that you wouldn't see him for longer than a week from tomorrow onward rushed toward you like the coming of a tide to shore. Before you knew it, the water was up to your knees, and you—what were you going to do without him here?
“I miss you already,” you whispered.
You felt him squeeze you tighter, nose pressed against the side of your neck. “I won't be gone too long.” A promise.
“Thank god Seonghwa and Wooyoung can cook.” At the sound of his snort from above your head, you squawked out in your defense, “Who else is gonna make you bacon and pancakes in the morning when you’re dead tired?”
“Hey! I can fry bacon, I’ll have you know!”
You pulled away from him so he could see the look of pure disbelief on your face. “Okay, rockstar. I believe you.”
He scrunched his nose up at you. “That’s not very convincing.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
Yunho scoffed, reaching over to flick your nose. You let out a sound of indignation and rubbed your nose, a scowl on your face at Yunho’s very pleased expression. And even if you were currently conspiring on how to get back at him, you couldn’t help but resolve something right that second—you would do everything in your power to see his show in two weeks’ time—to see Yunho in two weeks’ time.
The thing about cheap plane tickets was that the cheaper you bought them, the less “amenities” that it came with. The one you’d purchased specifically for two weeks in the future did not allow you a refund. This meant that if something were to arise, you would be a good several hundred dollars poorer, and your plans to surprise Yunho at his show would fall completely through the floor.
Good thing you weren’t about to let that happen, right? …Right?
“You’re sick.” Those were your roommate Trinity’s first words to you as you stumbled out of your bedroom and found her perched on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. She fixed you with an unimpressed look as she stirred around her morning coffee.
“I’m not” —your own response was cut off by one very untimely cough into your elbow. You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste at the back of your throat. Great— “sick.”
“And I’m Oprah,” she deadpanned.
“You could be.” Did you really sound as much like a dying walrus as you thought you did? Holy shit.
She stood up from her stool, setting her coffee cup on the counter, then walked over to you to direct you back into your room. “I’m not permitting you exit from this apartment until you're better. Back to bed with you.”
“But—”
“No buts! If you wanna still be able to fly by the end of this week, then you have to get better, Yn.”
You really, unfortunately, could not argue with that. Nearly a week and a half had passed since Yunho started touring. Opening night had been a massive success, as you’d seen the broadcast and read the reviews on social media. In the concert photos and videos slowly being released online, there was no doubt in your mind that Yunho belonged onstage. He was radiant as a diamond in each depiction of him, and he sounded better and better each night.
Suffice to say, you were beyond proud and happy for him.
In order to make your surprise successful, you informed Yunho’s team of your plans so they could help you get into the concert once you arrived. Your part consisted mainly of finishing all of your work ahead of schedule so you weren’t swamped when you got back. It was nearing the end of the term, meaning there was lots to grade and study, but when you had a goal, you were determined.
The only downside was that, between the long days and nights of work, your body couldn’t fight against the swift rush of early winter air that swept through the city in the past week. Your working hours stretched out longer and longer until your body just… gave up. Or at least, it was giving up.
After calling in sick to your workplace, you crashed back into bed for what you hoped to be a restful nap. Maybe when you woke up, this would all just turn out to be a 24-hour fever.
(It was not a 24-hour fever.)
You didn't even know what time it was when you woke up groggy and your head pounding like there was an active construction site taking place in your skull. Your bedroom was dark, and the world outside your window was also dark. The sound of your phone ringing drilled into your cranium, and you groaned as you felt around your mess of blankets and sheets for wherever that damned thing was—
“Hello?” you croaked into the receiver when you finally grabbed ahold of your phone.
There was a pause on the other end, and you were about to ask who it was when they responded. “Oh my god. You're sick.”
Your heart leapt into your throat at the sound of your best friend's voice and you shoved your face into the pillow. “I'm not sick.”
“Yn, sweetheart, you literally have the sexy sick voice.”
“You think I'm sexy?” you asked in a drowsy, unwell daze. “But anyways, I'm not” —you lifted your face into your elbow in time to practically hack out your lungs. You groaned. “Okay, maybe I am sick.”
Could things get any worse?
You could hear the frown in his voice. “You sound like my worst nightmare.”
“Am I sexy or your worst nightmare? You need to pick an adjective.” You whimpered as you struggled to pull yourself up into a sitting position.
“At least I know it did nothing to that attitude of yours,” he laughed. He sobered for a moment when he heard you groan as the blood rushed to your head. “Hey, do you have meds with you? I can order some and have them there in half an hour.”
You waved him off, even though he wouldn't be able to see. “No, it's okay. I should have taken an ibuprofen before I crashed. I'm sure we've got extra Nyquil around here somewhere…”
You attempted to stand up, a swear falling from your mouth as the vertigo hit you and sent you tumbling back down onto the edge of the bed.
“Yn, I'm sending you medicine—and dinner. That one bistro near your apartment is still open, right? I'll let Trinity know that deliveries are on the—Yn?”
You lifted your head and broke out of your return to unconsciousness. “Hm? Sorry… I did not hear anything you just said.” You rubbed your hand down your face and scooped your phone up to make your way out of your room. You somehow made it to the door, and you leaned against the doorjamb as you pushed out into the dark hallway. “You don't have to send anything, Yun. Trinity's studying for her law school finals, so I don't wanna bother her. Plus…”
You opened up the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and bit back a sigh of disappointment. No cold medicine. There was pain medication, at least, so that should hopefully help you fall asleep again.
At your lack of words, Yunho asked, “No medicine?”
“No, I have some medicine,” you countered. “Just—not the right ones.” Before you could swallow any pills, you hacked out another lung into your elbow; you swore your coughs were sounding worse and worse.
“You know what? I'm flying home—”
You slammed the pill bottle on the bathroom counter. “Don't—what? Yunho, do not fly home. It's literally just a little” —you coughed— “cold. You have another show in two days. If you show up on my doorstep, I'm not opening the door.”
From the silence on his end, you knew he wasn't in total agreement with you. Maybe the bottle slamming was a little much, but his statement had surprised you. It didn't make sense for him to drop everything for you when you were experiencing something so trivial as a cold.
Not unkindly, you said to him, “I appreciate the concern, but you have bigger things to worry about and care about.”
“You will always be the most important thing I care about.”
His admission was so sincere that your heart gave a violent palpitation in your chest. You struggled to swallow, and it wasn't just because your throat was sore. “And I feel the same way about you,” you murmured, “but I can take care of myself, okay? I'll be back to normal in no time.”
You heard a sigh from his end. “I know; you're right. I just… wish I was there with you right now.”
You could understand that—it was how you felt. But some things couldn't be helped, and Yunho needed to be where he was and you needed to be where you were. You could hold down the fort while he was gone taking over the world by storm.
You closed the bathroom door to give an extra barrier between your voice and where Trinity was studying in her room. After knocking back a couple painkillers, you seated yourself on the floor with your back against the bathtub and your knees pulled up to your chest. “You know what's kind of ironic?” You coughed into your elbow and wrestled down another one bubbling up in your throat. You shouldn't have been speaking so much, but you could deal with the repercussions later. “I think I freaked out when you said you were going to fly home, not just because that's insane, but also because I was going to surprise you by flying out to your show in a couple days.”
He sucked in a breath. “You were gonna come surprise me?”
“Yeah,” you muttered, swiping at your nose and tucking your chin to your knees. Then you had to go and screw it all up, and you couldn't even get your money back. You pretty much accepted that you weren't going to be better by the time the day rolled around, especially not for travel. “I'm sorry I couldn't come see you.”
“No, don't be sorry,” he cooed. “I'm—I’m really sorry you're sick and I'm sad you couldn't make it, but… but think of it this way, hm? As soon as you get better, I'll fly you out to whatever city I'm in and we can hang out and you can come to the concert. All you have to do is get better for me.”
You didn't know if your schedule would allow after this setback, but you were going to remain optimistic. With a small glimmer of hope peering through your chest, you replied, “Okay.”
“Okay,” he said, and you could hear the fond smile in his voice.
“By the way,” you began, and had to clear your throat from how congested it was getting. Maybe some hot tea would do you good. You clambered to your feet to get out of this bathroom and do just that. “Was there a reason you called originally or was it just to say hi?”
A beat of hesitation passed between your question and his answer. “Ah…” There was a wince in his voice, “I, uhm, called because I wanted to know if you'd seen something online, but obviously you haven't 'cause you were asleep, but…”
Seen something online? Your movements paused. Had someone posted something about Yunho? “What is it, Yun?” Who's ass did you need to beat?
“Seonghwa hyung found out that someone leaked the hidden track online a few hours ago.”
You leaned your cheek against your palm, eyebrows knitting together. “Shit, dude. I'm so sorry,” you said with a frown. That meant some rando on the internet had hacked into someone's files and leaked the song.
A sharp exhale from Yunho's end. “Yeah, I dunno. We're working on getting it taken down right now, but in the event it can't be done soon enough, I think I'm just gonna release the deluxe version in a couple hours.”
It seemed by his response that it wasn't the hacking that was his primary concern. Leaked, unreleased songs happened to every major artist in the industry, and it had most definitely happened to Yunho before this. But this time… this time felt different. You knew how hesitant he was to release this, and having the track get released to the public on terms that weren't his? Well, that just wasn't fair.
“You don't,” you said softly, reaching for a mug in the top cabinet to plop your tea bag into, “have to release it officially right now. You can still wait until you're comfortable.”
You heard sounds of shuffling on his end, followed by the sound of a door opening. You thought you heard Yeosang's voice as he murmured something to Yunho. The exchange was swift, but it reminded you that your time with your best friend here was limited.
“Do you need to go?” you asked, trying to cover up your hope that he didn't have to with nonchalance.
He hummed. “It's okay, I have a few minutes left. They want me to 'okay’ a couple things out on set, but that can wait. Uhm… as for what you said about releasing it—I,” he sighed, “I think this was the push I needed to finally drop it, y'know? I think either way I was going to be scared for—for people to hear it—for you to hear it. But uhm… yeah. That's all I wanted to say. I think it'll probably be released whenever you wake up.”
You poured the hot water of your tea bag, setting the kettle down gently. Letting the steam rise up to help clear your congestion, you could finally think a little clearer now. “I'm sorry this didn't happen on your terms.”
“I appreciate that. I hope you like the song—I… I really hope you like the song.”
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “I'm going to like the song, rockstar. You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”
He let out a small laugh and the sound of his happiness, however big or small, made your chest feel heavy. “I’ve missed you so much,” he rasped out. “So much.”
You pressed your forehead to your fist, willing the prickling feeling of tears at bay. “I wish I was there—I’ve wished I was there with you the moment you left. But I'm so, so proud of you. I know I've said this before, but you belong on that stage, Yunho. I'll be there… I'm always there in spirit.”
“You can't say that and expect me not to fly my ass home right now.”
You sputtered out a laugh, which was probably a bad idea, because it led to an utter disaster of a coughing fit. When you finally managed to get a reign on things, you picked up your mug of tea and took a couple ginger sips. It was still piping hot, but whatever scalding temperature it was at somehow soothed your throat and your head.
You set the cup down. “Again, I'll be there in no time, I promise.”
“You swear on your life?”
You sighed, but you pressed your lips into a smile. “I swear on my life.”
Yunho's departure from this call was imminent, and so you made further promises to get plenty of rest and to take care of yourself. You only did so when he promised to do the same for himself. Just after you both hung up, you received a text message from him: Stay up for five more minutes!! The delivery's almost there.
You huffed out a rough-sounding laugh, and bit your tongue around a smile. Of course he had still ordered you stuff. You shook your head to settle on one of the kitchen stools to nurse your tea and wait for the delivery to get here.
When the driver was safely out of bounds of your door, you poked your head out into the hallway to grab the paper bags seated on your doorstep. You had only expected medicine and maybe dinner, but not only were there cold medicines, orange juice, and hot soup from the bistro down the street, but there was a bouquet of flowers there, too.
Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you pulled everything into the safety of your apartment. Damn Jeong Yunho and his gestures. It didn't mean anything—they were just Get Well Soon flowers, but why did you kind of wish they were more than that?
The Youth album's fourteenth track entitled your space hit the charts at number two. By the time you woke up, still sick as hell, the track had been officially released for about eight hours. You rolled over in bed to guzzle down half a bottle of water and cold medicine, then grabbed your phone.
It seemed that social media blew up while you were asleep. The deluxe drop was trending under a couple different tags, and based on initial skims, you were happy to report that most had everything good to say about it.
Though, some of the commentary made you pause. He has to be seeing someone, said one user. Look at these lyrics. These could only be produced by a man in love.
You had to swipe out of the app at that point. Instead, you went over to yours, Yunho's, and Mingi's group chat together where Mingi and Yunho had waged a meme war while you were asleep after Mingi wished you a “Get Better Soon” message. You sent back your own meme in response and opened your music streaming app to find track fourteen.
The boys would probably all be asleep by now, so they wouldn't respond any time soon.
You found your space exactly where you thought it would be, at the very bottom of the deluxe album. You sat yourself up against your headboard, plugged your earbuds in, then hit play.
If only you knew how much it would rock your world.
Hongjoong was never wrong about his hunches. It had been about a week and a half since you came down with an awful cold and couldn't make it to your intended surprise show, and slightly less than that since the deluxe album dropped. Even before the tour started, life was a whirlwind, but now that the tour was only ramping up further from this point, it had been nothing short of a total rush.
Different cities every week, at least two nights a city—all of it took a toll on both the staff and artist involved. Hongjoong's hunch, however, regarded the artist in particular as he watched said artist keep his smile up to say goodnight to the remainder of the stadium workers who lingered for cleanup. Yesterday was their last show date in this city, and today, Yunho and his team had come by to help load everything up for transport to their next destination. Tomorrow, they would fly out and be in the next city to begin preparing for the next round.
But as Yunho began making his way toward the exit where Hongjoong was waiting for him, it was impossible to miss the immediate exhaustion that flooded his features. He carded a hand through his hair as he checked his phone, then pocketed it in the back pocket of his pants.
“Hey,” Yunho nodded to Hongjoong as he met him at the exit and they both walked out into the chilly evening together. There was already a car waiting at the curb to take them back to their hotel—there was still so much that needed to be done before they left for the airport tomorrow.
“Hey,” he said back. “Everything okay?”
Yunho glanced over at him. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine; just tired. I think it's a good thing I started packing before we came here earlier,” he mused. For him to pack early? A miracle.
Hongjoong bobbed his head in understanding. “Yeah, I get that, but that's not really—you know you can be honest with me, right? I know this has all been… a lot.” And Hongjoong would understand; he had been in the public eye for so long now, and all of that could be so incredibly draining. From catering to fans and journalists and sponsors, it could be difficult finding himself amongst all that mess.
Plus, Yunho had the added bit of being away from home for a very long time. From what Hongjoong understood, Yunho only used to tour relatively close to home, and when it was farther, it was during his school breaks. He also knew that you were an integral part of Yunho's sanity, and that even before he reached this level of fame, you were his rock, his anchor, his ground control.
Being away from you for so long was beginning to show. When Hongjoong brought it up offhandedly to Mingi, Mingi was swift to agree.
“I” —Yunho began as he slipped into the passenger seat and Hongjoong into the back of the car. He murmured a soft greeting to the driver before strapping himself in with a seatbelt. “It definitely has been hard,” he admitted with a sigh. “I don't know, Joong. You know that rush you get while onstage, but it just comes crashing down a couple hours later? Like the adrenaline leaves you all at once and all you crave for is home?”
Hongjoong pursed his lips, watching Yunho lean the side of his head against the window as he watched the world pass by. “Yeah, I do,” he said quietly. “The moments between all the rush and excitement, you're no longer distracted from how much it all is.”
A nod. “Yeah.”
“You miss her?” It was less of a question and more so a statement. Hongjoong's hunches were never incorrect. It was both a blessing and a curse.
Yunho's quiet was answer enough.
Hongjoong played around with the back of his phone case. He knew you had listened to the song—he’d asked Yunho and you'd texted Hongjoong, too. Yunho reported that you gushed about the song and affirmed him in all his choices and lyricism as always, but he was certain that you didn't get it. But when you had run to Hongjoong questioning your own feelings and if Yunho had been scared to tell you if he was in love with someone, Hongjoong could confidently say that you did get it, just not one hundred percent.
There was still miscommunication in the message, but he knew that was only something that the two of you could sort out.
“Have you guys talked since last week?”
“Yeah, we have. She's been…” He pushed a breath out of his mouth, “She's been working her ass off trying to make up for the amount of time she was sick. I don't even know how she isn't getting sick again. I mean—all the shit she has to weather through—I wish I could help.”
And he couldn't, not like how he wanted to, not from so far away. Maybe that was what was eating him up inside the most, besides the fact he believed his feelings to be unrequited.
The car pulled up to the back entrance of the hotel Yunho and his team were staying at for the time being. The two of them thanked the driver on their way out, and they were swiftly greeted by employees coming out of the back for their breaks.
When they reached the warmth of their hotel floor's hallway, Yunho said to Hongjoong, “I miss her so much.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his Youth World Tour hoodie, eyes lined in silver. “I worry about her so much, too. I'm sure she worries just as much about me and I know that she's more than capable of taking care of herself—’cause god, she was the one who kept me afloat all these years, and I—”
I love her.
He slapped his key card against the reader and shoved into his hotel room with Hongjoong trailing after with a sympathetic frown on his face.
“It just feels wrong sometimes when I can't be with her. Is that crazy?”
Hongjoong settled a warm hand on Yunho's shoulder as the latter sat down on the edge of his bed. “It's not crazy,” he said. He'd felt like that about a person, once upon a time. After everything Hongjoong had gone through with his last relationship, one might think he didn't believe in love, but he was still clawing for it. He wanted something that he could see manifesting between you and Yunho. He wanted to help you reach that.
He sighed and sat down next to him. “It's completely valid to feel this way, y'know? She's been a huge part of your life and your passions, and for you to see all this without her seems incomplete.”
Yunho nodded. “Yeah.”
“You can go home whenever you want, you realize that?” Hongjoong asked. “We have time built into each week to give you rest days, man. We can make that work.” It might be a little tiring for so much travel, but one trip back wouldn't hurt, especially when it could help his mental state more than simply powering through.
“I know,” he replied. “I don't… I just feel like I want her to see that I can do this, that she didn't put her trust and energy into someone who would fall so fast—”
“Do you seriously believe she would think about you that way?”
Yunho's expression shuddered, and he let out a shaky breath as he shook his head.
Hongjoong arched his brow. “Exactly. She would never fault you for needing a break. Being human is not a sign of weakness, Yunho. She's your best friend—I think she has more forgiveness and compassion for you than that.”
Yunho swallowed. Of course what Hongjoong said was right. You wouldn't look at him any different if he needed a break; it was just a thing about being kinder to himself. But sometimes it was hard to put that into perspective, and perhaps he just needed someone to do that for him.
With no good choice made without a decent night of sleep, Hongjoong bid Yunho goodnight.
As soon as Hongjoong slipped out of his friend's room, he sighed and mentally calculated what time it would be where you were. You should have been awake.
And awake, you definitely were.
You would be lying if you said you hadn't been listening to the song your space on repeat for the past week and a half. Even as you sat in one of the campus dining halls doing work and eating your crappy sandwich for lunch, your headphones were spilling with your best friend's gorgeous croons.
You questioned everything at the same time. You'd figured out two days after you first heard it that you were in love with your best friend.
The lyrics had resonated with you, and you had come to the startling conclusion that you felt the song's meaning toward Yunho.
All you could do since was freak the fuck out and tell Yunho that the song was incredible. You didn't know who the song was for or about, but you knew it was important to him because of how scared he was to release it. Had he been scared to tell you he was in love with someone? Why?
Sometimes you found yourself tearing apart the lyrics like a rabid trash panda.
I couldn't ever leave you behind
They couldn't ever take me away
Baby, if I could pick a heaven on Earth
It would be anywhere in your space.
You broke away from your work and sandwich to the sound of a text notification. Suddenly remembering how loud your vibration ringer was, you silenced it, then opened up Hongjoong's message: I know you're probably moping and eating a shitty sandwich—what. You glanced down at said shitty sandwich that sat in its equally sad plastic container. How did he know…? —and he's not doing well either. He's miserable, dude.
Everything slowed for you, and it was no longer about your so-called epiphany. You felt your entire body and mood drop at the news. You'd seen the social media posts commenting on Yunho's stage presence and brightness never fading, but there were always the one or two who noted something along the lines of him seeming too tired or that perhaps he didn't have enough stamina for this.
The latter comments made your blood pressure spike, but there was, unfortunately, some truth to it. You just didn't think it was this bad.
You pressed the backs of your knuckles against your eyes. You hadn't been doing the best, clearly, and you knew that it was largely because you missed him. Being away from someone you considered home for so long meant that you were bound to get homesick.
You didn't know what to do. There was so much work to be done, and you had just caught up. On top of that, you were short a few hundred dollars from the last time you tried to fly out.
Another message buzzed in from Hongjoong: I think you guys really need to talk.
The organ in your chest rattled around in its cage; it longed to be with its partner. You were starting to understand that now.
The song playing in your ear was slowly petering out, and all you could hear was his voice.
And I've kinda been wanting to ask if we can
Skip the 'why’ and get to the 'our’
Because baby, I love your space
But I love ours more.
Yunho had not flown home that week. Some emergencies had sprung up as soon as they landed in their new city, and all bets were off to be able to go home. All that he could do was buckle down and get comfortable. Even so, he knew how to make the best out of a situation.
As he stood at the very center of the main stage, he held a hand up to shield his eyes from the bright spotlights shining down on him now.
“Is that better?” Hongjoong's voice echoed throughout the near-empty stadium.
From one of the balconies, Jongho cupped his hands up around his mouth to scream at the top of his lungs, “LOOKS GOOD, HYUNG!”
“Jongho,” Yunho chuckled into his microphone, “did someone not get you a headset, bro?”
A beat passed, and then, “NO.”
Mildly amused laughter cropped up around the stadium in reaction to the youngest's troubles. It was little moments like these where Yunho could forget for one second just how tiring all of this amounted to become. His smile was genuine, and his tongue darted out to trace his teeth—
“Jeong Yunho, put your damn tongue away.”
Yunho's eyes went as wide as saucers, his expression morphing into something like childlike surprise as he immediately retracted his tongue into his mouth. But in the split second it took his brain to process the words that had been said, he also recognized the voice who'd said them. From the big screen, any one of the staff members or you could see the way his face stretched into the widest grin possible, his eyes lighting up like spotlights.
He lifted the mic in his hand up to his lips as he tilted his eyes up to the sound and lighting box far up in the stands. From where he was onstage, he could just make out the shape of you in the box next to Hongjoong—the sneaky bastard. “Ln Yn, get your ass down here right now,” he said, hardly able to contain the excitement in his voice.
You didn't need to be told twice.
You raced down the stadium steps from the box, your legs carrying you as fast as humanly possible without falling. Yunho leapt off the stage and left his microphone behind to meet you in the middle.
Somewhere between the pit and mezzanine, you flew into his arms and he caught you, spinning you around. The glee on both of your faces was enough to make everyone stop and appreciate the tangible love before them. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you pursed your lips to subdue them. You squeezed him as tight as you possibly could; his arms held you firmly around your waist, head tucked into the joint between your neck and shoulder.
“You're here,” he croaked with tears in his voice now. You heard him sniffle, and only held him tighter. He felt the added strength and let out a sob. “I missed you so much.”
Oh, for fuck's sake—you started bawling like a baby. “I” —you sucked in a breath— “I heard—so I booked a flight—”
This only caused his body to tremble harder. “Oh god… Yn… I…”
You sniffled and brushed your hand over the back of his head in an attempt to get both of you to calm down. “Hey, don't worry about it, okay? It doesn't matter; you know I'd drop everything for you.” When his only response was to press his wet eyes against the heat of your neck, you blinked away your tears. “Plus, I missed you, too, rockstar.”
Yunho let out a watery laugh, gently setting you down onto solid ground. You both looked like a hot mess and a half: snot dripping out of your noses, eyes red and drowned in salty tears. The adrenaline rush from the surprise had trickled out of your system, but your heartbeat continued to rattle around in your chest with reckless abandon. His messy, damp hair; the wobbly shine in his dark brown irises; the way he smiled at you with that something on his face… he was everything to you.
“Glad to know the feeling's mutual,” he said, nudging you with his elbow, then pawing at his eyes to wipe the tears away.
“Good to see you, Yn!” San piped up from the stage with his microphone. He had picked up Yunho's microphone from where he'd abandoned it to come meet you.
You laughed, lifting a hand up in a wave. “Hey, San! Hi everyone!”
Chimes of greetings from all the other boys and staff members cropped up from all around the arena.
Yunho brushed a hand through his hair and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Did all you fuckers know about this?”
Mingi was perched on the ledge of the stage. His grin seemed to be the widest after watching your reunion. He tugged the microphone attached to his earpiece closer to his mouth. “Don't tell us you're not grateful now.”
“Nah, I'm just surprised Wooyoung was able to keep his mouth shut.”
Wooyoung didn't need a microphone to let you all know of his offense. You could hear his squawk of disapproval all the way from where you stood—crazy how acoustics worked.
Yunho heard your laugh from beside him, and he glanced over at you to catch the fond look on your face. He hadn't stopped smiling for the past five minutes, and it didn't matter how much his cheeks hurt. You were here, and it was all that mattered.
“This place is…” you marveled as the two of you began walking down the stairs together toward the stage. The backs of your hands brushed against one another, breaths away from touching, from lacing, from being together. “Huge. It's so much more…” You felt your lip wobble again. “I don't even know why I'm getting emotional. It's all you dreamed of as a kid, wasn't it?”
The tears pricked at the edges of his eyes again, and the two of you looked back at each other with equally wet eyes and bright smiles. “Yeah,” he nodded, swiping at his eyes.
“You deserve it.”
“All thanks to you,” he said with a sniffle, hugging you to him again. You were solid and real beneath his fingertips—he was so happy you were here. This was where you belonged; none of this felt right without you.
When you finally reached the bottom of the pit, Yunho had to run back up to the stage, and you went through the aisles until you found your perfect seat. It wasn't long before Mingi bounded up the steps to come join you. He brought you in for a long awaited hug of his own.
“What's good, Yn?” he asked with a soft chuckle as he pulled away and settled in the seat to your left.
Just ahead, Yunho appeared onstage with his microphone in hand, and the two of you lifted your hands in sync to wave to your best friend.
You adjusted your bag in your lap, and clasped a hand on Mingi's shoulder. “This is surreal. Does it feel surreal?”
Mingi's lips pulled into a smile as nostalgia made his vision cloudy. “It does, every single time. I'm glad you're finally here—we’re all very happy that you're here now.”
You bumped your head against his shoulder and let it rest there for a moment, and his hand came up to gently pat your head to tell you he understood. You didn't need to say anything.
For the next hour and a half, you and Mingi got to watch Yunho and everyone else run through the last of the day's lighting checks. Periodically, someone else from Yunho's personal team would come and sit with the two of you, then leave quickly when they had something else on their to-do list.
At last, when the session wrapped up and everyone was sent to go home for an early night, you rushed down to meet with Yunho again.
He waited for you to be at his side before leading you down toward backstage. “There's a couple things I need to grab in my dressing room before we can head back to the hotel.” A thought suddenly interrupted his thoughts and his eyes widened. “Do you have accommodations? Please tell me you do.”
“Don't worry—I promise I'm not sleeping on the streets,” you teased. You'd figured all of that out pretty last minute with Hongjoong and Mingi's help.
Yunho nodded, a smile coming to his face. “Okay, good. I was gonna offer my room and I could sleep on the pullout couch.”
The thought of sleeping in the same room as him made your skin warm, and if you hadn't realized your feelings for him before, you would be confused as to why you were so flustered at the thought now. It wouldn't be the first time you had a sleepover. But this would be… different. Oh lord.
The backstage hallways were scarce and dimly lit in order to save energy, but it was enough to guide you and Yunho's way to the star dressing room. You swallowed as you reached the door—the facade plastered with a pretty, gold star with his name on it—and followed him inside.
“Hey, Yun?” you asked him as you lingered by the door and he rushed around to grab his things. The room was decently spacious, and definitely larger than all the other ones from his past tours.
“Mhm?”
“Could we… talk about something?”
He glanced back over his shoulder as he threw things into his bag. “Yeah, ‘course.”
You toed at the polished ground, fingers twisting and wringing in front of you. “It’s about the song. The, uhm, the your space one.”
His movements paused. He looked up and connected gazes with you through the vanity mirror in front of him. Yunho cleared his throat and ducked his head to zip up his bag. “What—what about it?” he asked, shouldering his bag and meeting you back at the door.
He seemed unable to look you in the eyes directly now as he closed the door behind the both of you as you stepped out into the empty hallway.
“I just,” you stammered. Blood rushed up to your face and you could hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. “I needed to know—I didn’t need to know—it’s your life and your song, and you have every right to have feelings for someone without me knowing. And I think I’m asking this for selfish reasons, but… are you seeing someone?”
The question caught him off guard, his eyes blowing wide open. “Wh—no. No, I am not seeing anyone. Why do you ask?”
“The song—I know I shouldn’t be indulging in what people on the internet say, much less in the opinions of those who don’t even know you, but I couldn’t help but agree with them when they say the lyrics, the—the feeling of the song—you’re in love, and I” —your breath caught in your throat as you choked on the words lodged there: And I am in love with you.
Yunho pushed an exhale out of his mouth and stepped toward you. So much shone in his eyes right then, and it didn’t matter how much light there was in this damn hallway, his eyes would always glitter like twin diamonds. “I am in love with someone. Yn, I’m in love with you,” he said. “I thought that the song would make it obvious, which is why I was so scared for you to hear it, but I realize now that this was just something I should have said outright.”
Your heart fluttered in your chest and it wasn’t from the nerves anymore. God, your knees felt like buckling from the force of the tenderness in his eyes alone. “You’re—you’re in love with me?”
“I am,” he nodded. He slowly reached for your hands and clasped them within his own. “I’ve been in love with you since that day you ran out of Science Olympiad practice to come to my audition; I’ve been in love with you from the moment you yelled at me for not being ambidextrous and I had beef jerky in my mouth—”
“I did not yell at you!”
He broke out into a cheeky, yet fond grin, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face with his hand. “I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t imagine what life was like before I was in love with you—and yes, you did yell, but you can yell at me as much as you like, and I would still be head-over-heels for you.”
Your lip curled in on itself at all of his words, at everything he was revealing to you now. You wished you had known—oh, god, you wish you had known. You didn’t know if things would have been different, but for some reason, you had a feeling that all paths might have led here nonetheless.
You squeezed his hand between your own now. “You’re everything to me, Yunho,” you rasped out, unable to put strength behind your voice for fear of all of the emotion about to spill out. “And I’m so stupid for taking so long to figure it all out, but I’m in love with you, too, and I’d be damned if I let another day pass without you knowing that.”
Something washed over him in that moment, and he laughed, leaning over to cup the back of your neck and rest his forehead against your own. It was ridiculous, the fact that both of you were giggling and smiling at such a precipice of emotion, but it felt right.
You could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips as he murmured, “Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad.”
“Then come kiss me, rockstar,” you said, looping your arms around his neck. You drew him down to your mouth and felt his body mold against your own. Every crevice and curve slotted so perfectly with one another, and the heavy longing in your chest slowly eased.
“You guys have been incredible for me tonight” —Yunho beamed as he walked toward the front, center stage and looped the electric guitar strap over his head to the sound of the roaring crowd— “so I've got a little surprise for you.”
One of the staff members had set out a mic stand and bottle water for him, and he approached both items to fit the microphone into place. Tonight was the Friday night concert being held in this city, and the energy was dialed to one thousand in all the best ways.
He held onto the microphone with one hand. “This song is dedicated to—written for—my best friend in the world, the love of my life, my stargirl. I'm sure you know it—you crazies debuted it at number two on the charts—this is your space.”
His smile tugged up wider at the reaction he received. If anyone in the crowd didn't know the song, they were about to fall in love.
Yunho laughed, shaking his head, as he began checking to make sure his guitar was tuned with practiced, nimble fingers. “Oh, by the way” —he pointed up at the accessory he wore, the crocheted headband holding his hair up and out of his face, with a row of stars across its band— “she made this for me. Isn't it cute?”
The stadium echoed in choruses of “aw” and cheers.
He could only duck his head with a smile, eyes twinkling with fondness and tenderness at the thought of you. You were in the crowd, but you could be up here with him in spirit. “Yeah, that was me, too.”
After you and Yunho left the stadium yesterday, hands intertwined and a new page in your relationship turned, you’d gone back to his hotel to share a restful evening in one another’s presences. You revealed later that night that you spent the four or five days you were bedridden practicing your crocheting skills until you were able to make him a headband. A row of three stars studded the length of it—stars for your rockstar.
Yunho struck his fingers down the strings of his guitar with a gentle rocking motion from his opposite hand to let the sound reverberate around the stadium. The crowd cried in love as his soulful, beautiful voice filled their ears with love of his own. And as his fans filed out of the stadium for the night and headed home, Yunho could finally return to his home. Because you were here now… no matter how far, no matter the distance, the two of you would always find a way to be in the other's space.
a/n: pls remember to reblog, comment, and send asks if you enjoyed!
Jeong Yunho is the human equivalent of a system crash. A 6’2” wreck of stuttered sentences, fogged-up glasses, and nerves he can’t outgrow. He has spent his first year of college trying to be invisible. He’s a tactical genius on screen, but on campus, he can barely survive a three-word greeting without his voice cracking. He tries to start a Gaming Club in a basement that smells like dust and dump.
When a pack of “Mean Girls” turns his recruitment drive into a public execution, you step in. You lie. You improvise. You claim you’re his pro-tier carry—his star recruit.
Now you learn the hard way: Rule #1 of saving a cute nerd from bullies is this—don’t claim you’re an expert in a game you’ve never played.
➢ gamer!yunho x fem!reader | ➢ collage au, romance, strangers to lovers, slice of life, smut | ➢ mdni, explicit sexual content (first time, p in v, unprotected sex), emotional manipulation&deception, substance use, panic&anxiety, unhealthy coping mechanisms, cheating mentioned (regarding a past relationship), depressive symptoms, heartbreak, strong language, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, physical violence, blood | ➢ ~32k | ➢ the last part of my humble contribution to LIVE ALIVE! collab hosted by @sungbeam! thank you all for reading and sticking till the end! ♡ make sure to support all of the amazing writers who contributed to this collab! | ➢ part three of three | ➢ part one ➢ part two
Yunho had a bird’s-eye view of Haven pulled up on the main monitor. He pointed a laser pen at the screen, his expression intense. You stared at the map. The lines, the call-outs, the technical jargon—it was like looking at a foreign language without a dictionary. Your brain was a cluttered mess of Wooyoung’s screaming instructions from the night before and pure panic. You hadn’t slept. The blue light of the monitors at home was burned into your retinas, and the weight of Wooyoung’s ‘boot camp’ was already making your fingers twitch.
“The Summer Open uses a Best of Three format for the qualifiers. We need to lock in our map pool. Based on our scrimmage data, our strongest win rate is on Bind, but the pro-meta is currently leaning heavily toward Lotus and Sunset.”
“I’m not playing Sunset,” Yeosang deadpanned, spinning in his chair. “The verticality is a mess. It’s a playground for Raze mains, and I refuse to be blasted off a ledge because Mingi forgot to smoke the side.”
“I didn’t forget!” Mingi protested. “I was providing suppressive fire!”
“You shoot at a wall,” Yeosang countered.
“Focus,” Yunho commanded, tapping the desk. He looked at you, his gaze full of that devastating warmth. “Y/N, we need to talk about your lineups on Haven. If we get forced onto a map with long sight-lines, your orb-placements are our only cover. I was looking at the VODs from last night—the way you used the snake bite was... it was genius.”
Your stomach did a slow, sickening roll. That wasn’t me. That was Wooyoung while I was eating a sandwich and drinking coffee.
“I was thinking,” you started, your voice sounding thin to your own ears. “Maybe we should focus on more... aggressive, aim-heavy strats? Less reliance on the complicated lineups?”
Yunho frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Why? Your utility is what makes us Level Zero. Anyone can click heads, Y/N, but no one plays the map like you do.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a private whisper like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Are you nervous about the hand-cams? I know you like to play in the dark, but don’t worry. I’ll be right next to you. If your hands shake, I’ll just tell them it’s the vibration from the bass in the arena.”
“Anyways, so for the C-site retake, we’re running smoke early to cut off the long sightline,” Mingi chirped in. “Y/N, when you drop the wall to block, I think you shouldn’t activate it straight away? Not until we notice the enemies. Your line-ups in Haven are absolutely perfected and way better than mine, but where do you want to aim? Straight into C-link?”
“I... I think I just, um aim for the cubby?” you guessed, your voice wavering.
The clicking of Yeosang’s keyboard stopped. He didn’t turn around, but his shoulders went rigid. “The cubby?” Yeosang repeated, his voice dropping into that terrifying, flat register he used when he found a bug in a code. “Y/N, the cubby is playing head-down behind the green crates. If you aim for it, you’re leaving the link completely open. You never do that.”
“I just meant... in that specific scenario,” you stammered, feeling the heat rise in your neck. “Depending on the economy.”
“Economy doesn’t change the skills, you always buy the skills,” Yeosang countered, finally spinning his chair around. He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing behind his bangs. “Actually, I’ve been noticing something since we signed up. Your logic is getting... fuzzy. That lineup you used on Bind yesterday? You missed the bounce three times in practice. You don’t miss, Viper. You’re a machine."
“She’s tired, Yeosang,” Yunho cut in, his voice firm but defensive. He stepped between you and Yeosang’s piercing gaze, his large frame acting as a literal shield. “We’ve been grinding for forty-eight hours straight. Everyone’s ‘logic’ gets fuzzy when they’re running on three hours of sleep and caffeine."
“It’s not just fatigue, Yun,” Yeosang’s voice sharpened. “She didn’t know the call-out for Fracture yesterday.”
Mingi looked back and forth between them, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a worried frown. “Maybe it’s just... tournament nerves? I get them too! Sometimes I forget which button is my ultimate!”
“You’re an idiot, Mingi, that’s expected,” Yeosang snapped, his eyes never leaving you. “But she’s the MVP. We’re building our entire pro-strategy around her ‘god-tier’ game sense. If she’s lagging this hard before we even hit the stage, we’re going to get humiliated.”
“That’s enough,” Yunho didn’t raise his voice, but the Captain authority was absolute. He turned to you, his hands reaching out to grip your upper arms. His touch was warm, but you could feel the slight, protective tremble in his fingers. “Y/N, look at me.” You forced your eyes up to his. “You don’t have to explain yourself, mistakes are allowed,” he whispered, yet it was loud enough for the room to hear. “If you’re hitting a wall, we adjust. If you want to change the lineups, we change them.”
“You’re being blinded by the romance stats,” Yeosang deadpanned, but he sounded more frustrated than mean. “If she can’t execute the C-long smoke, our entire A-split fails.”
“Then I’ll cover C-long!” Yunho turned back to Yeosang, his jaw set. “I’ll adjust my rotation. We’ll pick up the slack. Level Zero doesn’t interrogate its members; we support them. Now, are we going to fix the execute, or are we going to sit here and play ‘spot the error’?”
Yeosang let out a long, heavy sigh and turned back to his screen. “Fine. But if we lose the scrimmage because Viper forgot how to throw a smoke, I’m putting it in the VOD review.”
Yunho squeezed your arms one last time before letting go, then he leaned in, his lips brushing your temple in a quick kiss, a gesture of solidarity. “Don’t listen to him,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Just play your game.”
You nodded, but you like a ticking bomb. Yunho wasn’t just defending his girlfriend; he was defending a lie. And the more he fought for you, the more you felt like you were leading him straight into a massacre.
Seonghwa had spent three hours perfecting his cologne-to-skin ratio before heading out on a date, and Mingi was currently at The Abyss, probably accidentally breaking a glass while trying to look cool
It was just you. And Yunho. And a very shiny, very tempting PS5.
Yunho was currently occupying approximately 75% of the sofa, his long legs stretched out, his bottom lip tucked in that specific, “I’m-not-mad-but-I’m-sad” pout that usually made you melt instantly. He was holding the DualSense controller like it was a sacred artifact. “I’m just saying,” Yunho muttered, “we’ve been dating for weeks, and the only time I see your screen is when there’s a spike involved. Am I not worthy of a casual lobby, Viper? Am I just a tactical asset to you?”
“Yunho, stop being dramatic,” you laughed, reaching for the controller, but he held it high above his head, using his unfair wingspan to keep it out of reach.
“I’m not being dramatic! I’m being neglected!” He shifted, his broad chest pressing against your shoulder as he looked down at you through his glasses, his eyes full of playful hurt. “If you don’t feel like Valorant it’s fine. I bought this new RPG. It has high-fidelity graphics, a complex leveling system—it’s very ‘Radiant-tier.’ I thought you’d like it.”
“I don’t want a complex leveling system,” you grunted, lunging for his wrist. “I want the Ultimate Game.”
“The Ultimate Game?” Yunho’s brows shot up. He finally lowered the controller, intrigued despite himself. “Is it a hidden indie gem with a 10/10 meta-score?”
“Give. It. Here.” With a quick swipe, you tackled him—or as much as a human can tackle a 6’2” tower—and wrestled the controller from his grip. You scrambled to the other end of the couch, frantically navigating the UI while Yunho watched, completely bewildered.
“Okay, okay! Show me your elite taste,” he teased, crossing his arms and leaning back, a smirk playing on his lips. “What is the secret weapon of the Level Zero Goddess?”
The screen flickered. A bright logo popped up, followed by the most upbeat, whimsical music imaginable.
RAYMAN LEGENDS.
Silence descended upon the living room. Yunho stared at the screen. Then he looked at you. Then he looked back at the screen where a limbless yellow creature was currently doing a joyful little dance. “...Rayman?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Your ultimate game… is the platformer with the singing frogs?”
“It is a masterpiece of level design and musical timing! Don’t you dare judge the Globox!”
“I’m not judging!” Yunho’s hands flew up in a gesture of total surrender, though he was shaking with suppressed laughter. He slid across the cushions until his side was pressed firmly against yours, his arm draping over the back of the sofa to pull you into his space. “It’s just… you’re the Viper. You’re terrifying. You’re the girl who knows every lineup in the book. And you’re currently selecting a level called ‘Castle Rock’?”
“Just pick up the damn controller, Captain,” you muttered, your face heating up. “And try to keep up. This requires actual rhythm, something your ‘tactical’ brain might struggle with.”
Yunho’s grin turned wicked—the shy boy was gone, replaced by the gamer who never backed down from a challenge. He grabbed the second controller, his long fingers settling over the triggers. “Oh, it’s on,” he murmured, leaning his head against yours. “But if I get a higher score than the Goddess in her own territory… I get to pick the next daily quest.”
“Deal,” you whispered, hitting ‘Start.’
In no time the colorful “Victory!” screen for Rayman pulsed on the TV, casting rhythmic flashes of pink and blue across the darkened living room. Yunho was still leaning against you, he was quiet—the kind of comfortable, post-game quiet that usually meant his brain was processing at 100% capacity.
“You’re still lagging,” you teased softly, nudging his ribs with your elbow. “I thought you said you were a rhythm-game natural. You missed like, five of the singing eye-stalks in that last run.”
Yunho let out a soft, huffy laugh that puffed against your hair. He didn’t pull away; instead, he tucked his chin over the top of your head, drawing you a fraction closer. “I told you,” he murmured, his voice sounding deeper. “My focus was… compromised. It’s hard to time a jump when the person next to me is making ‘die-die-die’ noises at a cartoon dragon. You’re scary when you’re platforming, baby.”
You froze, the controller still clutched in your hands, the plastic slightly warm from the heat of the game. Yunho didn’t pull back. He didn’t cough, or stammer, or do any of the clumsy “oops-I-said-too-much” things you might have expected from the boy who usually tripped over his own long legs. Instead, he just let his breath hitch for a split second before exhaling slowly, his thumb tracing a slow, absentminded circle on your shoulder.
“Did you just…” Your voice was tiny, fragile.
“Did I just what?” He sounded calm, but you could feel the vibration of his chest against your back—his heart was hammering a rhythm that definitely wasn’t “Castle Rock” approved. You turned your head just enough to catch his gaze. He was looking at you with an expression that was dangerously soft, his glasses slightly crooked and his hair a mess from where he’d been leaning against the sofa
“You called me baby,” you whispered, the heat finally reaching your ears.
Yunho tilted his head, a slow, shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned in until your noses almost brushed. “We’ve already passed the Beggnier’s Guide level, haven’t we? And if you can handle a dragon, I think you can handle a nickname.” He paused, his hand softly grabbing one of yours. “Unless you didn’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that,” you breathed, finally dropping the controller onto the cushion.
Yunho’s grin returned, wider and more confident this time. He closed the remaining distance, pressing his forehead against yours. “Good. Because Viper is for the lobby. But ‘baby’...” He let the word linger, tasting it again. “That’s just for here. Now, are we going to play the next level, or are you too busy blushing?”
“Shut up,” you laughed, though you didn’t pull away.
“I like this version of you,” he whispered.
The teasing remark you had ready died in your throat. “This version?”
“Yeah.” He gestured vaguely at the screen, then back to you—to your bare face, the oversized shirt you borrowed as soon as you arrived at his apartment, and the way you were currently tangled in his space. “Don’t get me wrong, Viper is… she’s incredible. She’s the person I look up to on the server. But this girl? The one who gets genuinely offended if a frog doesn’t hit a high note? She’s… she’s the one I’ve been wanting to meet.” A cold spark of guilt flickered in your chest—a sharp reminder of the tournament, the lie, and the training waiting for you the second you go back to your apartment. You looked away, staring at the cartoon character on the screen, but Yunho’s hand moved, his fingers gently catching your chin and tilting your face back up to his. “Hey,” he said, his voice dropping to that honey-sweet tone that always made your defense stats crumble to zero. “Did I say something wrong? You’re doing that thing where you look like you’re trying to calculate a tactical retreat.”
“I’m just…” You swallowed hard, the weight of the secret feeling like a lead debuff. “I’m just not used to… hearing such stuff.”
Yunho’s expression softened into something so tender it actually hurt to look at. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, his breath warm and steady. “You aren’t the hero because of your K/D ratio, Y/N,” he whispered, his thumb grazing your lower lip. “You’re the hero because you’re the only person who makes me feel like I don’t have to be someone else or pretend all the time. With you, I’m just… Yunho. And that’s the best quest I’ve ever been on.”
The guilt in your chest felt like a glitch in a moment that was otherwise perfect. You wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill everything about the tournament and the persona, but the words felt like they were stuck behind a border you couldn’t cross. Before you could spiral, Yunho pulled you closer, he seemed to sense the internal battle raging behind your eyes and decided to end it the only way he knew how—by being unapologetically himself. He leaned back just an inch, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re overthinking. I can practically see the loading icon spinning over your head.”
“I just... I don’t want to let you down,” you admitted, the truth coming out in a fragmented, half-honest way. “The hero you see when we play? Sometimes I feel like I’m just playing a character.”
“Then stop,” he said simply. He reached down and took your hand, interlacing his long, elegant fingers with yours. “If you ever feel like it’s too much, just come over. We’ll play the game with the singing frogs. We’ll eat bad takeout. I’ll let you win at Mario Kart—maybe."
You let out a watery laugh. “You would never let me win at Mario Kart. You’re too competitive.”
“True,” he conceded with a wink, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. “But for you, I might at least consider not using the blue shell.” Yunho squeezed your hand one last time before suddenly straightening up. “Wait. Stay right there. Don’t move. Don’t even pause the music.”
“Where are you going?” You watched, confused, as he scrambled off the sofa with a sudden burst of energy. He didn’t head toward his bedroom or the bathroom. Instead, he hurried toward the small utility closet near the entryway. You heard the faint creak of the door, the rustle of plastic, and then a muffled, “Aha! Still alive.” When he turned the corner, your breath caught. He wasn’t holding a controller or a snack. He was holding a bouquet of peonies and baby’s breath, the petals vibrant against his dark hoodie. He looked slightly flustered, his cheeks flushed pink as he walked back to the couch, hiding the flowers behind his back for a split second before presenting them to you like a hard-earned trophy. “Where did you even get those?” you stammered, reaching out to touch a soft petal. “We’ve been in this apartment for like three hours. Did you… did you spawn these into existence?”
Yunho let out a nervous, airy chuckle, settling back down beside you. “I got them this morning. I hid them in the bucket in the closet because I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it if the vibe wasn’t right. I kept thinking, ‘Is it too much? Is it too early?’ I was so worried they’d wilt before I found the right moment to tell you.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering there, his thumb skimming the line of your jaw. The playful gamer light in his eyes had softened into something steady and profound. “I’ve realized that you aren’t just my duo-partner. You’re my… you’re my entire world-map.” He stopped, his breath hitching. He looked like he was about to bolt, but he forced himself to stay, his gaze locked on yours with sincerity. “I love you,” he breathed. “I love you so much it feels like a debuff to my entire system when you’re not in the room.”
The words “I love you” were in the air between you, heavy and sweet, like a rare achievement finally unlocked. But the second Yunho saw the look in your eyes—the pure, unfiltered softness of your reaction—his internal CPU hit 100% and his cooling system failed. His eyes went wide, his pupils shrinking as the reality of what he’d just confessed fully downloaded. “I—I just—that was—” He didn’t even finish the sentence. He let out a muffled, embarrassed groan and immediately dropped his head, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He hid there, his nose pressing into your skin, his entire body becoming a literal heater against yours. You could feel the tips of his ears burning against your cheek. His arms tightened around you, hauling you flush against his chest as if he could hide his entire frame behind you if he just hugged you hard enough. You felt the puff of his breath against your collarbone as he spoke, his voice muffled by your skin and sounding like a confession of a different kind. “I think my heart just overclocked,” he whispered, “I’m pretty sure I’m technically dead right now. Please don’t look at me for at least four business days. I need to reboot.” He nudged his face deeper into your neck, a shy, shaky laugh escaping him. “Also,” he added, his voice even smaller, “if there was a leaderboard for ‘Most Pathetic Confession,’ I'm definitely Top One. I’ve reached the final boss and I'm just... I'm just here with no armor.”
“Overclocked, huh?” you reached up, running your fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. “Is that why you’re currently running at 100 degrees Celsius? Do I need to call IT, or should I just apply some cooling gel patch to your forehead?”
Yunho let out a sound that was half-groan, half-whimper, his grip on your waist tightening. “Please… please don’t,” he muffled into your skin. “I’m already at critical failure. My fans are spinning so fast I’m pretty sure I’m going to levitate off the mattress.”
You shifted, trying to pry his face away from your neck. He resisted for a second, clutching you tighter like a giant, panicked koala, but eventually, he crumbled. He let you tilt his head back, and the sight of him was enough to make your own heart skip a beat. He was a total wreck. His glasses were fogged, his hair was a chaotic nest, and his face was a shade of deep red. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, his gaze darting to the pillow, to the ceiling, to the wall—anywhere but you. “Four business days?” your fingers traced the shell of his ear—which was, indeed, radiating enough heat to power a small village. “That’s a pretty long downtime for a Radiant-tier player, Yunnie.”
Yunho let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a desperate plea for mercy. His eyes finally flickered to yours for a split second before darting away again, his long lashes fluttering with nerves. “The system is down,” he managed, his voice still thick with that shy, honeyed rasp. “Complete server maintenance required. No users allowed until further notice.”
“You’re impossible,” you whispered, leaning in until your foreheads touched.
“I'm a disaster,” he corrected, though he didn’t pull away. He finally braved a look at you, his dark eyes shimmering. “But I meant it. All of it. Even the parts that sounded like I’ve been spending too much time on a headset.” He took a slow, shaky breath, and you could feel the way his body gradually began to relax against yours.
“You do spend too much time on a headset, though.” You murmured, your thumb tracing the line of his lower lip. “But you don’t need four business days, I think the server is already back online.”
Yunho’s shy smile finally broke through the blush, he tilted his head, closing the tiny gap between you until his nose was nuzzling yours. “Yeah?” he whispered, his voice gaining a tiny bit of its playful spark.
You let your hand slide from his cheek to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in those soft locks. “But I have to admit, Captain... I’m a little disappointed. I thought you were supposed to be the one who handles high-pressure situations without breaking a sweat.”
Yunho let out a pained, soft groan. “It’s—it’s a different kind of pressure! There’s no manual for this!”
“Excuses,” you teased, leaning to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, right where that pretty smile of his was trying to peek through. “You were doing so well. Very tactical. Very… efficient.”
“Y/N, stop,” his eyes were once again squeezed shut as if the sheer sight of you was too much for his system to handle. “I am literally a puddle. You’re talking to a liquid state of matter right now.”
You laughed, “Well, if you’re a puddle, then you’re my puddle,” you murmured, your expression finally softening, the teasing dropping away. “And for the record?” You waited until he braved opening one eye. “I love you too, Yunnie.”
He didn’t say anything for a full four seconds—his jaw just worked silently like a character with a broken animation cycle.
Then, he lunged.
He hauled you into his chest, wrapping his massive arms around you and rolling over on the couch until you were tucked securely against him, his face hidden once more in the crook of your neck. “You can’t— you can’t just say that!” he choked out, his voice cracking spectacularly. “I was—I was prepared for a ‘Good game, teammate’ or a ‘Nice try, Captain.’ I wasn’t—I wasn’t ready!”
“You literally said it first!” You laughed, trying to breathe through his crushing hug.
“That’s different! I’m the one who’s supposed to be the disaster!” He pulled back just enough to look at you, he looked like he wanted to cry and cheer at the same time. “You love me? Like… for real?”
“For real,” you whispered, reaching up to finally straighten his fogged-up glasses. “I love the Captain. But I love the ‘puddle’ a whole lot more.”
He let out a long, shaky breath, the last of his nervous tension finally dissipating. He leaned down, kissing you with a slow, deep sincerity. “Then I guess… I guess I really don’t need those four business days,” he murmured against your lips. “But I might need a few more minutes of this. Just to make sure I’m not dreaming.”
“A few more minutes?” you murmured, your voice dropping an octave as you slid your hands down from his neck to his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heart through the fabric of his hoodie. “I think we can do better than that.” You leaned forward, closing the distance slowly, giving him every second to retreat. The kiss started out hesitant, a soft, testing press of lips. You tasted the salt of his skin and the lingering sweetness of the moment. You felt him freeze for a split second before he finally, shakily, began to melt.
Yunho’s hands were still trembling where they rested on your waist, his large palms feeling heavy and hot through your clothes. But as the reality of your confession truly settled into his marrow, the kiss shifted. It deepened, losing its tentative edge and becoming something hungrier, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between the words he’d struggled to say and the feeling that was currently overflowing in his chest. His large hand slid from your waist to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair to hold you steady as he tilted his head to find a better angle.
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark and blown wide, the pupils swallowing the honey-brown of his irises. His chest was heaving, his breath coming in jagged hitches. He looked like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at a view that was both dizzying and irresistible. “I’m... I’m doing this right, aren’t I?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m not—I’m not lagging?”
You chuckled softly, reaching up to frame his face, your thumbs smoothing over his burning cheekbones. “You’re doing perfect, better than perfect.”
Yunho’s hands, usually so occupied with the precision of a keyboard, began to wander with a new curiosity. He was a tactile learner, and right now, you were the only thing that mattered. His large palm slid from your waist, tracing the curve of your hip before moving upward, his touch light enough to make your skin prickle with electricity. He moved slowly, as if he were afraid that pressing too hard might break you. He took a shaky breath and leaned in, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He began to trail slow, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his stubble grazing your skin. You tilted your head back, exposing the line of your throat to the cool air of the room, and let out a soft, airy sigh.
Yunho’s entire body jolted. “Did I—” he started, his eyes flying to yours, filled with that familiar, wide-eyed panic. “Did I hurt you? Was that too much pressure? I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” you whispered, reaching out to lace your fingers through his, guiding his hand to your waist. “It felt good. It means you’re doing it right."
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Right. Good. Okay.” Yunho began to explore the curve of your waist, his thumb tracing the line of your spine. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes, making your stomach flip. “I want... I want to be closer. Is that—can we?” He didn’t even know how to ask for it, his experience level at zero despite his towering frame and confident gamer persona. He was a giant of a man reduced to a mess of nerves by the simple prospect of skin-on-skin. “I... I don’t want to mess this up.”
You reached to gently slide his glasses off his face. You set them aside without breaking eye contact. Without the frames, his gaze felt even more intense—dark, dilated, and fixated entirely on you. You guided his hand up, pressing his palm flat against your cheek, then trailed it down to the curve of your throat. The heat radiating from him was intense. You shifted your weight, straddling his lap on the sofa, and watched as his entire face went a new, impossible shade of crimson. “Oh,” he choked out, his hands hovering uncertainly near your hips. “Oh, okay. We’re... we’re doing this. This is happening. High stakes. Final boss. No checkpoints.”
The comment was so perfectly Yunho that you couldn’t help the soft, genuine laugh that bubbled up. You reached out, cupping his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. You waited until his wide, panicked eyes locked onto yours. “Look at me," you whispered, your voice calm in the middle of his internal storm. You waited for his breathing to hitch, then level out. “This isn’t a match. There’s no rank, and there’s definitely no way to lose.” You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, closing your eyes so he could feel the sincerity in your voice. “It’s just me. And I’m not some final boss you have to defeat. I’m your person. We’re on the same team, remember? We’re just... discovering a new map together.”
“Same team,” he repeated, his voice losing that panicked edge and softening into a low, honeyed rasp. He let out a long, shaky exhale, his nose brushing against yours. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.”
You took his hovering hands and guided them firmly to your waist. “You can touch me. I promise.”
He let out a shaky breath, his fingers finally curling around your hips. His grip was tentative at first, but as he felt the warmth of your body through your clothes, his touch grounded. “My brain is literally just a blue screen right now,” he whispered, a small, helpless laugh vibrating in his chest. “I’ve spent a thousand hours practicing combos and memorising maps, and right now, I can’t remember how to breathe. You’re—you’re so close.”
“Then don’t think about breathing,” you whispered, your fingers hooking into the hem of his hoodie. “Just feel.” As you began to tug the fabric upward, Yunho’s posture went rigid, his eyes widening as he realized the trajectory of the moment. He lifted his arms with a clumsy, mechanical sort of grace, allowing you to pull the fabric over his head. When it cleared his hair—leaving it a static-charged, adorable mess—he looked more exposed than you’d ever seen him. He looked down at his bare chest, then back up at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His skin was pale, save for a frantic, blooming flush that crept from his chest all the way to the tips of his ears. The sight of him—broad-shouldered, solid, and looking at you as if you were a miracle he hadn’t yet prepared for—made your own heart hammer against your ribs. You reached for the hem of your own shirt, and the room seemed to go silent except for the rhythmic thrum of his heart, which you could practically feel through the air between you. His eyes followed your hands with a focus that was terrifyingly absolute.
“Wait,” he breathed, his hand coming up to catch your wrist before you could pull the shirt too high up. His palm was searing, his grip firm but trembling. “Can I... can I do it? I want to... I want to be the one. Even if my hands won’t stop shaking.”
“Of course.” You covered his hands with yours, guiding them more than leading them. His fingers were trembling—actually, visibly shaking—as he reached for the fabric. He swallowed, eyes flicking from your face to his hands like he was afraid the moment would vanish if he blinked. As he slowly pulled the shirt over your head, the cool air of the room hit your skin, but it was immediately chased away by the sheer intensity of his gaze.
Yunho looked at you like you were something sacred—something he had studied from afar but never dared to touch. His eyes traveled over you, tracing the line of your collarbone and the curve of your shoulders with a reverence that made your pulse skip. “You’re real,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and I’ll just be at my desk with a headset on... but you’re here.” He leaned in, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. You felt the damp heat of his breath against your skin, followed by the soft, hesitant press of his lips. He started small—tiny, shy kisses along your pulse point—but as you arched into him, letting out a soft hum, his grip on your waist tightened. He pulled back just enough to look at you, the shy gamer was still there, but beneath it was a man waking up to the power he held over you—and the power you held over him. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you flush against his bare chest. The contact was electric—skin on skin, your racing heart beating directly against his. He leaned up, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth in a move that was surprisingly bold, eliciting a sharp, surprised hitch in your breath. He seemed to take courage from your reaction, his tongue darting out to soothe the spot he’d bitten before deepening the kiss with a newfound hunger. It was clumsy in its intensity, but the honesty of it was intoxicating.
As your hands roamed over his bare shoulders, feeling the way his skin bunched and rippled under your touch, Yunho’s own exploration became more daring. One of his hands traveled up your spine, his long fingers mapping every inch until he reached the nape of your neck, tilting your head back to give him better access to the sensitive skin of your throat.
“Is this... is this okay?” he murmured against your skin, his lips never fully leaving you. “Am I doing what you like?”
“Yes,” you breathed, your head falling back as he found a particularly sensitive spot beneath your ear. “Exactly that.”
He let out a shaky, triumphant breath, his chest expanding against yours. “I’ve thought about this,” he confessed, his voice muffled. “In the middle of matches, or when I’m supposed to be sleeping... I’ve thought about how you’d sound if I did this.” He moved his hands, his knuckles brushing against the skin of your stomach right above the waistband of your jeans. The contact made your muscles involuntary ripple, a sharp intake of breath escaping you. His thumbs begin to stroke small, mesmerized circles into your skin. He watched the movement of his own hands against you, his expression shifting from panicked to a dazed, quiet wonder. His hands slid higher, his long fingers splaying across your ribs, mapping the curve of your body with a growing, hungry curiosity. He reached up, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull you down into a kiss that was no longer hesitant. It was deep, desperate. His tongue swept against yours, a plea for you to show him exactly how much more there was to discover.
The kiss turned feral, a messy collision of teeth and tongues that tasted like the desperate relief of finally being known. Yunho’s hands were no longer just hovering; they were active, possessive, sliding from your ribs to the small of your back to anchor you against him. He let out a low, needy sound into your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips as if he was trying to pull you into his very skin. Underneath the frantic heat of the kiss, he shifted. It was a subtle adjustment of his weight—a subconscious search for friction—and that was when you felt it. The hard, heavy length of him pressed firmly against your thigh, separated only by the thin fabric of his joggers. Yunho’s entire system seemed to stall. He pulled back just an inch, his lips swollen and wet, his eyes darting to yours with a look of pure, wide-eyed shock. He looked like he’d just been hit with a status effect he hadn’t prepared for.
“Oh,” he breathed, his voice cracking spectacularly. “Oh... that’s... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—my body is just—” You didn’t let him finish the apology. You shifted your weight, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, against him. The reaction was instantaneous. Yunho’s head snapped back against the sofa cushion, his eyes squeezing shut as a sharp, broken moan escaped his throat. It wasn’t a loud sound—it was a soft, strangled hitch of breath that sounded like it had been torn out of him. His fingers spasmed against your waist, his knuckles turning white as he gripped you with a sudden, overwhelming strength. Your hands slid down to the waistband of his joggers. “Wait—wait,” he stammered, his hands flying to cover yours. He took a long, shaky breath, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When he found only warmth, he let out a puff of air and slowly moved his hands, allowing you to continue. “Okay. Okay. Phase two. I’m ready. I think.”
As your fingers hooked into the elastic of his waistband, you could feel the frantic, rhythmic twitching of his abdominal muscles. You eased the fabric down, his eyes remained locked on yours, wide and shimmering with a mixture of terror and absolute, undiluted devotion. When his joggers slid down his ankles to the floor, he didn’t try to cover himself. Instead, he gripped the cushions of the sofa so hard his knuckles turned white, his chest heaving as he tried to regulate a respiratory system that had clearly forgotten its programming. You leaned down, trailing your lips from his collarbone up to that sensitive spot beneath his jaw, and the sound he made—a high, broken whimper—was the most honest thing you’d ever heard.
Yunho reached for the button of your jeans next. His hands were steadier now, though he struggled with the clasp for a second, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in a look of sheer concentration. When the denim finally gave way, he let out a triumphant, shaky puff of air. “Level cleared,” he murmured, a tiny spark of his playful self returning even through the heavy haze of his desire. He helped you slide the rest of the way out of your jeans, his movements slow and worshipful. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest, and he was kissing you again—deep, certain.
Yunho’s fingers felt like live wires against your skin, tracing the line of your spine with a reverence that made your head swim. When he reached the metal clasp of your bra, he faltered for a heartbeat, but you nodded your head to encourage him.
“It’s okay, you can take it off,” you reassured, your nose brushing against his.
“Okay,” he whispered against your lips, “Command received. Attempting to... to execute.” He fumbled at first, his thumbs searching for the logic of the hooks. You could feel the heat radiating off him in waves—his skin damp with the sheer effort of staying composed. He let out a frustrated, needy little huff, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he focused every bit of his Radiant-tier precision on the task.
“Yun,” you murmured, a playful tilt to your voice even as your own heart raced. “Do you need a walkthrough?”
“No,” he gasped, his jaw tightening. “No, I’ve got it. I just—” Then, with a sudden, triumphant click, the tension snapped. Yunho froze. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet of the apartment. He didn’t move for a second, his breath hitching in his chest. Slowly, he slid his hands around to the front, his palms grazing your ribs as he helped the straps fall away. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy, drinking in the sight of you in the soft light. Yunho’s hands retreated just an inch, hovering in the small, heated space between your bodies. His fingers were trembling, twitching with a mix of instinctual urge and a deep-seated fear of crossing a line he hadn’t been invited to cross yet. He looked down, his breath coming in shallow, jagged puffs that fanned across your skin. His eyes were wide, fixated on you with a look of such pure wonder.
You reached out, catching his wrists and gently guiding his large, hot palms forward until they were just grazing your breasts. “You can touch them,” you whispered, your voice grounding him. “I want you to.”
A low, broken sound escaped his throat—halfway between a gasp and a whimper. The moment his hands finally made full contact with your boobs, his eyes squeezed shut, letting out a long, shuddering exhale. “Oh,” he choked out, his fingers curling instinctively, testing the softness and weight of them. “Okay, wow. You’re… you’re so soft. I didn’t think—I mean, I thought, but this is…” He opened his eyes again, and the fear was almost entirely gone, replaced by a dazed, singular focus. He watched his own hands, his dark lashes fluttering as he mapped the curve of your flesh, his thumbs beginning to move in slow, mesmerized circles around your nipples. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave, sounding more like a confession than a question. “Do you… do you like that?”
“Yes,” you breathed, your own hands sliding up his biceps, feeling the hard, tensed muscle beneath his skin. “I like it a lot.”
He let out a small, triumphant puff of air, a tiny shadow of a smirk finally tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his flushed cheeks. “Okay,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips were just a fraction of an inch from yours. He reached down, one of his hands sliding from your breast to your waist, and with a sudden surge of strength, that reminded you just how much larger he was, he pulled you flush against him and captured your lips in a kiss that was deeper and more sure than anything before it. He shifted his weight, easing you back onto the cushions as he loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, reaching up to pull you up.
Yunho didn’t just carry you; he held you like you were the most precious thing in existence, his large arms trembling slightly. The walk to the bedroom was a short, hazy blur of shadows and the frantic thud of his heart against your chest. When he reached his bed, he lowered you onto the mattress with a gentleness that bordered on reverence, his hands lingering on your skin as if he were afraid you’d vanish if he let go. The bed groaned softly under his weight as he followed you down, looming over you. The moonlight filtering through the blinds cast sharp, silver lines across his broad shoulders, highlighting the raw tension in his frame. He looked down at you, his hair a chaotic mess, his face flushed a deep, beautiful pink.
“Is the… is the lighting okay?” he whispered, his voice cracking as he tried to maintain a tiny bit of humour to mask the fact that his hands were still shaking. “I didn’t exactly prep the arena for a cinematic cutscene.”
You reached up, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging him down until his face was inches from yours. “Yunho. Stop. It’s perfect.”
He let out a long, shuddering breath, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Okay. Perfect.” He began to kiss you again, but it was different now—slower, deeper, filled with a heavy, magnetic pull. His large hands, though still trembling, found their way back to your breasts with a newfound, singular focus. “You said… I could,” he whispered like a reminder to himself. He didn’t just touch you; he worshiped. He used his palms to lift and squeeze gently, his thumbs sweeping over the nipples in a rhythm that was increasingly less like a confused beginner and more like someone discovering a natural instinct. His eyes were wide, fixated on the way his skin looked against yours, his breath coming in short, needy hitches.
Your hands slid down to the waistband of his boxers. When your fingers hooked into the elastic, Yunho’s entire body gave a violent, electric jolt. He froze, his hands stilling on your chest, his eyes snapping to yours with a look of pure, unadulterated shock. “Wait—oh. Oh, we’re… okay,” he stammered, his face reaching a shade of red that looked like it might actually glow in the grey of the room.
“Phase three,” you teased softly, your voice a low hum. “Do you want to opt out?”
“No!” the word came out a little too fast, a little too loud. He let out a shaky, self-deprecating laugh, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “No. Definitely not. I’m just… Give me a second.” He didn’t pull away. Instead, he lifted his hips just enough to help you, his movements clumsy but eager. As you slowly drew the fabric down his long legs, Yunho let out a long, shuddering sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. When the last barrier was finally gone, he looked back at you, his vulnerability so raw it was almost tangible. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck again, but this time his hands didn’t stay still. They moved back to your breasts, his touch firmer now, more desperate. He began to trail kisses down your throat, his lips hot and wet, until he reached the curve he’d been admiring. He paused for a heartbeat, his breath ghosting over your nipple, and then he looked up at you— final check for permission. When you arched your back toward him, he leaned in, taking you into his mouth. The sensation of his mouth on you was the final system override. Yunho’s tongue was hesitant at first, swirling with a shy, tasting curiosity, but as you let out a sharp, broken gasp, his confidence surged. He let out a low, muffled growl against your skin, his suction deepening as he realized exactly how much power he had over you. His large hands were possessive, one palm cupping your other breast, squeezing with a rhythmic, heavy heat, while his other hand slid back down to your thighs, his thumb digging into the soft flesh.
As he moved to slide the fabric of your panties down your legs, he paused, his gaze flickering up to yours. “I—I’m about to... initiate the next phase,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly, that adorable panic momentarily clashing with his desire. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady his hands. “Your... your physical feedback suggests that the, uh, compatibility levels are... they’re optimal. I just want to make sure I’m not... skipping any vital steps in the sequence.”
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, reaching down to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “No steps skipped, Yun.” He nodded nervously, and finished the task. He stayed there for a moment, kneeling between your legs, looking at you with a quiet, stunned worship that made you feel like a goddess. He reached out, his fingers hesitant at first, ghosting over the soft skin of your inner thigh. He was shivering, a fine tremor running through his large frame. Slowly, he moved higher, his touch light as a feather until he finally reached the center of you.
When his fingers met your warmth, his breath hitched so loudly it was almost a sob. He didn’t pull away; instead, he let his hand linger, his touch turning soft and exploring. He felt the slick, heated evidence of how much you wanted him, and his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. “Oh,” he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, becoming thick and gravelly. “You’re... you're already so... your stats are... they’re red-lining.” He began to move his fingers with a clumsy, sweet curiosity, tracing your folds.You let out a sharp, needy moan, your head falling back against the pillow as your fingers tangled in his hair.
“Did that—does that feel... okay?” he stammered, his thumb catching against you in a way that made your hips arch off the bed.
“Yunho... yes. Please, don't stop.”
“I’m not stopping,” he promised, his voice regaining a sliver of that Captain confidence even as his face stayed bright red. “I’m... I’m just calibrating. I want to make sure I know... exactly how you like it. I want to be... the only one who knows your map like this.” He leaned forward, pressing a hot, lingering kiss to your thigh as his hand continued its shy rhythm. He began to move his thumb in a slow, circular motion, the slickness of you made his movements fluid, and the sound of it—the soft, wet friction—made his own breath come in jagged, desperate gasps. Before he could even draw a full breath to apologize for being clumsy or ask if he’s doing it right, you reached down, fistfuls of his hair tangling in your fingers, and jerked him upward. Yunho let out a surprised, strangled gasp as you forced him to bridge the gap, dragging his face up until he was hovering mere millimeters from yours.
“Less talking, Captain,” you breathed, the command vibrating against his lips. “More of this.”
You crashed your mouth against his, swallowing his startled moan. It wasn’t a soft kiss—it was a claim. You kissed him with all the pent-up frustration of the lie, all the desperation of the “boot camp,” and all the genuine, terrifying love you felt for the boy above you. You reached down, your fingers finally brushing against his erection, fully exposed and pulsing with the same frantic energy as his heart. Yunho’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the contact. He let out a long, shuddering hiss, his hips bucking upward into your hand with a desperate, uncoordinated instinct. “Oh—god,” he choked out.
“Not yet,” you whispered, your thumb grazing the tip of his cock, spreading the pre-cum. “The main quest hasn’t even started.”
Yunho let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-whimper, his hands flying to your wrists to steady himself. He was trembling so hard the bed seemed to shake with him. He looked up at you, his dark eyes blown out, shimmering with a mix of terrifying love and overwhelming lust. “I don’t... I don’t know if I can be patient anymore,” he confessed, “I want to be gentle, I want to be perfect for you, but my whole system is screaming at me to... to just...”
“Then listen to it,” you reached down to guide him, your fingers palmed his cock, and the breath left your lungs in a sudden rush. He wasn’t just average; he was big. The sheer length of him was daunting, a weight that felt almost impossible to reconcile with the shy, blushing man hovering over you. “Yunho,” you breathed, your voice catching as the broad, blunt head of him pressed against your entrance. You looked up into his dark, blown-out eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Wait. Just… go very, very slow. Okay? Promise me.”
He nodded frantically, his jaw locked so tight you could see the muscle leaping in his cheek. “Slow. Right. Low mobility. I can do that. I’m—I’m going at 0.5 speed, Y/N. I promise.” He braced his weight on his elbows, his massive hands fist-deep in the pillows on either side of your head. He took a shaky, stabilising breath and pushed. The moment the tip entered, your body felt the sudden, stretching fullness of him. Your breath didn’t just hitch; it left you in a sharp, jagged exhale that sounded like a pained hiss. Your eyes squeezed shut, and your fingers dug into his biceps.
Yunho froze instantly, his face went pale, the flush draining away as panic took over. He started to back away immediately, his eyes wide and shimmering with a sudden fear. “Oh god—I hurt you. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I knew I’d—I’m too clumsy, I’m too much, I—” He looked like he was about to bolt out of the room. “Did I break something? Are you okay? I’m pulling out, I’m stopping—”
“No! Yunho, stay,” you gasped out, reaching up to grab his face with both hands to keep him from retreating. You took a few shallow, rhythmic breaths, waiting for your body to accommodate the heavy, overwhelming presence of him. You looked at him, a small, dazed smile breaking through your winced expression. “You didn’t break anything. You’re just… you’re really big.”
Yunho blinked, his brain clearly struggling to process the data. He looked down at the point where you were joined, seeing the way your skin was stretched taut around him, then back at you. His mouth stayed slightly agape. “I’m… what?”
“It’s big,” you repeated, your voice a soft, breathless confession. “A lot bigger and longer than I… than the average. It just... I need time.”
The crimson flush returned to his face with a vengeance, blooming across his chest and up his neck until even his forehead was glowing. He let out a tiny, high-pitched sound—a squeak that was half-embarrassment, half-shock. “I—I am?” he stammered, his voice cracking spectacularly. He looked down at himself again as if seeing his own body for the first time. “I didn’t… I mean, I’ve never had a comparison! I thought the character model was just… standard? I didn’t think I had an… an accidental buff in that department.”
The innocence of his shock made you giggle, the tension finally breaking. You pulled him down for a quick, reassuring kiss. “It’s a very good buff. Just… stick to the slow strategy for a minute, okay?”
Yunho let out a long, shuddering breath as he finally began to relax into the sensation of being held by you. “Slow. Right. Tactical pacing. I’m on it.” He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous rasp again. “I’ll be careful.” With his face still a dazed, glowing crimson, Yunho took a deep, stabilising breath, his chest expanding. He braced his forearms on either side of your head, his large hands clenching the sheets as he slowly began to sink deeper. The sheer thickness of him was a heavy pressure that seemed to occupy every bit of your focus, his length felt seemingly endless, a slow-motion invasion that reached deep into your core. “Y/N,” he choked out, his voice dropping into a ragged, desperate whisper. “Tell me... tell me to stop if it’s—if it is too much. I don’t want to...”
“You’re okay,” you managed to gasp, your hands sliding down his back to pull him in. “Just... like that. Don’t stop.” The encouragement seemed to give him the final green light he needed. As he finally bottomed out, a long, shuddering groan was ripped from his throat. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his entire body trembling with the effort of staying still.
“Oh... dear god,” he muffled against your skin, his voice thick with a mix of awe and relief. “It’s– You’re so warm, and… wet.” he rasped, the confession making your face flush. He stayed still for a heartbeat, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. Then, he made his first move. It was a slow, tentative pull back—the long, heavy slide of his thickness dragging against you—followed by a single, testing push forward. The moment he bottomed out again, Yunho’s entire body went rigid. His eyes flew open, blown wide and unfocused, and a high, strangled moan was ripped from the back of his throat. “Oh,” he choked out, his voice cracking spectacularly. “Oh. No. No, no, wait—wait.” He froze instantly, his arms trembling as he braced himself above you. His jaw was locked so tight it looked painful, and his chest was heaving in short, panicked bursts. He looked down at you, his eyes shimmering with a mix of desire and panic.
“Everything’s alright?” you whispered, reaching up to touch his damp cheek.
“Don’t—don’t move,” he gasped, a tiny, helpless whimper escaping him. “Y/N, if you move even a single inch, I am going to... the game is over. Right now. I’m at the finish line.” He squeezed his eyes shut, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as he let out a long, shuddering hiss through his teeth. You could feel the rhythmic pulsing of his cock inside you, twitching with a desperate urgency. “I’m sorry,” he muffled into your skin, his voice shaky. “I’m so sorry. I’m—I’m a level one player and the difficulty just spiked to impossible. I just... I need a second. I need to... lower my heart rate.” He was so sensitive, so completely overwhelmed, that even the stillness was almost too much for him. He took a long breath, trying to force his body to settle, his fingers digging into the pillows as he fought for control.
“It’s okay,” you murmured, tracing the line of his spine with a slow, grounding touch. “It’s your first time. Just let go.”
“No!” he groaned, the sound raw and desperate as he buried his face deeper into the pillow next to your head. “No, I can’t—I’m not gonna... I’m not letting the credits roll after ten seconds of gameplay! That’s—that’s a speedrun I didn’t sign up for!” He was shaking, his large frame vibrating with the effort of fighting his own body. His muscles were corded like steel, his glutes and thighs locked tight as he tried to remain absolutely motionless inside you. You could feel him pulsing—thick, hot, and agonisingly close to the edge—the girth of him feeling even more intense now that he was wound so tight.
“Yun, it’s fine,” you whispered, shifting just a fraction to press a kiss to his burning ear.
“Don’t!” he gasped, a tiny, helpless whimper escaping him. “Don’t... move. Y/N, please. I have a reputation to uphold. I’m the Captain. I’m supposed to have... stamina. I’m supposed to be... efficient.” He took a long, shuddering breath, his ribs expanding against yours. He sounded like he was trying to solve a complex equation in his head just to distract himself from the overwhelming sensation of being wrapped in your warmth. “I’m not letting it end like this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice thick with a mix of embarrassment and stubborn resolve. He stayed pinned between your legs, his forehead resting on the mattress as he counted his breaths. Every few seconds, a small, involuntary twitch would rack his hips, and he’d let out a pained, soft hiss, his fingers digging into the sheets until they threatened to tear.
You reached up, threading your fingers through the damp of his hair and pulling him down. Your arms wrapped around his neck, anchoring him to you as you brought his lips back to yours. The kiss was slow, deep, and thick with the salt-sweet taste of him. You wanted to show him that there was no failing here—that the connection was the point, not the duration.
Yunho let out a muffled, helpless sound against your mouth, his hand moving from the pillows to frame your face. As you hummed into the kiss, your tongue grazing his, he felt his resolve begin to fracture all over again. “Ba-baby,” he breathed into your lips, “You’re... you’re making it really hard to keep the game paused.” He pulled back just an inch, his nose brushing yours. His eyes were wide and shimmering, looking at you with such affection that it felt more intimate than the physical act itself. As your arms tightened around his neck, pulling him flush against your chest, the sensation of your breasts pressing into him made his breath hitch. He let out a low, shaky exhale, his forehead dropping back to yours. “Okay,” he whispered finally, his voice dropping into a shaky, low-tier rasp. “I think... I think I’ve got it.” He let out a tiny, bashful laugh, his thumb grazing your cheek. “But if you do that hip-roll thing again? All bets are off. I’m just a man, Y/N. A very, very overwhelmed man.”
With that, he slowly, carefully began to move again. It was a shallow, testing slide at first, but the moment he felt the way your body welcomed him, he let out a long, grounded groan and sank back in, the rhythm he found was slow and deep, each thrust an effort to keep from hitting his limit too soon. His length reached deep while the thickness kept you stretched, Yunho looked like he was witnessing a miracle, his breath coming in hot, rhythmic puffs against your lips. Every time he pushed back in, his jaw would tighten.
As Yunho settled into a more confident rhythm, his movements became less about caution and more about exploration. He shifted his weight, his large hands moving from the mattress to your thighs, anchoring you firmly as he angled his hips. On a particularly deep, heavy thrust, he hit a spot inside you that sent a literal jolt of electricity straight to your brain. Your reaction was violent and purely instinctive. Your back snapped off the mattress, a moan tore from your throat, echoing through the quiet bedroom.
Yunho looked like he’d just discovered a hidden Easter egg in a game he thought he’d mastered. “Wait—that... that sound,” he gasped, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and pure pleasure. “Did I just... did I hit a critical?”
“Yunho—right there,” you managed to choke out, your head falling back, your nails digging into his back. “Don’t... don’t stop. Do that again.”
A triumphant light flickered in his eyes—the look of a pro-player who had finally found the winning strategy. He didn’t just do it again; he focused entirely on that angle. He withdrew slowly, the agonising thickness of him dragging against that sensitive wall, and then lunged forward with a sharp, rhythmic precision. “Right here?” he rasped, his voice dropping into a growl you’d never heard from him before. “You like it when I hit this?” you just let out a breathless moan in response, your nails digging deep into the skin of Yunho’s back.
Every time he connected with that spot, your body bucked against his, your moans becoming frantic, breathless. He doubled down, his pace becoming faster, more desperate, his heavy frame thudding against yours as he chased that sound out of you over and over again. His large hands slid up to lace with yours, pinning them above your head as he drove himself into you. Yunho’s breathing was broken, ragged, his skin slick and burning wherever it met yours.
He was at the absolute limit. His muscles were rigid, his back corded with tension as he hovered over you. He was blind with it, his eyes half-closed as he focused every ounce of his being on the friction where you were joined.
“Touch me. Please... right there.” you gasped, voice strained and needy as you arched against him one more time. You guided his hand down, fingers trembling as you moved his large, hot palm toward your wetness. Yunho let out another moan as you rolled your hips to meet his thrust. Through the overwhelming haze of his own, fast building release, he tried to focus his wandering senses. His fingers, usually so precise, felt clumsy against your slick skin, but he found your clit with a soft, desperate touch.
The moment he made contact, the world seemed to tilt, the electricity traveling down your spine to your very toes.
The pleasure was more than his system could handle. Yunho felt the familiar, terrifying tightening in his lower stomach, a pulsing heat that was no longer something he could hold back. “I can’t... I’m not going to…” he choked out. He lunged forward, burying himself as deep as he could possibly go, his entire body going taut. He didn’t pull away; instead, he surged into you, seeking the heat of your mouth as the first wave of his climax took him. He crashed his lips against yours, his kiss desperate and messy, tasting of salt and relief.
As he came inside you, a long, broken sound was muffled against your lips. He held you with a sudden, crushing strength, his fingers digging into your hips to pull you flush against him, wanting to be as close as humanly possible while he gave you everything he had. The pulsing was deep and rhythmic, an overflow that seemed to drain the very strength from his bones.
He stayed there, buried deep and trembling, his face hidden in the crook of your neck as the world finally stopped spinning. His breath was hot and wet against your skin, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, the sound of his heavy, uneven breathing against your ear.
Yunho was still lost in the aftershock of his own orgasm, his body pinning you into the mattress. But as he felt the way your muscles were still twitching around him, the way your nails were still buried deep in his back, he realized you weren’t there yet. He lifted his head, his eyes dark and hazy with a dazed, post-orgasmic glow. He saw the flush on your chest, the way your lips were parted as you fought for air, and a new, quiet intensity flickered in his gaze.
“You’re not…” he didn’t finish the sentence, he shifted his weight immediately, bracing himself on one arm so he didn’t crush you, while his other hand slid back down. His thumb found your sensitive bud, moving with a newfound, steady confidence. He wasn’t rushing anymore; he was focused entirely on the way you arched under his touch. “Let go,” he breathed, his lips ghosting over your jawline. “I’ve got you. Just... please give it to me.” He began to move his hips again, a slow, deep grind that used the lingering hardness of his length to create a different kind of friction. The combination of his thumb’s steady rhythm and the heavy, internal pressure was the final tipping point. Your breath hitched, a moan escaping you as your vision began to blur at the edges. You felt the tension coil tight in your stomach, a white-hot spark that suddenly caught fire. Your head fell back, your eyes snapping shut as the first wave of your climax crashed over you. “That’s it,” Yunho groaned against your skin. “Yes... just like that.”
You cried out as your body buckled and pulsed around him. Every muscle in your body went rigid, your toes curling as the pleasure radiated in rhythmic, electrifying waves. Yunho held you through it, his hand steady and his body anchored deep inside you, providing the solid ground you needed as you orgasmed. He watched you with a look of absolute devotion, drinking in the sight of you until the last of the tremors finally began to fade.
When you finally slumped back into the pillows, limp and exhausted, Yunho collapsed beside you. He pulled you into his side, his arm hooking around your waist to tuck you into the hollow of his chest. He pressed a lingering, tender kiss to the top of your head, his heart finally slowing to a calm, steady thud. “I think…” he murmured into your hair, “I think I’m finally starting to understand what everyone was talking about.”
Yunho was tangled with you, his large, damp body a literal heater against yours. His heart was still doing a frantic victory lap, but the panic was gone. Slowly, he pulled back, enough to look at you. If you thought he was red before, it was nothing compared to the radiant, sunshine-soaked glow on his face now. He looked like he’d just won the World Finals, the lottery, and a lifetime supply of bagels all at once. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and his smile—oh, that adorable smile—was so wide it looked like his face might actually split. “Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice cracking with a high-pitched, breathless laugh. “Y/N. Oh my god.”
You let out a soft, tired giggle, your fingers lazily tracing the corded muscle of his forearm. You were exhausted, your body feeling heavy, but seeing him this happy made your chest ache. “You okay?”
“Okay?” He let out a loud, hysterical huff of a laugh and flopped onto his back, pulling you with him so you were draped over his chest. He immediately began to wrap his arms around you, squeezing you in a massive, happy hug. “I’m better than okay! I’m—I’m levelled up! I’ve reached a new tier! I’ve… I’ve discovered a whole new game genre!” He was beaming, his dark eyes shimmering with a pure, unadulterated joy that was almost blinding. He couldn’t stop moving—his feet were twitching under the comforter, his hands were petting your hair, your back, your arms, as if he needed to constantly verify you were still there. “That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he shifted closer, tucking his chin into the space above your collarbone, his nose nuzzling against your skin. “Did you... I mean... we just…” He let out a breathless, giddy laugh, shaking his head. “That was incredible! Was that as cool for you as it was for me? Because I feel like I just discovered a new colour. Like, a colour that doesn’t even exist on the spectrum yet!” He reached out, cupping your face with both hands, his thumbs dancing over your cheekbones in a flurry of excited motion.
“And I didn’t even... I mean, I held it together! Mostly!” He beamed, his chest puffing out just a little bit with a sudden, adorable surge of pride. “I was worried I was going to be all clumsy and, you know, ‘technical difficulties’ everywhere, but I think I actually did a decent job? Right? Tell me I did a good job.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he started peppering your face with dozens of quick, happy kisses—your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. He was like a puppy that had finally caught the ball and didn’t know what to do with all the excess joy. “You were so loud,” he whispered, his voice hitching with a mix of awe and a very male sort of satisfaction. “I made you make those sounds. Me! Yunho! The guy who usually trips over his own feet in the kitchen!”
You laughed, a genuine sound that bubbled up from your chest despite how drained you felt. You reached up, catching his face to stop the flurry of kisses, your fingers digging into the soft hair at his temples. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice still a little shaky, a little airy. “You did a very good job. Better than a decent job. You... you were incredible.”
“You made those sounds,” he repeated, almost to himself, a smug little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t even know you could hit those notes. I want to hear them again. I want to spend the rest of the night making you make them.”
“Yunho!” you squeaked, hitting his chest lightly.
“What? I’m serious!” He caught your hand, lacing his long fingers with yours and bringing your knuckles to his lips for a lingering, tender kiss. He looked at you with such intense, boyish hope that it felt like you could melt right here and there. “I mean, did you see that?” he asked, his voice full of wonder as he looked at his own hands as if they’d just performed magic. “I was actually... I was consistent! I found the spot! I saw you arch and I was like, ‘Oh, okay, Yunho, stay on target, stay on target!’ And I did!” He couldn’t stay still. He kept moving, his feet tangling with yours under the sheets, his hands constantly finding an excuse to touch you—brushing a hair back, rubbing your shoulder, or just squeezing your waist. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered, his hyperactive energy settling for just a second as he looked at your face. He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours, his voice softening. “Really, Y/N. I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I’m never gonna forget tonight. Ever.”
Yunho’s eyes suddenly widened, his pupils practically sparkling as a new thought downloaded into his hyperactive brain. He sat up abruptly, shifting you from his chest to his side, the comforter sliding down to his waist, completely unbothered by his own nudity because he was too busy being the most excited boy on the planet. “Gosh, I need to tell Mingi!” he blurted out, a huge, goofy grin spreading across his face. “I have to tell him! He’s been acting like such an expert for months, giving me all these ‘tips’ and telling me to ‘just try not to pass out’! I didn’t pass out! I was a natural! I was practically a pro-player on the first try!”
“Yunho, no!” you gasped, reaching up to grab his arm, your face burning. “You are not telling Mingi!”
“But he needs to know!” Yunho laughed, leaning over to press a messy, happy kiss to your shoulder. “He told me I’d probably be ‘clumsy’ and ‘low-impact.’ I was high-impact, Y/N! And turns out I have a massive character buff! I need to humble him!” He started looking around for his phone, his long limbs tangling in the sheets as he moved with the energy of a kid on Christmas morning. “And Seonghwa!” Yunho added, his voice rising in pitch as he got even more excited. “Oh man, hyung is going to lose his mind. He’s so nervous about the ‘mechanics’ and the ‘controls.’ I need to tell him it’s not scary! I need to tell him that if I can do it then he can do it too!” He finally found his phone on the nightstand, but before he could unlock it, he looked back at you, his expression softening into something so dazed and proud it was almost unbearable. “They’re not gonna believe me,” he whispered, a little breathless. “They’re gonna think I’m making it up. They’ll be like, ‘Yunho? Our Yunho? The guy who gets shy when a girl asks for the time?’ And I’ll be like, ‘Yeah! Me! I’m the one who made her make those sounds!’”
“If you tell them I was loud, I will move to a different country,” you threatened, though you couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up.
“I won’t tell them everything,” he promised, though his mischievous grin said otherwise. He flopped back down beside you, pulling you into his chest so hard you squeaked. “I’ll just tell them I’ve officially reached the top tier. I’ve reached the final boss and I won, Y/N. I won so hard. I’m a living legend!” He was beaming, his chest puffed out with a sudden, adorable surge of pure, masculine pride. He looked like he wanted to go out and wrestle a bear or win the Summer Open solo. “I’m just… I’m really happy,” he murmured, his voice finally settling into a warm, domestic hum. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. Not even when I hit Radiant for the first time. This is way better than Radiant.”
As you shifted to get more comfortable, you felt a warm, unmistakable trickle against your thigh. The reality of the mess finally cut through the post-glow haze. “Oh—wait. I need a wet towel. Can you grab me one? I’m kind of... a mess.”
The “Legend” status evaporated instantly. Yunho’s eyes went wide as dinner plates, his golden-retriever energy switching to pure, frantic panic. “A towel? Why? Are you—are you bleeding? Did I actually break a mechanic?!” He scrambled to his knees, looking like he was about to call an ambulance. “Oh my god, Y/N, I knew it! I was too much! I’ve over-levelled and destroyed the environment!” Before you could stop him, he was diving toward the foot of the bed, his face full of terrifyingly earnest concern. “What happened? Where is it? Let me see! I need to check the damage—”
“Yunho! Stop!” You grabbed a pillow and playfully whacked him with it to get him to look at you. “I’m not hurt! You didn’t ‘break the environment,’ you dork. It’s just... you."
He paused mid-lunge, blinking up at you with a look of confusion. “Me? What do you mean, me?”
“It’s you leaking out of me,” you said, your face heating up despite the hilarity of the situation. “You finished inside me, remember? It doesn’t just stay there forever. Gravity exists, even for Radiant rank.”
The silence that followed was heavy with the sound of Yunho’s brain cells trying to process biology. He looked down at the sheets, then back at you, and slowly—painfully slowly—the most intense shade of purple-red you’d ever seen crawled from his chest to the tips of his ears. “Oh,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Oh. Right. Fluid dynamics. I... I knew that. I totally knew that was a feature.” He buried his face in his hands for a second, let out a tiny, high-pitched whimper of embarrassment, and then immediately scrambled off the bed. “Towel! Wet towel! Coming right up! I’m on it!”
You heard him nearly trip over a stray shoe in his rush to the bathroom, his voice drifting back to you, full of bashful pride again. “I’m definitely not telling Mingi about the towel part.”
You heard the sound of water running in the bathroom, followed by a loud clatter of a fallen shampoo bottle, and a muffled “I’m okay! No damage taken!”
A few seconds later, Yunho jogged back into the room. He was trying to look composed, but he was still stark naked and holding a warm, damp towel like it was a holy relic. He knelt on the edge of the mattress, his eyes darting between your face and the “situation” with a mix of awe and lingering bashful panic. “Okay, I have the supplies,” he announced, his voice still a little high-pitched. He reached out to help you, but then he hesitated, his hand hovering mid-air. “Wait, should I... do I do it? Or is that like... a solo quest?”
“Just give me the towel,” you laughed, reaching for it.
“No, no! I got us into this mess, I should help clean it up!” He took a deep breath, his face glowing as he gently began to clean your thighs. As he worked, he couldn’t help but peek at the evidence of his “character buff.” He let out a low, shaky breath, a small, proud smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again. “Gosh, there’s actually... quite a lot.”
“Yunho!” you hissed, swatting at his shoulder.
“I’m just observing the stats!” he defended himself, looking up at you with those wide, shimmering eyes.
When he finally tossed the damp towel toward the laundry hamper (and missed by a mile, hitting the door instead), he let out a long, grounding exhale that seemed to finally vent the last of his energy. He scrambled to his dresser, his long, pale limbs moving with a new kind of fluid confidence, and pulled out two shirts. He put on an oversized black tee and shimmied into a pair of boxers. “Equipping the pyjamas,” he muttered, a soft, boyish chuckle vibrating in his chest as he climbed back into bed.
The mattress dipped significantly under his weight, the air finally setting into a low, domestic hum. “Here,” he murmured, handing you a plain, cotton tee. He helped you pull the shirt over your head, his large hands lingering on your shoulders for a second too long. It swallowed you whole, the hem reaching mid-thigh, making you look tiny against the backdrop of his pillows.
He didn’t just lie down; he curated a nest. He pulled the heavy comforter up, tucking it around your shoulders before sliding his arm underneath your neck, hauling you flush against his side so that your head rested right over his heart. “Comfort levels at 100%,” he whispered, his voice dropping into a thick, sleepy rasp that made your skin tingle. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, and finally a long, lingering one to your lips. He tasted like the cool water he’d just splashed on his face and felt like a living heater. He pulled you into him, his front to your back, his long legs spooning yours perfectly. One of his heavy arms draped over your waist, his hand splaying across your stomach. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. “Not too cold? Do you need another blanket? I can go get the heated one from Seonghwa’s bedroom—”
“I’m perfect. Just stay,” you murmured, reaching back to stroke his hair.
“Okay,” he breathed. “Staying. Keeping the position.” He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the back of your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck, they were quiet, deep, and filled with a domesticity that felt like a promise. “I love you, Y/N,” he muttered into your skin. “Best… night… ever.”
“I love you too, Yunnie.” You felt his breathing evening out, within minutes, he was dead to the world, his grip on you firm even in sleep. You stared at the curtains for a moment, the weight of his love—and the weight of your lies—swirling in your head. But as the warmth of his body seeped into yours, the exhaustion finally won. Your eyes drifted shut, and you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped in the arms of the boy who thought you were a goddess.
Yunho stirred first. His body felt heavy and warm, a lingering phantom of the night’s heat still buzzing in his skin. He didn’t want to open his eyes; he wanted to stay in the soft, scent-filled bubble of your hair and the quiet hum of the apartment. But he needed to check the time. He needed to see if he had enough minutes left to pull you closer and fall back into that dreamless, happy sleep or if both of you needed to rush to classes. He groaned softly, his long arm reaching out blindly to the nightstand. His fingers brushed against cold glass and metal. He fumbled for his glasses, but his hand closed around a phone instead.
His brain was still 90% asleep when he brought the screen close to his face, squinting through the blur. He didn’t realise it was your phone. He didn’t realise the lock screen was different. He just saw the stacked notifications.
Wooyoung: EMERGENCY!!🚨 THE GYM GUY ACTUALLY HAD THE BALLS TO ASK ME OUT TONIGHT!! HE GAVE ME HIS NUMBER ON A PROTEIN SHAKE WRAPPER I AM SCREAMING!!
Wooyoung: BITCH WAKE UP!!! STOP RIDING CAPTAIN’S DICK AND CHECK YOUR DAMN PHONE!! MY SINGLE DAYS ARE OVER!!
Wooyoung: Anyway, priority shift! I can’t be Viper tonight. My skin needs to be glowing for this date, not hunched over a monitor carrying your ass. Reschedule the match with your nerdy boyfriend and his friends.
Wooyoung: Seriously, tell him you’re sick or something. We can’t Ratatouille tonight if I’m getting my back blown out! I plan to not be able to walk for the next three days. Go practice your aim, you still shoot like a blind toddler.
The silence in the room suddenly became deafening.
Yunho sat up, the movement slow and mechanical. The comforter slid off his chest, the cool air hitting his skin like a slap, but he didn’t feel it. He stared at the screen, his eyes scanning the words over and over again.
The puzzle pieces he’d been too in love to notice began to lock into place with a metallic click. The “coincidences.” The way you two never played together. The way you were always “studying” when the rest of Level Zero would meet up in B-12. He looked down at you—still asleep, wearing his shirt, looking like the personification of the pure, beautiful thing he’d described hours ago. His hand began to shake. The phone felt like it was burning his palm. Every word you’d whispered—“I love you,” “You were incredible,” “We’re in the same team,”—now felt like a line from a play he hadn’t realized he was starring in. He read the texts one more time, hoping—praying—he’d misread them. But there it was. He let out a breath that sounded like a sob, his fingers clutching the edge of the mattress. He just sat there in the grey light, looking at the girl who had stolen his first love and tied it to a lie. His jaw was tight, his eyes shimmering with a sudden, hot moisture that he refused to let fall. He wasn’t the happy, beaming boy from a few hours ago.
The sudden absence of his heat was what woke you.
The bed shifted, the mattress rising as Yunho’s weight left it. In the haze of your deep sleep, you reached out blindly for him, your hand brushing against the still-warm sheets where his body had been seconds ago. You let out a small, soft whimper of protest, your eyes fluttering open against the dim, grey morning light. “Yunho?” you murmured, your voice honey-sweet with sleep.
He didn’t answer.
You sat up, the oversized t-shirt sliding off one shoulder. You saw his silhouette near the door—his shoulders were hunched, his posture rigid with a tension that made the air in the room feel brittle. Without a word, he stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps heavy.
Panic flared in your chest, instantly killing the last of your drowsiness. You scrambled out of bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor as you followed him. “Yunho? Is everything okay? Did something happen?”
You followed him to the living room. He wasn’t looking at the Rayman screen or the controllers still scattered on the rug. He was standing by the window, his large hands gripped so tightly onto the back of the sofa that his knuckles were white. His chest was heaving, his breath coming in shallow hitches that sounded like he was physically choking on the air.
“Yunho?” you stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched. He didn’t just move away—he recoiled as if your touch had burned him. The pale, cold light of dawn made his skin look like marble. He turned around, and the sight of his face stopped the blood in your veins. His glasses were on, but his eyes behind them were bloodshot, shimmering with disbelief. He looked like he had aged ten years in the span of five minutes. In his right hand, he was clutching your phone. The screen still lit up, displaying the wall of text from Wooyoung that had just dismantled his life.
“I was looking for my glasses,” he started but he didn’t look at you. He was staring at the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen as if the words were wounds he couldn’t stop touching. “I just wanted to see if I had enough time to make you breakfast before we had to leave.” He finally lifted his gaze, and the raw, wet shine behind his lenses made your heart stop. He didn’t look angry—he looked destroyed.
“‘Stop riding Captain’s dick and check your damn phone,’” he quoted, his voice cracking on the word Captain. He let out a short sound that was supposed to be a laugh, but it was too sharp, too full of pain. “He’s very high-energy, isn’t he? Your roommate. He seems very excited about his date.” He took a step toward you, holding the phone out so you could see the words. “He told you to reschedule the match with your ‘nerdy boyfriend.’ That’s me, right? The nerdy boyfriend who was just... being fooled the entire time?”
He looked down at the text again, his jaw tightening until the muscle leaped in his cheek. “‘We can’t Ratatouille tonight.’ Everything I fell for... every time I thought we were perfectly in sync... it was just him, wasn’t it? Wooyoung was playing, and I was just the idiot who didn’t realize the girl I loved was lying.” He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—anything—that wasn’t a lie. “He called me a ‘nerdy boyfriend,’ Y/N. He told you to tell me you were sick so you could skip playing tonight. Was that the plan all along? Were you going to wake up in my arms, tell me you didn’t feel well, and then go practice your aim because you ‘shoot like a blind toddler’?" He let out a shaky breath, his fingers trembling against the phone. “The ‘Goddess’ I bragged about... the girl I thought was a tactical genius... she doesn’t even exist, does she? She’s just a character you and Wooyoung created to play me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, more devastating than any shout. “Last night... when I told you I loved you. Was that part of the mission? Or was that just the ‘nerdy boyfriend’ being a little too easy to manipulate?”
The air in the living room felt like it was freezing over. You took a desperate step forward, your hands reaching out instinctively to grab him, to pull him back from the edge. “Yunho, please,” you choked out, your voice trembling. “It’s not like that. It didn’t start like—I didn’t mean for it to go this far. Just let me explain, please, just let me touch you—” As your fingers brushed the skin of his forearm, Yunho flinched so violently it was as if you’d struck him. He lunged backward, hitting the wall.
“Don’t!” he held the phone up between you like a shield, his knuckles white. “Don’t touch me. Don’t... don’t do that soft voice. I don’t know which part of you is real and which part is the script anymore.” He looked at you, and for the first time, the warmth in his eyes was completely gone, replaced by a cold, hollow clarity. He let out a breathy, pained laugh that broke into a sob at the end. “I keep thinking back,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I keep going back to that day in the quad. When those girls were laughing at me. When she said…” He swallowed hard, his throat working as he stared at you with a look of dawning horror. “When she said that I was so pathetic that nobody would want to fuck me, even out of pity.” He wiped a frantic, messy hand across his eyes, shoving his glasses up his nose. “You heard every word they said to me.” He took a step toward you, his eyes searching yours with a terrifying, desperate intensity. “Is that when it started? Did you see me there, at my absolute lowest, and… Did you decide right then that the pathetic guy from campus was the perfect target for you to play? Were you bored?” He gestured wildly to the bedroom behind him, his voice cracking spectacularly. “Was last night the ultimate pity fuck? Was that the final achievement? Did you tell Wooyoung you finally closed the loop on the guy nobody wanted? Are you guys going to laugh about it over beer tonight while I’m sitting here thinking I finally found someone who saw me for who I actually am?” He dropped his head, his shoulders shaking as he clutched the phone to his chest. “I gave you everything,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “I gave you the only first time I’ll ever have. And you... you were just playing a character.”
“Yunho, no! It wasn’t pity, I swear to you, I—”
“Then what was it?” he snapped, the volume of his voice jumping for the first time, sharp and echoing against the ceiling of the apartment. He didn’t let you finish, his words cutting through yours like a blade. “If it wasn’t pity, was it just… the game? Was it the challenge of seeing how long you could keep the lie going before I noticed my ‘Goddess’ couldn’t hit a target?”
“Listen to me!” you cried, taking another step forward, your heart thumping painfully against your ribs. “The feelings, the way I look at you, that’s—”
“Stop!” he shouted, holding up a hand, his eyes squeezed shut as if the sight of you was physically hurting him. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare use that word right now. You don’t get to talk about feelings when you were planning on telling me you were sick today just so the real Viper could go get laid!” He opened his eyes, and the sheer betrayal in them made you flinch. He looked down at the phone again, his thumb scrolling aggressively through the thread. “He thinks I’m a joke, doesn’t he? He’s laughing at me. And you let him! You let him call me a nerd, let him tell you to lie to me, while you were lying in my bed, wearing my shirt!” Yunho wasn’t just hurt anymore; he was getting heated, his voice rising into a sharp, authoritative tone you’d never heard before.
“I’m learning!” you said, your voice cracking as you took a defiant step toward him, fuelled by a mix of guilt and exhaustion. “I’ve been waking up at four in the fucking morning every day to run drills until my hands cramp! I didn’t ask for this to become some grand conspiracy! I just wanted to stay by your side because I fucking love you!”
“By my side?!” Yunho barked, a harsh, hysterical laugh breaking from his throat. He slammed your phone down onto the coffee table with a crack that made you flinch. “You stayed by my side by letting another man smurf your account? By making me look like a fucking idiot in front of my own friends? You let me brag about you! I told everyone you were the best thing to ever happen to me! And the whole time, you were just the girl behind the curtain while Wooyoung pulled the strings!”
“I’m trying! I’m in the range for hours every goddamn night after you fall asleep!” you screamed, your voice cracking as the sheer weight of the double life finally crushed your composure. “You think I like this? You think I enjoy having Wooyoung scream in my ear because I can’t aim to save my fucking relationship? I’m doing it for the team! I’m doing it for you!”
“For me?” Yunho’s laugh was a harsh, ugly sound that tore through the quiet of the apartment. “You didn’t do this for me. You did this because you loved the attention! You loved being the ‘Goddess’ everyone worshipped. You loved that I looked at you like you were some kind of miracle while you were just a puppet!”
“That is bullshit and you know it!” you hissed, stepping right into his space, your chest heaving against the fabric of his shirt. “I lied in the first place because I saw the way you cared for the club, and I knew—I knew if I was just some girl who couldn’t even pick the right agent in the lobby, I’d be invisible to you! I was trying to help you!”
“By lying to my face?’ he roared, his voice finally breaking into a full-scale shout. “By making me look like a fool in front of my own friends? You let me brag about you! You sat there and watched me tell Mingi how incredible you were, knowing the whole time you were lying! Was I just a trophy to you? The pathetic, shy gamer you managed to trick into bed?”
“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up about the bed!” you sobbed, shoving at his chest. “Last night had nothing to do with the game! You know that! You felt it!”
“I don't know anything!” Yunho screamed back, his eyes wild and bloodshot behind his glasses. “I don’t know if the girl I slept with even exists! Are you even the person I fell for, or was that just another layer of the script? Did Wooyoung tell you what to say to me in bed, too? Was he ‘Ratatouille-ing’ our whole fucking relationship?!”
“Go to hell, Yunho!” you shrieked, the words torn from the rawest part of your throat. “You’re so obsessed with your rank and your precious stats that you can’t even see I was doing everything to keep up with you!”
Yunho went deathly still. The anger in his face didn’t fade, but it curdled into something far more terrifying—pure, concentrated hurt. He looked at you as if you’d just slapped him. “My stats?” he repeated, his height feeling like a threat for the first time. “You think... you think this is about fucking Valorant?” He grabbed his own hair, pulling at the blonde strands in a fit of genuine, unbridled agony. “Do you really think a fucking video game is the most important thing to me?!” he screamed, his voice cracking spectacularly. “I didn’t fall for a character in the game, Y/N! I fell for the girl who sat in the dust with me in the basement! I fell for the person I thought was honest with me! I would have forfeited the Summer Open, the club, the whole fucking game just to stay in that bed with you for one more hour!”
“That’s a lie!” you yelled back, your hands fisted in the hem of his shirt. “We wouldn’t have even talked if it wasn’t for my lie! I was just some random girl who helped you out of a fucked up situation! After I shoved Seoyun I’d be just another person in the hallway to you!”
“Just another person?” Yunho’s voice broke into a pained, high-pitched sob. “I saw you! I saw you before you ever laid eyes on me! Do you even know we shared a class last year? I would look at you all the time thinking how pretty and cool you were! I was just too shy to speak to you until I thought we had something in common!”
The silence that followed was absolute. It felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the apartment. You stood frozen, your hands still curled into the fabric of his shirt. Your brain was struggling to process his words, frantically searching through memories of crowded lecture halls. You had never noticed him. Not until that day when he put up the poster. “You... what?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
“Last year. Professor Shin’s lecture,” Yunho rasped, finally looking down at you. His eyes were red, his glasses slightly crooked. “You sat three rows down. You used to wear that oversized black leather jacket on top of a huge, black shirt and drink two cups of coffee, its smell would fill the entire class. I spent the whole semester trying to think of a single thing to say to you, but I am just some nerdy kid with no social skills. That day in the Quad, I thought... I thought the game was our bridge. It was the one thing that finally made me brave enough to talk to you.”
“I didn’t need you to be a good player, Y/N. I just wanted the girl with coffee.” He gestured toward the phone, his hand shaking. “But you thought I was as shallow as the girls who bullied me.”
“I was going to fix it! I was going to get good enough so Wooyoung didn’t have to—”
“Fix what?! The lie is the foundation, Y/N! You built us on a fucking lie!”
The room felt like it was shrinking, your chest was heaving, the oversized fabric of Yunho’s shirt—the one he’d tenderly helped you put on just hours ago—now feeling like a shroud. “You weren’t supposed to find out!” you shrieked, the words tearing out of you. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this! I was supposed to learn! I was supposed to get better and finally stop relying on Wooyoung!” You desperately placed your hands on top of Yunho’s sternum, but he flinched, backing into the wall. “I was going to wait until I was actually good enough, until I could hold my own, and then— I just needed more time! I just wanted to be the girl you thought I was! You weren’t supposed to know about any of this!”
The words didn’t just hang in the air; they curdled. Yunho’s expression shifted from agonising heartbreak to something far worse: a cold, dead clarity. He stopped shaking. He stopped crying. He just stood there, staring at you as if he were seeing a stranger for the first time—or finally seeing the real you. “I wasn’t supposed to find out,” he muttered, his voice dangerously soft. The way he said it made your blood run cold. It wasn’t an outburst; it was a realisation. “That’s the part you’re most upset about, isn’t it? Not that you lied. Not that you betrayed me. Just that you got caught.”
“No, that’s not what I meant—”
“But it is!” he snapped, his voice suddenly sharp again. “You just said it! You weren’t going to tell me. Ever. You were just going to wait until you were ‘good enough’ so you could successfully replace the old lie with a newer, better one. You were never going to be honest with me! You were just going to wait until the truth didn’t matter anymore.”
“Enough! Both of you!”
The voice was like a bucket of ice water.
Both of you spun around, chests heaving, faces flushed and tear-streaked. Seonghwa was standing at the edge of the kitchenette. He looked like he’d been standing there long enough to hear the full, ugly truth
“Hyung,” Yunho breathed, his voice suddenly small, the fire dying into a pathetic ash. He looked like he wanted to disappear.
Seonghwa’s gaze didn’t go to his best friend first. It landed on you. He looked at you—standing there in Yunho’s shirt, disheveled and desperate—and his eyes were colder than you had ever seen them. “Is it true?”
The silence that followed was the loudest sound in the world. You looked at Yunho, who was now staring at the floor, his shoulders shaking as he gripped his own arms. He couldn’t even look at you anymore. “I…” you whispered, the fight completely gone. “I can explain.”
“There is nothing to explain,” Seonghwa walked into the middle of the room, stepping into the debris of the argument. He looked at the phone on the table, then at your trembling hands, and finally at Yunho, who looked like he was trying to fold himself into the wall. “I’ve been watching the two of you for weeks,” Seonghwa continued, his gaze drifting back to you. The coldness was there, but it was mixed with a sharp, piercing disappointment that felt like a physical weight. “I saw how happy he was. I saw how he looked at you like you were the only person in the world who truly understood him. I actually started to believe it, too.”
“Seonghwa, please—” you started, but he held up a hand, silencing you instantly.
“Yeosang was the one who noticed the inconsistencies first, Y/N. He told me that some things just didn’t add up. That you never talked much about the game play and past matches when we were hanging out in B-12. That sometimes during matches what you said didn’t match your movement. I kept quiet because I thought... I thought surely you wouldn’t lie to us about something as stupid as being good at a game.” He turned to his best friend, his expression softening with a pained, protective look. “He doesn’t have a single bad bone in his body,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice thick with a quiet fury. “He thinks everyone is as honest as he is. You knew that. You saw him sitting there, getting ripped apart by those girls, and you knew exactly how much he needed someone to be on his side.” Seonghwa took a step toward you, his height looming, his face a mask of a heartbreak. “You stood in our kitchen and helped me cook. You sat on our sofa and listened to him talk about his dreams for the club. You let him give you his heart, knowing the entire time that you were lying.”
“But Hwa, I love him!” you cried out, the words sounding desperate and thin.
“You love the way he loves Viper,” Seonghwa corrected you sharply. “If you loved him, you wouldn’t have let him become a laughingstock for your roommate. You wouldn’t have let him believe he was in a relationship when he was actually in a puppet show.” He reached out and grabbed your bag from the floor where you left it yesterday, his movements efficient and final. He didn’t yell; he didn’t have to. The way he looked at you—as if he were seeing a bug in a system he had to purge—was enough. “You’re wearing his clothes,” Seonghwa noted, his eyes flickering to the oversized shirt. “Go into the bathroom. Change. Put your own things on.”
He turned to Yunho, who was still staring at the floor, his breathing shallow and jagged. Seonghwa walked over and placed a steadying hand on Yunho’s shoulder, “Yunnie, look at me,” he commanded gently. When the taller one finally lifted his red, tear-filled eyes, Seonghwa spoke with a finality that broke the last of the air in the room. “She’s leaving. We have a tournament to withdraw from, and a free spot in Level Zero to take care of.”
The bathroom door felt like a mile away as you walked toward it, Seonghwa’s eyes burning into your back. Every step was a nightmare, the soft cotton of Yunho’s shirt now feeling like it was made of lead. You changed with trembling hands, the silence in the apartment so heavy you could hear the blood rushing in your ears.
When you stepped back out, dressed in your own clothes, the living room felt like a funeral. Seonghwa was sitting next to still sobbing Yunho on the couch, his hand a firm, protective weight on his shoulder. Yunho looked like a ghost, his gaze fixed on a spot on the carpet, his fingers digging into his own arms.
“Yun, I—” your voice cracked, desperate for one last chance to make him see you, to make him believe that your feelings were real. “Please, just listen for one second—”
“Enough, Y/N,” Seonghwa interrupted, his voice like iron. “You’ve said enough.”
You looked at the two of them—the Level Zero family you had so desperately wanted to belong to. You walked out the door, the ‘Goddess’ was dead, and as you walked down the stairs into the cold morning air, you realized Viper had finally lost the only match that actually mattered.
The cigarette in your hand was a dying ember, the orange glow barely visible against the grey afternoon. You’d forgotten to take more than a single, bitter drag; you were just holding it, watching the ash grow long and precarious, a perfect mirror of your own stability. The weather for the past few days had been a cruel, mocking thing. The sky was a bruised palette of grey and blue, a relentless, drizzling rain portraying exactly how you felt inside. Everything was damp, cold, and blurred at the edges.
Your hands were shaking—a constant, rhythmic tremor that hadn’t stopped since the moment the door to Yunho’s apartment had clicked shut behind you. You’d burst into tears in the most humiliating scenarios: in the middle of the cafeteria, standing in line for a bus, and most horrifyingly, right in the middle of Professor Lee’s lecture. You couldn’t stand the skin you were in; you felt hollow, a ghost haunting your own life. In those few weeks by Yunho’s side, you had completely forgotten what your existence looked like before him. Now, the silence of your old life was deafening.
You were about to crush the filter into the damp rim of the trash can just to light another one—anything to keep your hands busy—when a voice cut through the hum of the rain.
“You don’t look too good.”
You froze. Yeosang was standing a few feet away, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. For the first time since you’d met him, the sharp, analytical edge was gone from his eyes. He looked... hesitant. Scared, even. He approached slowly, as if he were worried that a single wrong word might cause you to shatter right there on the pavement.
He stopped just outside your personal space, his gaze dropping to your shaking hands and then to the dead cigarette. “The Captain hasn’t slept,” Yeosang said softly, his voice devoid of its usual dry bite. “And looking at you... I’m guessing you haven’t either.” He took a step closer, the umbrella he was holding casting a shadow over both of you, shielding you from the drizzle. “Mingi told me you had classes in this building. He wanted me to scream and demand answers.” He paused, his throat working as he swallowed. “I’m not here to talk about the game, Y/N. I’m just... I’m here because Level Zero logic doesn’t make sense without Viper. And Yunho is currently a ghost in a headset.” He looked at you with a piercing, quiet sadness. “What happened? Truly. Because a lie about a video game doesn’t leave someone looking like they’ve had their soul deleted.”
You laughed—a sharp sound that had no humour in it, only bitterness. Your tongue darted out to lick your lower lip, tasting the salt of dried tears and the tang of nicotine, before your hands dove into your bag. You fumbled through the mess of receipts and loose change, your movements jerky and frantic as you searched for a fresh pack. You needed the smoke. You needed the ritual. Most of all, you needed your old walls—the walls of a girl you were before Yunho—to slam back into place.
“Why would you care?” you chuckled, the sound thin and brittle against the backdrop of the rain. You finally fished out the pack, your shaking fingers struggling to peel back the plastic. You kept your head down, focusing entirely on the task, your eyes never quite landing on Yeosang. You couldn’t afford to look at him. Yeosang was too smart; he saw the frame data of a person’s soul, and right now, yours was nothing but corrupted files. “Isn't this what you wanted, Yeosang?” you asked, finally sparking the lighter on the third try. You took a long, desperate drag, the smoke filling your lungs and momentarily steadying the tremors in your chest. “You were the one who kept saying I was a glitch. You were the one who didn’t trust me. Well, congratulations. The error has been corrected. I disconnected.” You leaned back against the damp brick wall of the campus building, blowing a plume of gray smoke into the gray sky. You looked like a stranger—colder, harder, and entirely unreachable. “Tell the Captain he can stop being a ghost,” you said, your voice dropping into a flat, monotone register. “Tell him the server is closed. He should go find a real Radiant to play with. Someone who doesn’t have to use a script to love him.”
Yeosang didn’t move, watching you with that terrifyingly calm intensity. “You’re a terrible liar, Y/N,” he said quietly. “You’re playing a character again. But this one... this ‘I don’t care’ version? Her win-rate is zero. You’re shaking so hard you can barely hold that cigarette, and you expect me to believe feelings are gone?”
You just scoffed, a short, sharp sound intended to dismiss him entirely, but your body betrayed you. Even as your lips curled into a defensive sneer, a single, hot tear escaped the corner of your eye. It traced a slow, burning path through the foundation on your cheek, cutting through the mask you were trying so desperately to rebuild. You didn’t wipe it away. To wipe it would be to acknowledge it was there. Instead, you took another aggressive drag of your cigarette, the tip glowing a fierce, angry red. “Feelings are overrated, Yeosang,” you whispered, your voice finally cracking, betraying the stone-cold persona you were aiming for. “The only way to save the system is to format the whole drive. That’s what I did. I saved him from a fraud.”
“You didn’t save him, you just left him in a room with all the lights turned off. He’s not even playing, Y/N. He just sits at his desk in B-12 and stares at your empty chair. He doesn’t even care about the Summer Open anymore.” He reached out, his hand hesitating in the air before he gently, tentatively, plucked the cigarette from your shaking fingers. He dropped it into the wet puddle at your feet, where it hissed once and died. “He thinks the lie was your way of trying to get away from him before things got ‘real.’ That’s the logic he’s running on now. Is that the version of the truth you want him to keep?”
You finally looked at him. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your eyeliner smudged into dark shadows that made you look haunted.
“He doesn’t have it in him to hate you, and he’s too far gone for pity. He just wants his person back. Not the MVP. Just the girl who blew him a kiss while chopping carrots.”
“The first phase of Summer Open is in three days,” Yeosang continued, his voice regaining a sliver of its tactical edge. “Mingi and I... we signed the roster. My friend from high-school, Jongho, took Seonghwa’s place for the tournament. Your spot is open.”
“My spot is open?” you repeated, your voice a hollow echo. “Yeosang, did you miss the part where I’m a liar? I can’t play. I can’t even hold my crosshair in the right position without hyperventilating.”
Yeosang’s tiny smirk didn’t reach his eyes, but it was the most Level Zero thing you’d seen in days. “I didn’t say you were playing. I’m a realist, Y/N. I know you’re still a bottom-tier scrub who probably still looks at her keyboard to find the ‘W’ key." He took a half-step closer, his expression turning deadly serious. “But you can still help Yunho make his dream work.”
You looked up at him, your eyes red-rimmed and stinging. “How? By showing up and letting him see how much I played him?”
“No,” Yeosang countered. “By bringing the real Viper. Talk to Wooyoung. Tell him to play with us. Even if it’s just for the first phase. He knows us. He knows our rotations. He was the one who was playing the entire time anyway—he might as well get the credit for the headshots.” He stepped closer, the shadow of the umbrella fully engulfing you. “Yunho is breaking, Y/N. If Wooyoung steps in, it gives us a fighting chance. And it gives you a chance to be there. Not as a player, but as the girl who actually cares whether he wins or loses.” Yeosang reached out, his hand hesitating before he gave your shoulder a single, stiff nudge—the closest thing to a hug he could offer without breaking his own character. “Tell Wooyoung he’s subbing in. Tell him the roster is waiting. And you?” Yeosang’s gaze turned piercing, his eyes searching yours. “You show up at the arena. You stand behind him. You be the person he actually fell in love with, and let the lie die. We have seventy-two hours to fix the logic, Y/N. Don’t waste them crying in the rain.”
The air inside the players’ lounge was thick with the smell of energy drinks, and the muffled, rhythmic thumping of the main stage’s bass. On the other side of the soundproof walls, fans were cheering, but inside the small room, the silence was suffocating.
Yunho was sitting at the edge of his chair, his head buried in his hands. He looked hollow—his jersey hung loosely on his broad shoulders, and the vibrant, determined leader who usually commanded B-12 had been replaced by a man running on nothing but autopilot. He didn’t even look up when the door hissed open.
“The fifth player is here,” Jongho announced, his voice echoing off the clinical white walls.
“Yeosang said he was bringing a ringer,” Mingi muttered, pacing the small room and checking his watch. “Some guy from the library? Who plays tactical shooters in a library?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Yunho rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. “We’re just here to fill the slot so we don’t get blacklisted for a no-show. We’re not winning anything today.” Yunho let out a heavy, tired breath, his voice muffled by his palms. “Just... tell him to come on in. I’ll give him the tactical brief in five minutes.”
“Actually,” Jongho muttered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “I don’t think he needs a brief.”
The door creaked open.
Yunho didn’t even look up at first, not until the heavy, rhythmic tread of two people entering made him lift his head. Yeosang walked in first, but it was the figure behind him that made the air vanish from the room. Wooyoung stepped in; he wasn't wearing a jersey; he was dressed in his usual oversized hoodie, a pair of high-end noise-canceling headphones draped around his neck. He looked like he was walking onto a battlefield he already owned.
Yunho’s brow furrowed, his brain trying to categorize the face. He’d seen him in photos on your phone. He’d heard his voice in the background of your calls. Then, in a sudden, violent motion, he surged to his feet. The chair he’d been sitting in skidded back, hitting the wall. “No,” Yunho hissed, his face contorting with a sudden, white-hot fury. His eyes weren’t just angry; they were devastated. “Absolutely not. Yeosang, what the hell is this?”
“Yunho, sit down,” Yeosang said calmly.
“I’m not playing with him!” Yunho roared, stepping toward Wooyoung. He was a head taller, his frame vibrating with a dangerous, unstable energy. “I’m withdrawing. We’re done.” Yunho turned to grab his bag, his movements jerky and frantic. He was done being the Captain. He was just a man who had been broken by the person he trusted most.
“I’m not here for you, Yunho. I’m here because of her,” Wooyoung said, stepping closer, refusing to be intimidated by the Captain’s height. “You want to withdraw? Fine. Throw away the Summer Open. But don’t act like you don’t know who I am.”
“I know exactly who you are,” Yunho spat.
“I’m the Viper,” Wooyoung corrected him, his eyes flashing. “I know the C-site retake on Haven. I know the wall-drop on Bind. I know that when you’re stressed, you over-rotate to A-short and leave the flank exposed. I know the way you breathe when you’re about to make a play, Yunho. I know all of it because I’ve been in your ear for weeks.”
Yunho’s face went pale, his grip on the bag loosening.
“I played those rounds with you,” Wooyoung continued, stepping into Yunho’s personal space. “When you clutched that 1v3 on Icebox and screamed because you were so happy? That was me holding the angle for you. When you told Y/N that she was the smartest player you’d ever met? You were talking about my brain. I know this team better than Jongho or Yeosang ever could. I am Level Zero’s strategy.”
The room went deathly quiet. Mingi looked like he was witnessing a car crash in slow motion.
“She’s outside,” Wooyoung whispered, his voice softening just enough to hit Yunho where it hurt. “She’s a mess. She thinks she ruined your life. But she’s the one who begged me to come here. She’s the one who said that you deserve this dream, even if you hate the person who helps you get it.” Wooyoung reached into his bag and pulled out his mouse, placing it on the desk with a heavy thud. “We have twenty minutes until we hit the stage,” Wooyoung said, looking Yunho dead in the eye. “You can hate me. You can never speak to her again. But don’t you dare let these guys lose because you’re too proud to play with the person who’s had your back since day one.”
Yunho stared at the mouse, then at Wooyoung. His chest was heaving, the fury fighting a losing battle against the sheer, undeniable logic of the situation. He looked like he wanted to scream, but instead, he let out a long, shuddering exhale. “If you miss a single lineup,” Yunho rasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and grief, “I’m killing the power to your PC myself.”
Wooyoung’s mouth twitched into a small, sharp smirk. “I don’t miss, Captain. Patch me in.”
Five minutes before the stage call, Yunho couldn’t breathe. He needed a second—just one second away from Wooyoung’s gaze and the suffocating reality of the tournament. “I need a minute,” he muttered under his nose, voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and shoved through the heavy door, stepping out into the industrial hallway.
He didn’t even make it three steps when he saw you. You were leaning against the cold concrete wall directly across from the door, your arms wrapped tightly around your middle as if you were trying to keep yourself from falling apart. Your hair was pulled up neatly, but your eyes were red-rimmed, staring at the floor.
Yunho froze. The fury that had been sustaining him in the room for the last fifteen minutes suddenly drained out of his heels, leaving him hollow and dangerously fragile.
At the sound of the door closing behind him, you flinched, head snapping up. Yunho looked weary, his broad shoulders hunched as if he were carrying the physical weight of the arena’s ceiling. He had his game face on—that terrifying, focused mask he wore when he was about to enter a high-stakes clutch—but it was cracked with pain that made him look older than his years. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The distance between you was barely six feet, but it felt like a canyon filled with every lie, every kiss, and every shattered promise.
“Yunho,” you whispered, your voice cracking.
But he didn’t even flinch. He turned his eyes to the neon exit sign at the end of the hall, and began walking, his stride long and purposeful. It was as if you were a non-playable character he was simply pathing around. The coldness of his silence was more violent than any shout could have been.
“Yunho, please, just—just one second,” you said, hurrying to keep pace with him. “I just wanted to wish you luck. I know... I know things are a mess, but Wooyoung is amazing. He’s going to do great as a substitute. He knows the game front to back, he’ll hit every timing, I promise. He’ll make sure Level Zero gets the win you deserve.”
Still, he said nothing, his jaw was set so tight you could see the muscle leaping in his cheek. He was treating you like a hallucination, a glitch in his system that he was determined to ignore until the map changed.
“Yunho, look at me,” you pleaded, your eyes blurring with fresh tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t walk into that stage carrying all this hate. Just win. Just take the dream and run with it.”
He reached the end of the hall, his hand extending toward the heavy metal bar of the arena door. He was going to walk through it and leave you in the shadows of the backstage, and you knew that once that door closed, the disconnect would be permanent. Without thinking, you reached out and snatched his wrist. Your fingers clamped around the bone of his forearm, your touch desperate and grounding. The sudden contact was like an electric shock. Yunho stopped dead. For a long moment, he stayed with his back to you, his arm rigid in your grasp. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the frantic pulse of his blood beneath your palm.
“Let go,” he rasped. It wasn’t a command; it was a plea.
“Not until you hear me,” you choked out, your grip tightening even as your hands began to shake. “I know I’m a liar. I know I’m a ‘bottom-tier scrub.’ But the way I feel about you—that wasn’t a script. That was the only real thing I had.”
He slowly turned his head, looking at your hand on his wrist before his gaze finally traveled up to your face. His eyes were dark, devoid of the honey-brown warmth you used to find safety in. He looked down at you, and for the first time, you saw the full extent of the damage. He wasn’t just mad; he was grieving. “Why are you here? To watch me fail in person?”
“I’m here because you’re not a failure,” you whispered, your voice trembling so hard it was barely audible. “And because I couldn’t let you walk into that stage thinking you were alone.”
Yunho let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Alone? Y/N, I’ve never been more alone than I was the second I realized the girl I loved was a character someone else was playing.”
“No, the girl you kissed was real. The girl who stayed up until 3:00 AM listening to you talk about your dreams is real.”
Yunho’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor between you. “You treated my heart like a game you had to cheat at to win.” He looked at you, and the exhaustion in his eyes broke your heart all over again. “You’re still doing it,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re still trying to manage my stats. You think you can just wish me luck and hand me a ‘substitute’ and everything will be optimised again? You think a win in a video game is going to fill the hole you ripped in my chest?”
“I just want you to be happy,” your fingers slipping against his skin as he slowly, firmly, began to pull his arm away.
“Then you shouldn’t have made me love a lie,” he said, his voice flat and final. He didn’t jerk away; he simply uncoupled himself from you with a clinical, heartbreaking precision.
“Wooyoung’s the best, Yunho. He’ll get you to the finals. He’ll make Level Zero real.”
“Level Zero was already real to me! I didn’t care about the tournament and pro-status! I didn’t care about the Radiant rank! I cared about you. I would have played in the bottom tier forever if it meant I was playing with you.” He reached out, his hand hovering near your face, his fingers trembling with the urge to touch you, to see if you were still warm, still his. But he stopped himself, his hand curling into a fist as he pulled it back. “And now, I have to go play a game with a stranger who helped you break my heart,” he said, turning back toward the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, his back to you. “And god help me, I still hope we win. Just so you don’t have to feel guilty for ruining that, too.”
He pushed the door open, and the roar of the crowd from the main stage flooded the hallway like a wave of sound—screams, casters shouting, the heavy bass of the intro music. It was the sound of his dream, and it was deafening.
Yunho stepped into the light without looking back, the heavy door swinging shut and leaving you in the sudden, crushing silence of the hallway. You stood there staring at your empty hand, the ghost of his pulse still burning in your fingertips.
You hadn’t stayed for the trophy presentation or the post-match interviews. You hadn’t even stayed to see if Yunho’s face lit up when the word VICTORY finally splashed across the jumbotron. The moment the casters screamed that Level Zero had secured the third qualifying spot, you had bolted.
You were curled into a ball on the living room floor, your back against the sofa and a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff cradled against your chest like a lifeline. The room was dark when the front door groaned open.
Heavy footsteps thudded in the hallway—the sound of someone exhausted but riding a massive wave of leftover adrenaline. A bag was dropped unceremoniously, and then the light flickered on, blindingly bright and clinical.
“Holy fuck—Y/N?” Wooyoung stood in the doorway. He looked like he’d been through a war. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes were bloodshot from staring at a monitor for hours, and he was still wearing the Level Zero jersey—the one with the blank space on the back where a name should have been. He looked down at you, his gaze traveling from your tear-streaked face to the bottle in your hand. He didn’t make a joke. He didn’t even smirk. He just let out a long, shuddering sigh and leaned against the doorframe.
“We won,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Qualified. Third seed. We’re going to the second stage in two weeks.”
You let out a wet, jagged laugh, taking a swig from the bottle. “Congratulations, Legend. I guess ‘Viper’ really was the MVP after all.”
“Don’t do that,” Wooyoung snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through your drunken haze. He walked over and sat on the floor across from you, his legs splaying out. He looked at the bottle, then back at you. “It was a bloodbath, Y/N. Mingi almost threw in the second map, and Yeosang... Yeosang actually yelled. But Yunho...”
You flinched at the name, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don't want to hear it.”
“You’re going to hear it,” Wooyoung countered, reaching over and firmly prying the bottle from your hands. He set it out of reach. “He played like a demon. I’ve never seen anything like it. It wasn’t even tactical anymore—he was just violent. Every time I gave a call-out, he executed it before I could even finish the sentence. He didn’t look at me once.”
You buried your face in your knees, your shoulders starting to shake. “He hates me, Woo. He looked at me in that hallway and I saw it. I’ve deleted him. I’ve corrupted everything he ever felt.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Wooyoung said, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of his usual sarcasm. He reached out, awkwardly patting your knee. “He’s just... he’s processing. After the last round, when the crowd was screaming and the casters were losing their minds, he just sat there. He didn’t cheer. He didn’t high-five Mingi. He just stared at the floor for a full minute before he walked off stage.”
Wooyoung looked at the jersey he was wearing, his fingers picking at a loose thread.
“He asked me something before I left,” Wooyoung whispered.
You looked up, your vision blurred and swimming. “What?”
“He asked if the Viper’s Pit—the way I play it, the way I stall the spike—if that was the version of the game I taught you.” Wooyoung looked you dead in the eye. “I told him no. I told him I couldn’t teach you how to be me, because you were too busy trying to be someone he’d love.”
You let out a sob, your forehead hitting your knees with a dull thud. “I ruined his dream, didn’t I? Even though he won, I ruined it.”
“No,” Wooyoung said, standing up and offering you a hand to pull you off the cold floor. “You just turned his dream into a complicated quest. But you? You need to sleep. You smell like a distillery and regret.”
You didn’t take his hand. Instead, you tilted sideways as your body, heavy and uncoordinated from the alcohol, refused to cooperate. The room felt like it was running at a low frame rate, every movement lagging behind your brain’s desperate commands. “I can’t… I can’t get up, Woo,” you slurred, the words thick and clumsy, tumbling over each other. You reached out for the bottle he’d taken away, your fingers grasping at empty air. “Gimme that back. I need to… I need to format. Too many files. Too much… garbage.”
“You’ve had enough ‘formatting’ for one night,” Wooyoung muttered. He crouched back down, his face a mix of exhaustion and genuine concern. He hooked an arm under your knees and another behind your back, hoisting you up. Your head lolled onto his shoulder, the world spinning in dizzying, nauseating circles. You felt like a lead weight in his arms, your limbs dangling uselessly.
“It’s all my fault,” you whimpered into the fabric of his jersey—the jersey that smelled like the arena, like sweat, and like the dream you’d poisoned. “He was so… he was so happy, Woo. Did you see his face before? When he thought I was… her?”
“Y/N, stop,” Wooyoung said, his voice strained as he carried you toward the couch.
“No, listen,” you insisted, your voice rising into a sharp, drunken wail. You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him close until your blurred vision finally focused on his eyes. “I stole it. I stole his first win. I stole his first… everything. He’s gonna look at that trophy and he’s just gonna see my lying face.”
He set you down on your bed, but you didn’t sit up. You slumped over, your face buried in the pillows, your voice muffled and wet with fresh tears. “I love him so much I erased myself,” you sobbed, the words coming out in a broken, rhythmic chant. “I erased myself until there was nothing left but a mask, and now… now the mask is broken and there’s nothing underneath. He’s in love with nothing. I’m just… I’m a bottom-tier scrub. A zero. I’m level zero.”
“You’re drunk and you’re being dramatic,” Wooyoung said, though he didn’t say it meanly. He pulled a blanket over your shaking shoulders, tucking it around you with a rough, brotherly kind of care.
“I want to go back,” you rasped, your eyes fluttering shut as the darkness of the room started to pull at you. “I want to go back to the Quad. Before the daily quest. Before the Viper.” You let out a long, shuddering breath that smelled of vodka and heartbreak. “I just want him to be okay. Why can’t he just… be okay without me?”Wooyoung didn’t answer. He just sat on the edge of the bed, watching you descend into a fitful, alcohol-heavy sleep. He looked at his phone, a notification from the team Discord glowing in the dark—a message from Yunho that simply read: Good games today. See you at practice. No emojis. No exclamation points. Just the cold, mechanical ghost of a Captain who had won the game but lost the world.
“You have to eat something other than nicotine and regret, Y/N,” Wooyoung muttered one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of the balcony.
You didn’t turn around. You just watched a stray ember fall from your cigarette. “I know.” You were curled into the corner of the old, outdoor sofa, your knees pulled to your chest, staring out at a city that didn’t know your world had ended. The ashtray on the sill was a mountain of grey stubs, a testament to the days you’d spent watching the sun crawl across the sky without feeling its warmth. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the look on Yunho’s face in the grey morning light that day everything fell down.
Wooyoung dropped a bag of takeout beside you and sighed, the sound heavy with a guilt he tried to mask with his usual bravado. “At this point, you’re going to get lung cancer,” he said, his voice flat as he walked over and snatched the cigarette from between your fingers. He crushed it into the ashtray, but the joke didn’t land. It didn’t even hover. He sat on the edge of the sill, looking down at you. The vibrant, chaotic Wooyoung who had sent those texts—the one who was so excited about a gym guy—was gone, replaced by a man who looked exhausted by his own regret. “Y/N, it’s been over two weeks now,” he said softly, his hand hovering near your shoulder before he pulled it back, sensing the invisible wall you’d built. “I can count on one hand the meals you’ve eaten. I’m worried.”
You didn’t move. You didn’t even blink. “I’m not hungry, Woo.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I was the one who pushed the lie. I was the one who sent those stupid fucking texts.” Wooyoung reached out and took your cold, trembling hand in his. “Please stop blaming yourself. Just one bite of the kimchi fried rice. For me? If you die of a broken heart, I have to live with the fact that I’m the one who broke it.” Wooyoung’s voice was desperate, clawing at the edges of the hollow shell you’d become. He hated this quiet version of you. He missed the girl who was sharp-tongued and untouchable—the one who could out-drink and out-insult anyone in a five-mile radius. “Where is my best friend, Y/N?” he asked, his voice rising, trying to inject some of his old fire into the stagnant air of the balcony. He nudged your shoulder, his eyes searching yours for even a flicker of the old light. “Let’s just go out. Let’s get drunk and get him out of your system like we always do!”
You finally looked at him, but your expression was dead, your eyes flat.
“Remember that frat party we went to after that dick Juyeon cheated on you?” He let out a sharp, forced laugh. “You threw a drink in his face and made the whole house side with you by midnight. We can do it again! It’s Saturday! Put on your scary liner and those ripped fishnets, and let’s go! I know you’ll feel better once you remind yourself you’re that bitch!” He was pleading now, his hands gripping your shoulders as if he could shake you back into existence. “He’s just a guy, Y/N,” Wooyoung lied, his voice trembling because he knew it wasn’t true. “He’s just a gamer with a pretty face and a big heart that you happen to break. So what? People break hearts every day! You’re the girl who doesn’t care, remember? You’re the one who calls the shots!”
You looked down at the bag of cold kimchi fried rice, the smell of it making your stomach turn. “That was different, Woo,” you whispered, your voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a well. “Juyeon was a dick. I wanted to hurt him back.” You finally turned your head to look at the empty space on the balcony where you used to imagine Yunho standing, his large frame blocking the wind for you. “Yunho... he wasn’t a dick. He was the only person who ever looked at me and saw past ‘that bitch.’ He saw the girl who drank coffee. He saw someone worth loving.” You let out a jagged, dry sob that felt like it was tearing your throat open. “I can’t put on the liner. I can’t go out and pretend I’m untouchable when I’m the one who touched him and ruined everything.”
Wooyoung’s face fell, his hype man mask finally shattering. He pulled you into a tight, suffocating hug, burying his face in your hair. “I know,” he choked out, his tears finally hitting the collar of your hoodie. “I know he was different.”
“He’s surviving, Y/N,” Wooyoung added. “He doesn’t speak to me much beside the game talk but... he tries to survive. Just like you’re trying to do. But he’s doing it by moving forward. By having a purpose. You’re doing it by sitting in this ashtray.” He stood up, his shadow stretching across the balcony. “You can’t stay in this phase forever while he’s out there becoming a machine just to forget you existed. Come on. Get up. If he’s moving on, you have to at least pretend to do the same.”
The silence between you and Wooyoung stretched thin, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic and the rhythmic thump-thump of your own hollow heart. He wasn’t giving up. He saw you disappearing, fading into the upholstery and the smoke, and it terrified him. “I’ll let you do any weird, reckless thing you want tonight,” Wooyoung whispered, his grip on your hand tightening. “We’ll go to that underground club. We’ll spray-paint a bridge. Anything. Just... please. Go out with me. Move from this spot before the floor swallows you whole.”
You looked at him, his eyes were bloodshot from hours in front of the monitor, and he looked smaller, drained of his usual neon energy. He was drowning in his own guilt, and you realized that by staying here, you were keeping him under the water with you. “Any reckless thing?” you rasped, your throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper.
Wooyoung nodded frantically, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. “Anything. You want to get a tattoo? You want to jump off a bridge into a safety net? You want to go find Juyeon and key his car just for the hell of it? I’m your man.”
You stood up slowly, your joints stiff and protesting. You walked past him into the living room, your eyes landing on his PC—the machine that had been the conduit for your greatest joy and your most spectacular failure. You reached for your phone, the screen cracked from when Yunho had slammed it down. You stared at the jagged lines spider-webbing across the glass, reflecting the ghost of your own face. “I don’t want a tattoo,” you said, your voice finally gaining a sharp edge. “And I don’t want to key a car.” Wooyoung watched you as you grabbed your leather jacket from the chair. You shook off the weeks of ash and dust, the scent of leather cutting through the stagnant air of the apartment. You felt a cold, hard resolve settle into your bones—the kind that only comes when you’ve reached the absolute bottom and realise there’s nowhere left to go but out. “We’re going to The Abyss,” you said, looking him dead in the eye. “And,” you added, your voice dropping into a reckless, dangerous low, “we’re going to get fuckfaced drunk.”
Wooyoung’s eyes widened, a slow, wild grin creeping onto his face as the shock wore off. This was the mess he knew. This was the chaos he understood. He didn’t care if it was a bad idea; he just cared that you were finally moving. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, snatching his car keys off the counter with a flourish. “The Abyss it is. If we’re going to go down, we might as well go down in a blaze of cheap beer and bad decisions.”
“I want to forget,” you said, pulling your hair back into a tight, messy knot. “I want to be so far gone that when I close my eyes, I don’t see his face looking at me like I’m a toxin.”
“Then let’s get moving,” Wooyoung said, throwing the door open. “Put on the liner, Y/N. Make it thick. We’re going to remind that bar—and anyone from Level Zero who happens to be lurking—that your Viper might have been a ghost, but you’re a fucking haunting.”
As you stepped out into the hallway, leaving the ashtray and the silence behind, you didn’t feel better. You felt hollowed out and electrified. You weren’t moving forward, not really—you were just running headfirst into the dark.
And for now, the dark was the only place you felt at home.
The neon sign for The Abyss flickered in a shade of neon violet, casting long, distorted shadows across the cracked pavement as you and Wooyoung stepped out of the car.
“Tonight,” Wooyoung muttered, adjusting his jacket collar, his eyes darting toward the entrance with a mix of anxiety and adrenaline. “Tonight, we’re just two people looking to erase the last month from our collective memory. No names, no flings. Just the bottom of a glass.”
As you pushed through the heavy, sticker-covered door, the air hit you, thick and sweltering, a claustrophobic haze of cheap beer, sweat, and cloying fruit vape smoke. The floor was tacky under your boots, sticking with every step as you navigated past clusters of loud, shoved-together tables.
“Oh, shit,” Wooyoung hissed, his hand tightening painfully on your elbow. He came to a dead stop, his breath hitching as he scanned the crowded rail. “Y/N, Mingi’s working.” He tried to yank you back toward the exit, his voice climbing into a frantic whisper. “Maybe this was a mistake. Let’s just go to The Per Mille. It’s a bit more expensive, but we can still get trashed if I flirt enough with the bartender—please, he’s going to see us.”
“No,” you said, the word coming out sharp. The lukewarm vodka from the convenience store you’d downed in the car was finally hitting your bloodstream, radiating a false, hollow warmth through your chest. “I’m not hiding. I hid enough in our apartment.” You didn’t just walk; you moved with a reckless intent, heading straight for the bar and stopping squarely in Mingi’s line of sight. You climbed onto a high stool, the cold metal biting into your thighs through your ripped fishnets. With your heavy, smeared eyeliner and disheveled hair, you knew you looked exactly like the disaster you were. “Two shots of the cheapest vodka you have,” you called out, your voice cutting through the muddy bass of the speakers. “And keep them coming until I can’t feel my face.”
Wooyoung scrambled onto the stool next to you, looking like he wanted to bolt for the fire exit. “Y/N, stop,” he pleaded under his breath. “Mingi just looked over. He’s frozen... he’s staring right at us. He will give me such a hard time tomorrow during the B-12 meeting.” You didn’t turn. You didn’t flinch. You simply picked up the first plastic shot glass, the cheap alcohol stinging a small, raw cut on your lip. You could feel Mingi’s gaze—heavy, hurt, and burning with a dozen questions—pinning you to the spot.
Mingi stopped wiping the counter, the rag limp in his hand. He looked at you, then at the guilt-ridden Wooyoung, and finally at the shots you were about to down. The boy who usually had a laugh for everyone looked like he’d just seen a ghost walk into his bar.
You tossed the shot back, the burn of the vodka searing your throat, and stared at your own distorted reflection in the grimy bar mirror. You were right there. You were a mess. And you wanted it to hurt.
Mingi didn’t move for a long beat. The rowdy college kids at the other end of the bar were shouting for a round of pitchers, but he ignored them, his eyes locked on yours. The neon violet light caught the edge of his jaw, making him look sharper.
He finally walked over, his boots heavy on the sticky floorboards. He didn’t say a word as he reached out and took the second shot cup—the one meant for Wooyoung—and dumped it into the sink behind the bar with a sharp, decisive splash.
“Mingi, hey— Didn’t know you were working today.” Wooyoung started, his voice cracking, but Mingi cut him off with a look so cold it could have frozen the cheap beer taps.
“You’ve got some nerve bringing her here,” Mingi said, his voice low and vibrating with a bass that cut right through the music. He leaned over the counter, his large hands gripping the edge until his knuckles turned white. He was looking at you—at your smeared makeup, at the way your hands were trembling despite your defiant posture. “You look like shit, Y/N.”
“Good,” you rasped, pushing your empty cup toward him. “That was the goal. Now fill it up again.”
“No.” Mingi snatched the cup and threw it into the trash. “I’m not helping you drown whatever’s left of your conscience. You think being a disaster makes up for what you did? You think if you get messy enough, the lie just... dissolves?”
“I’m just a customer, Min,” you hissed, leaning in until you could smell the cleaner and smoke on him. “Just give me the drink and do your fucking job.”
Mingi let out a harsh, dry laugh. “My job? My job is usually keeping people like you from making mistakes they can’t take back. But you’re a pro at that, aren’t you?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a secret and a threat. “He’s in the back, Y/N. In the ‘Staff Only’ booth. We’re staying for a beer after my shift, Seonghwa is on his way. If you stay here, he’s going to see you. Both of them will. And I swear to God, if you break what’s left of him tonight, I will personally throw you out of this basement.”
“He's here?” you whispered, the bravado finally cracking like thin ice.
“We should go," Wooyoung muttered, tugging at your sleeve. “Y/N, come on, let’s go. This was a bad idea, let’s just—”
“No,” you said, but the word lacked its previous fire. You looked past Mingi, toward the dark, shadowed corner behind the kegs where a single ‘Staff Only’ sign flickered. You leaned across the sticky wood of the bar, your fingers curling into the fabric of Mingi’s work shirt, yanking him closer until your foreheads were almost touching. The smell of cheap vodka on your breath mixed with the heavy scent of his citrus cologne. “I don’t care where he is,” you hissed, your voice a filled desperation and intoxication. “I don’t care if he’s watching. Keep. Them. Coming.”
“Fine,” Mingi barked, his voice rough with a mixture of pity. He ripped his shirt out of your grasp. “If you want to disappear, Y/N, I’ll help you do it.” He didn’t use the plastic cups anymore. He grabbed a heavy glass and slammed a bottle of the bottom-shelf vodka onto the rail. He poured a double, then a triple, the clear liquid sloshing over the sides. “Drink up,” Mingi said, his eyes hard. “But when you start puking, Wooyoung is the one carrying you out. I’m not touching you.”
You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the glass, the weight of it grounding you as you tipped it back. “Another,” you gasped, slamming the glass down.
Wooyoung reached out, his face pale. “Y/N, slow down. You’re going to get sick, please—”
“Shut up!” you snapped, your head starting to swim as the room began to tilt on its axis. The violet neon light began to bleed into long, pulsing streaks of colour. “You wanted ‘that bitch,’ right? Well, she’s here! And she’s fucking having a blast!”
Mingi poured another, his expression grim. He was watching you like a car crash in slow motion. Around you, the bar roared—students laughing, glasses clinking, a group in the corner shouting about a “sick play” on the TV. You felt the stool beneath you sway. Your skin felt too tight, your chest too heavy. You leaned your head back, letting the light blind you, your eyes stinging as the vodka finally began to numb your brain.
“You know what?” Wooyoung barked, his voice sharp with a sudden, reckless fury. “Fuck it.” He didn’t try to stop you anymore. He didn’t try to be the voice of reason. He reached out and snatched the bottle of bottom-shelf vodka right out of Mingi’s reach. He didn’t bother with a shot glass. He tipped his head back and took a long, burning pull directly from the bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the fire. Wooyoung slammed the bottle back onto the sticky wood, his eyes watering, a wild, manic light returning to his face. “If we’re going down, we’re going down together!” He leaned in closer, his face flushed under the pulsing violet strobes. The adrenaline of the alcohol seemed to tear a secret right out of his throat—one he had been guarding like a bruised ego for the last week. “And you know what? Fuck the gym guy!” he yelled over the bass, the confession coming out as a jagged, hysterical bark.
You blinked at him, your vision lagging behind your movements. “What?”
“The guy from the texts! The one I was so excited about!” Wooyoung let out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh and took another swig from the bottle. “He never showed up. I sat at that goddamn bistro for two hours like a fucking loser, checking my hair in the window reflection!” He shoved a lock of hair out of his eye, his face falling into the same raw misery you were feeling. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to be the heartbroken one while you were also falling apart,” he confessed, his voice cracking. “But we’re both losers, aren’t we? I‘m a failed date, and you’re a ghost in a leather jacket. We’re the perfect pair of fuck-ups!”
The irony hit you like a physical weight. While you were destroying your life for a lie, Wooyoung had been trying to build a fantasy that didn’t even want him.
“He ghosted you?” you slurred, a ghost of a bitter smile twitching on your lips.
“Ghosted. Stood up. I never showed up to the gym again,” Wooyoung cheered, raising his glass to the empty air. “Who cares, right? I just spent six months crushing on him! But now we’ve got rail-vodka and each other!” He grabbed your arm, pulling you off the stool. Your legs buckled, and you stumbled into his chest, the world spinning. “Come on!” he screamed, dragging you toward the the sticky dance floor where the bass was loud enough to stop a heart.
Mingi watched from behind the bar, his hands gripping the counter so hard the wood creaked. He looked toward the back hallway, his face a mask of dread, knowing that the louder Wooyoung got, the closer the ‘Staff Only’ door was to opening.
You let Wooyoung pull you into the crowd, the heat of the bodies and the roar of the music finally swallowing you whole. You were your old self now—the one who didn’t care, the one who didn’t cry, the one who was too drunk to realise she was breaking her own heart with every step.
The universe had a sick sense of humor.
Just as Wooyoung was spinning you into the middle of the sweaty, heaving crowd, screaming about being a failure, he slammed back-first into a solid wall of muscle. The impact was enough to send Wooyoung stumbling, his grip on your arm the only thing keeping you both upright. “Hey, watch it—” Wooyoung started, his alcohol-fuelled bravado peaking—until he looked up. The air seemed to vanish from the bar. Standing there, illuminated by a sudden flash of white light, was a man who looked like he’d been rendered in 4K while the rest of the bar was stuck in 480p. Broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of a tight white tee, a sharp jawline, and—as he looked down at the disheveled mess that was Wooyoung—a single, devastating dimple appeared.
“Wooyoung?” the guy asked. His voice was a soft, deep rumble that felt like it belonged in a velvet-lined library, not this neon-soaked dive.
It was him. The gym guy.
Wooyoung froze, looking less like a bar-goer and more like a deer caught in headlights. His mouth hung open, a stray drop of vodka glistening on his chin. “You…”
“Why didn’t you show up?” the guy asked suddenly, clearly surprised by his own bluntness, his hand reaching out to steady Wooyoung’s waist. His palm looked massive against Wooyoung’s small frame. There was no anger in his voice—just a genuine, heartbreaking confusion. “I waited at Park Bistro for three hours. I thought... maybe you changed your mind because I had to leave so fast after asking you out.”
Wooyoung’s jaw hit the floor. The windows in the background could have exploded and he wouldn’t have noticed. “The Park Bistro?” Wooyoung shrieked, his voice cracking. “No! No, no. I was at Bistro Verre! The one on the other side of the park!”
The realisation hit them both at once—a classic, low-budget sitcom misunderstanding that had cost them weeks of unnecessary heartache.
You stood there, swaying on your feet, watching the scene unfold through a thick, violet haze. The irony was so sharp it was practically sobering. Wooyoung’s fantasy had just materialised out of the smoke and grabbed him by the waist, while your guy was still MIA.
“You waited?” Wooyoung whispered, his bravado having completely evaporated, replaced by a look of sheer, shimmering wonder. “Three hours?”
“I had a book,” the guy admitted, a faint, sheepish flush creeping up his neck that made him look human for the first time. “And I really wanted to see you again. I thought... maybe I’d misread the vibe. I almost deleted your number.”
Wooyoung let out a sound that was half-sob, half-gasp. “If you had deleted it, I would have had to join a monastery. Or move to Mars. I’ve been mourning us for days! I’ve been telling everyone you were a hallucination!”
The stranger laughed—a rich, melodic sound that seemed to cut right through the haze. “I’m San. And I’m definitely not a hallucination.” He finally looked at you, giving a polite, slightly awkward nod of acknowledgement to the third wheel currently leaning against a sticky high-top table. “Is he... is he okay to walk? Or should I get him some water?”
“He needs an exorcism and a grilled cheese,” you slurred, waving a hand dismissively. “But mostly, he needs you to stop him from falling over. He’s all yours, San. Please, take him.”
San smiled—that dimple again, a literal hazard to public safety—and turned back to Wooyoung. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. I think we’re owed a do-over, don’t you? Somewhere with zero strobes and a lot of water.”
“Go,” you shoved Wooyoung’s shoulder weakly. “Go be with your gym crush, Woo. I’m fine.”
“Y/N, wait—” Wooyoung tried to reach for you, but San was already began to weave through the crowd, his large hand stayed firmly anchored on the small of Wooyoung’s back, guiding him through the chaos.
You watched them go, a tiny, bitter-sweet smile tugging at your lips. The universe was still a jerk, sure—but every now and then, it actually nailed the landing.
Your legs felt like they belonged to someone else as you pushed through the heavy, sticker-covered door that led to the smoking area. It was a cramped, fenced-in concrete slab behind the bar, lit by a single flickering amber bulb and the orange cherries of a dozen cigarettes. The cold night air hit your lungs like a slap, making your head spin even faster.
You fumbled for your pack, your fingers shaking so hard you almost dropped it, when a shadow detached itself from the brick wall.
“Need a light?”
The voice was like a nightmare from a past life. You looked up, squinting through the haze, and felt your stomach drop. Standing there, looking exactly as arrogant and polished as he had freshman year, was Juyeon. The dick from your past. The one who had cheated, the one who had started the cycle of you building walls and calling yourself a bitch. He was leaning against the fence, a silver lighter flicking open and shut in his hand with a rhythmic clack-clack.
“Juyeon,” you breathed, the name tasting like acid.
“The one and only,” he smirked, stepping into the light. He looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on your smeared liner and the way you were swaying. “You look like you’ve had a rough night, Y/N. I heard you were hanging around with the geeks. Didn’t think they’d be your type.” He walked closer, the silver lighter sparking a flame that danced in his dark eyes. “What’s the matter?” Juyeon taunted, his voice a low, condescending drawl. “Did the stuttering nerd realise that playing video games doesn’t make you any less of a—”
“Get lost,” you spat, but your knees buckled as you tried to push past him.
Juyeon’s hand shot out, grabbing your upper arm with a grip that was far too tight. “I don’t think so. You look like you can’t even find the door, Y/N. Let’s get you out of here before you embarrass yourself even more.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you snarled, trying to wrench your arm back. The movement made the world tilt on its axis, the gray campus buildings swaying dangerously. You felt pathetic, your legs heavy and uncooperative, while Juyeon stood there like a stone pillar of arrogance.
“Still got that fire, huh?” Juyeon laughed, but it wasn’t a kind sound. He pulled you closer, his chest hitting your shoulder. “It’s embarrassing, Y/N. Look at you. Standing here alone, smelling like a dive bar, crying over some guy who can’t finish a sentence without stuttering. I hang around Seoyun now, she told me about him. Is that what you’ve reduced yourself to? A groupie for a bunch of nobodies?”
“For fuck’s sake,” you hissed, digging your heels into the concrete, but he began to haul you toward the door. He wasn’t being a gentleman; he was dragging you like a trophy he’d reclaimed, his fingers digging into your skin. “Let me go!”
He didn’t listen. He yanked you forward, dragging you back through the heavy metal door and into the pulsing violet chaos of the bar. “I’m doing you a favour,” he muttered, his voice hardening as he yanked you.
Juyeon’s face drifted closer, his breath smelling of expensive mints and something cold. He didn’t just look angry anymore; he looked predatory, his eyes scanning your disheveled state with a look of pure, skin-crawling possession.
“We’re leaving,” he repeated, his voice dropping into a low, revolting murmur against your ear. “You’re going to sit in my car, sober up, and stop acting like a tragic lead in a shitty indie movie.”
“Actually,” he drawled, his grip tightening until it bruised, “Maybe you don’t need to sober up just yet. You always were a lot more… compliant when you’d had a few. Why don’t we go back to my place for old time’s sake? You can show me you haven’t forgotten how to use that mouth? A little thank-you for saving you from your own pathetic breakdown. I bet you’ve missed it.”
The crude, casual way he spoke about you—like you were nothing more than a convenient fix for his ego—shattered the last of your composure. “You’re fucking disgusting,” you choked out, your voice thick with a mix of nausea and terror.
Juyeon pushed through a group of freshmen, his shoulder clipping a tall figure standing near the end of the bar rail.
He leaned in even closer, his teeth almost brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell you what. You give me that blowjob you used to be so good at—the one you used to do to get me to stop being mad at you—and maybe I’ll forget how pathetic you look right now. It’ll be just like freshman year, Y/N. Quick, quiet, and you can pretend you’re someone who actually matters for twenty minutes.”
The bile rose in your throat, thick and hot. The memory of the power he used to hold over you—the way he used to make you feel like your only value was in what you could provide for him—slammed into.
“Let her go.”
Mingi.
He looked from Juyeon’s hand on your arm to your pale, terrified face, and his expression went from exhausted to lethal in less than a second.
“Mingi,” you whimpered, the vodka-induced haze making his name sound like a prayer.
Mingi didn’t say a word, he stepped forward, his height dwarfing Juyeon, his shadow swallowing both of you. “I’m going to count to three,” Mingi said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that you’d never heard from the boy who usually spent his time cracking jokes. “And if your hand is still on her when I’m done, you’re going to find out exactly why they call this place The Abyss.”
“Look, man, I know her, we’re on our way to have some fun—” Juyeon started, trying to regain his footing.
“One.”
Juyeon let out a sharp, nervous bark of a laugh, his pride stung by the way the entire bar was now watching him get punked by a guy in a work shirt. He looked at Mingi, then at you, and his face twisted into something ugly and venomous. “Fine!” Juyeon spat, “Take her! You want this pathetic, used-up piece of shit? She’s all yours!” His mouth curled as he leaned in just enough for you to hear it. “Have fun babysitting the sloppy little fuckup.” Then, with a violent shove, Juyeon didn’t just let go—he threw his full weight into your shoulder, launching your limp, uncoordinated body straight at Mingi. He treated you like you were nothing more than trash he couldn’t wait to get rid of.
You let out a short, choked gasp as you flew backward. You were too drunk to find your footing, your boots sliding on the sticky floor. You hit Mingi’s chest hard, the impact knocking the air out of your lungs, and you would have slumped straight to the grimy floor if Mingi hadn’t dropped his guard and caught you in his massive arms, pulling you against him to keep you upright.
“What did you just call her?” Yunho’s voice cracked on the last word, a sound of someone forcing air into lungs that had forgotten how to breathe. He stood a few meters away, his chest heaving under his sweater, but he wasn’t just shaking from rage. If you looked closely—past the shadows and the terrifying set of his jaw—you could see his hands trembling violently. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, his fringe falling onto his eyes, making his features softer. This was the boy whose ears turned red whenever you touched him. Every social instinct in his body was screaming at him to retreat, to hide back in that ‘Staff Only’ room where it was safe and quiet. But the sight of Juyeon treating you like trash was the only thing stronger than his own crippling anxiety.
“Yun, let it go,” Mingi muttered, almost covering you, he wasn’t just shielding you from Juyeon—he was shielding you from seeing Yunho. He knew how much it was costing his best friend to stand his ground.
Yunho’s eyes were fixed on the floor for a split second, his lashes fluttering as he fought the urge to look away, to disappear. Then, he forced his gaze up, locking onto Juyeon with a desperate, shaky resolve. “I... I asked you a question,” Yunho repeated. His voice stuttered, the “I” catching in his throat, but he didn’t back down. He stepped closer, his boots heavy on the sticky floor. “What did you... what did you call her?”
Juyeon, sensing the stutter, tried to regain his footing. He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “What, are you gonna cry, big guy? I said she’s trash. A liar. A used-up—” Then, with an ugly sneer, Juyeon yanked you from Mingi’s grip and hauled you against him, treating you like you were nothing. “I bet you haven’t even seen her without her clothes on, have you? I bet you’ve been real ‘gentle’ with her.” He pulled you flush against him, his hand sliding down to grip your waist possessively, his eyes fixed on Yunho’s pale, frozen face. “But I’ve had her on her knees more times than you’ve played your little games, and trust me—she’s a lot more useful when her mouth is busy than when she’s talking.” Juyeon sneered, his lip curling in a way that made your stomach turn. “She’s trash.” Juyeon’s voice cracked with his own frantic nerves. With a violent, dismissive grunt, he shoved you away from him. You flew backward, the small of your back slamming into the hard, unforgiving edge of the wooden bar. A sharp, sickening thud echoed in your ears as the wood bruised your middle, the impact knocking the remaining breath out of your lungs. You gasped, your vision swimming with white spots as you slumped against the rail, clutching your stomach.
“Y/N!” Yunho’s voice was a panicked sob. The sight of you hitting the bar snapped the last thread of his restraint. Yunho lunged forward, his large frame moving with a desperate, clumsy speed to catch you before you hit the floor. His hands were outstretched, trembling with the singular need to hold you, to check if you were breathing.
But Juyeon wasn’t finished. As Yunho crossed his path, Juyeon planted both hands on Yunho’s chest and shoved him back with everything he had. Yunho stumbled, his boots skidding on the sticky floorboards. He wasn’t a fighter; he didn’t know how to brace himself. He hit the side of a barstool, the metal screeching against the floor, and he stood there, heaving, his face pale and his eyes wide with a terrifying level of shock. “What, big guy?” Juyeon taunted, stepping toward him, emboldened by the fact that Yunho hadn’t swung back. Juyeon poked a finger into Yunho’s shoulder, mocking the tremor in his hands. “You gonna cry now? You gonna go back to your little computer and tell on me? Look at you. You’re shaking like a leaf.” Juyeon leaned in, “I bet you won’t do anything. You’re just a soft, stuttering loser who has a crush on a worthless bitch like her. Go on. Do something.”
Yunho stood there, his chest heaving, his hands fisted so tight they were white. He looked at Juyeon, then his gaze flickered to you—hunched over the bar, gasping for air, looking small and broken.
The shy boy didn’t stutter.
Instead, a deathly, absolute clarity settled over Yunho. The trembling in his hands didn’t stop, but it changed—it wasn’t fear anymore. It was the hum of a machine being pushed past its breaking point. He looked up at Juyeon, and for the first time, his eyes weren’t searching for an exit. They were locked on target. “Mingi,” Yunho’s voice was steady and hauntingly quiet. “Hold her. Don’t let her see this.”
Mingi didn’t hesitate. He saw the look in Yunho’s eyes—the bridge finally snapping—and he lunged for you. He scooped you up, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “Don't look, Y/N,” he grunted, his own voice thick with dread. ”Just don’t look.”
But you heard it.
The sound was wet and heavy—the sound of a fist meeting bone. Yunho didn’t throw a calculated punch; he swung with the desperate, uncoordinated weight of every lie and every heartbreak of the last days. His knuckles caught Juyeon squarely in the jaw, sending the shorter guy reeling back against a pool table.
For a heartbeat, the bar went silent. The music seemed to fade into a dull hum.
But Juyeon wasn’t a shy gamer. He was a guy who had spent his life stepping on people to feel tall. He wiped a streak of blood from his lip, his eyes turning into something rabid. “You actually did it,” Juyeon hissed, a smile spreading across his face. “You’re dead, loser.”
Juyeon lunged. Unlike Yunho’s desperate swing, Juyeon’s movements were practiced and cruel. He tackled Yunho around the waist, the force of it slamming Yunho’s back against the brick pillar with a sickening thud. You heard Yunho let out a choked, airy gasp—the sound of the wind being driven out of him.
“Yunho!” you screamed, tearing your face away just in time to see Juyeon’s fist collide with Yunho’s cheek. Yunho didn’t know how to guard his face. He didn’t know how to slip a punch. He just stayed there, his hands instinctively coming up to protect his head as Juyeon rained blows down on him. Every hit sounded like a hammer striking a hollow wall. Yunho’s legs gave out, and he slid down the bricks, but Juyeon didn’t stop. He grabbed the collar of Yunho’s sweater, dragging him back up just to shove his knee into Yunho’s ribs. “Stop it! For fuck’s sake, Juyeon, you’re gonna kill him!” you shrieked, struggling against Mingi’s grip, but Mingi held you tight, his jaw set, his eyes brimming with a pained, helpless fury. He couldn’t jump in—not while he was holding you, not while the bar's security was finally closing in.
Yunho’s head snapped back, his blonde hair falling over his eyes, now matted with sweat and red. He was trembling with pain of a boy who had never been in a fight in his life. Yet, even as Juyeon’s fist caught him again, Yunho didn’t crawl away. He reached out, his fingers fisting weakly in Juyeon’s jacket, trying to pull him away from where you were standing.
He was still trying to protect you.
“Look at the hero,” Juyeon mocked, pulling back for one last, heavy blow. “Look at the stuttering freak trying to—” Juyeon’s arm was suddenly caught mid-air. Two massive bouncers finally descended, tearing Juyeon away and pinning his arms behind his back.
Yunho collapsed. He hit the sticky floor, his breath coming in wheezing sobs. His face was a map of bruises, his lip split wide, and his eyes—the eyes that used to look at you with such gentle wonder—were glazed and distant.
“Yunnie!” You finally broke free from Mingi, stumbling across the floor until you reached him. You pulled his head into your lap, your tears dripping onto his bruised skin, mixing with the blood. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, please…”
He blinked, trying to focus on you. His hand, still shaking uncontrollably, reached up to touch your cheek. “Are... are you…” he coughed, a wince of pure agony crossing his face as his ribs protested. “Are you okay, Y/N? Did he... did he hurt you again?” He wasn’t thinking about his shattered face. He wasn’t thinking about the crowd of students filming the scene on their phones. He was only thinking about the girl who had lied to him, making sure she was still standing while he lay broken on the floor.
You weren’t just crying; you were shattering, your body trembling with rhythmic sobs that tore through your chest. Your tears hit his hot, bruised skin, washing away some of the blood on his cheek. You reached down, your hands shaking as much as his, and cupped his face. You didn’t care about the people watching, or the cameras, or the fact that Juyeon was being dragged out screaming.
Yunho let out a sharp, pained hiss as your hand brushed over his ribs, but he didn’t jerk away. Instead, he leaned his face into your palm, a broken, shaky exhale escaping his bloodied lips. “Don’t... don’t cry,” he whispered, forcing his eyes open, searching for yours through the haze of pain. “Y/N... look at me.” You pulled back just enough to see him, your vision swimming. His eye was already beginning to swell shut, and the corner of his mouth was torn, but the look he gave you was so profoundly gentle it felt like a physical blow to your soul. “It’s okay,” he rasped, his fingers curling weakly around your wrist, right over the red marks Juyeon had left. He squeezed—just a faint, trembling pressure. “I’m... still here. I didn’t... I didn’t let him take you.”
“You’re an idiot,” you choked out, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. “You can’t fight! Why did you do that? You’re supposed to be focused, you have the second phase—”
“I couldn’t…” He stopped to cough, a wince of pure agony flitting across his features before he settled back into that heartbreakingly soft gaze. “The game doesn’t... it doesn’t matter if you’re not there to see it.”
Behind you, you felt a heavy hand settle on your shoulder. Mingi was kneeling beside the two of you, his face a mask of grim resolve, though his own eyes were glistening. “We have to get him out of here, the police are going to be here in a minute, and he needs a doctor.”
Yunho tried to push himself up, his arms trembling violently under his weight. “I can... I can walk,” he lied, his face going pale from the effort.
“Like hell you can,” Mingi muttered, reaching under Yunho’s arms to hoist him up. As Mingi lifted him, Yunho’s hand didn’t let go of yours. He held on with a desperate, white-knuckled grip, pulling you close to his side even as he leaned his full weight on Mingi. You wrapped your arm around his waist, feeling the heat radiating from his bruised ribs, acting as the crutch he refused to ask for.
The movement of being hoisted up sent a fresh wave of agony through Yunho’s chest, and he leaned heavily into Mingi, his head lolling back for a second as he fought the urge to pass out. His face was a map of disaster—his lip was split, a dark bruise was already blossoming over his cheekbone, and his skin was a sickly, translucent pale.
But as you stepped in to support his other side, wrapping your arm firmly around his waist to steady him, he didn’t look at the exit. He looked at you. A weak, fluttering smile tugged at the corner of his bloody mouth. He looked ridiculous, battered and broken, but there was a strange, delirious light in his eyes. “Hey,” he rasped, his voice barely a thready whisper. “Y/N.”
“Don’t talk,” you sobbed, your tears dripping onto his ruined sweater. “Just breathe. Please, just breathe.”
“No, wait,” he insisted, his head swaying as Mingi began to guide him toward the back exit. He squeezed your hand, his grip surprisingly firm despite his trembling. He squinted at you, his vision clearly blurred, and then he let out a tiny, wheezing chuckle that ended in a sharp wince. “I… I forgot to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” you asked, your heart breaking at the sight of him.
“Don’t I… don’t I look cool?” he murmured, his eyes searching yours with a dazed sort of hope. He blinked slowly, his lashes fluttering against his bruised skin. “I’m not wearing my glasses today. I put in lenses. I wanted to… I wanted to look cool if you decided to show up at the tournament agian.”
The sheer absurdity of it made a choked laugh escape your throat, even as your heart shattered into a million pieces. Here he was, barely able to stand, his ribs likely cracked and his future in the tournament on the line, and he was worried about his aesthetic stats. “You look amazing,” you whispered, pressing your face against his shoulder, mindful of his injuries. “The coolest person I’ve ever seen.”
“Good,” he breathed, his weight sinking more fully into you and Mingi as his eyelids grew heavy. “Because those lenses… they’re a nightmare to get in. I think I… I think I scratched my cornea for the cause. Level Zero… 100% charisma build, right?”
“You’re an idiot,” Mingi muttered, though he was blinking back his own tears as he adjusted his grip on the Captain. “A total, god-tier idiot. Now shut up before you collapse.”
Yunho just hummed, a soft, satisfied sound, and as the cool night air hit your faces at the exit, he didn’t let go of your hand. He just kept drifting, anchored to the world only by the feel of your arm around him and the knowledge that, for the first time in weeks, the map between you was finally clear.
“My car is around the corner,” Mingi said, glancing at the street. “Keep him upright.”
Yunho’s head fell onto your shoulder, his breath hitching. “Y/N?”
“I’m right here.”
“The... the girl who drinks too much coffee,” he murmured, his eyes flickering shut as the adrenaline finally began to fail him. “Is she... is she still in there? Somewhere?”
You tightened your grip on him, your heart feeling like it was finally beating in sync with his. “She's here,” you whispered, pressing a bruised, tearful kiss to his temple. “She’s not going anywhere.”
The air in Yunho’s bedroom was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the low, rhythmic hum of a humidifier. The hospital had released him with a taped-up ribcage, a butterfly stitch on his lip, and a strict warning to rest, but rest was the one thing eluding him.
The moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. Yunho was propped up against a mountain of pillows, his face covered with purple and deep blue bruises. Every time he tried to settle, a sharp hiss of pain would escape his teeth, his hand instinctively fluttering toward his side.
You sat on the edge of the mattress, your own leather jacket discarded on a chair, feeling smaller than you ever had. You were holding a glass of water, watching him struggle against the heavy fog of the painkillers that weren’t quite doing their job. “You need to close your eyes,” you whispered, your voice still ragged from the hours of crying.
“Can’t,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a breath. He reached out, his fingers fumbling blindly across the blanket until they found your hand. He gripped you with surprising strength. “If I... if I sleep, I’m afraid I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. And I’ll be back in B-12 staring at the map you helped me put up.” You shifted closer, careful not to jostle the bed, and ran your thumb over the back of his hand. “You’re still shaking.”
“I’m fine. I’m not the one who used my face as a shield,” you tried to joke, but it came out as a sob. You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his uninjured shoulder. “Why did you do it? You knew you couldn’t beat him. You knew he’d... he’d hurt you.”
Yunho was silent for a long time. You felt his chest expand painfully against his bandages as he took a breath. “Because for a second... I saw your eyes,” he said softly. “When he was holding you... you looked like you believed him. You looked like you believed you were what he called you.” He squeezed your wrist, his thumb tracing the fading red marks left by Juyeon’s grip. “I can handle being beaten up. I can’t handle you thinking you’re anything less than everything to me.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes searching the wreckage of his face. He looked so fragile against the pillows, yet his gaze was the steadiest thing you had ever known. “I’m a liar,” you whispered, the confession finally tearing out of you. “I’m a fucking liar. I’m the girl who broke your trust before I even earned it. How can I be ‘everything’ when I’m not even who you thought I was?”
He reached up, his fingers trembling as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was light, cautious, as if he were afraid you might shatter. He winced as he shifted, forcing himself to lean toward you. He didn’t let go of your hand; if anything, he pulled you closer. “The girl who lied to me is the same one who stayed up until dawn playing Mario Kart with me,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours with a clarity that the painkillers couldn't touch. “The same one who defended me. The same one who took care of me. The same one who loves me. You can’t change the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”
You felt a fresh tear track through the dried salt on your cheek. “I’m a mess right now,” you warned, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of him.
“I’m a mess too,” he pointed to his face with a faint smile that made him look like the boy you’d fallen for again. “We can be a disaster together. Mingi says we’re already halfway there.” For a second, the room fell into a comfortable silence. Yunho’s grip on your hand softened as the painkillers finally started to win, his thumb slowing its frantic tracing of your skin. His eyes were half-lidded, glazed with exhaustion, but he didn’t close them. “You know,” he started, his voice dropping to a vulnerable, sleepy register. “I realized... while I was sitting in B-12 the day after... that I wasn’t actually angry that you lied. Not really.”
You looked at him, surprised. “You weren’t?”
“No,” he murmured, a small, pained huff escaping him as he shifted his weight. “I realized that the only thing I was truly mad at was that... you didn’t ask me to teach you. That Wooyoung was the one teaching you how to play. I spent all those nights thinking I was so smart, and you were right there... but you were learning his reckless crosshair placement instead of mine.”
You huffed a small laugh, the absurdity of it—that amidst the lies, the secret identity, and the brawl at The Abyss, his competitive heart was still pained by a missed coaching opportunity—was so quintessentially Yunho that it made your chest ache with a new kind of warmth. “You’re a tactical snob, Yunho,” you whispered, your fingers curling around his.
“I’m just... very competitive,” he muttered, his voice trailing off into a pout that felt so familiar it made your heart skip. He looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with his bruises. “I honestly couldn’t believe you preferred Wooyoung’s tutorials! My girlfriend? Learning his lineups? Using his crosshair placement instead of mine? I’ve spent months perfecting all of the maps, Y/N. I have spreadsheets. I have data!” He let out a huffed, pained breath, his fingers twitching against yours. “It was insulting. Professionally insulting.”
It was so perfectly ridiculous, that you completely lost your grip on reality. You forgot he was a walking bruise. You forgot the “handle with care” labels the nurses had practically invisible-inked onto his forehead. “You’re such a fucking geek ass nerd,” you whispered, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you lunged forward. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a desperate hug.
“Ooh—agh—yep, those are the ribs,” Yunho gasped, the sound punched right out of him. He stiffened as your weight hit his chest, his eyes widening in a moment of pure shock. “Internal bleeding... yeah, that’s the way to go. That's the way I want to die.”
“Oh my god! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” You immediately tried to recoil, your hands fluttering in mid-air. “I’m an idiot, I forgot, I—”
But Yunho’s shaky hands moved faster than your retreat. He caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you right back into the space you’d just vacated. He let out a long, wheezing exhale, leaning his forehead against your shoulder as he waited for the sharp spike of pain to dull into a throb. “No, no,” he managed to choke out, a breathless, shaky laugh vibrating against your collarbone. “Don’t move. It hurts like a bitch, and I think I felt a rib move, but it was... it was worth it. If I’m going to have a collapsed lung, I want it to be because of you.”
“Stop joking about your organs failing!” you huffed, though you didn’t try to pull away again.
“What a way to die,” he murmured, his grip softening as he tucked his face into your hair, his breathing finally beginning to steady. “Dying by a hug from the girl who uses another man’s crosshairs.”
You let out a wet, shaky laugh, finally settling into the small space he’d made for you. You were careful now, shifting your weight so you were barely more than a warm shadow against his side. “I’ll change it,” you whispered, gently caressing his hand. “The crosshair. The lineups. I’ll let you teach me everything from scratch.”
“Spreadsheets and all?” he murmured, his voice thick with the first real pull of sleep.
“Even the spreadsheets.”
Yunho sighed, a long, contented sound that ended in a tiny, muffled wince. He didn’t let go of your hand; he just laced his fingers with yours, pinning them against the blanket as if to make sure you were still real. The adrenaline that had kept him upright through the fight, and the hospital was finally being replaced by a heavy, healing exhaustion. “Good,” he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut for the last time that night. “We’re going to be... we’re going to be the best team the Open has ever seen.”
“You’re unbelievable, Captain.”
“I’m a winner,” he corrected sleepily, his grip softening as he finally drifted off. “And I think... I think I finally won the only game that actually mattered.”
As the silence of the room wrapped around you, you finally closed your eyes. The game was over, the lies were gone, and you were exactly where you belonged—in the middle of a beautiful, bruised, and perfectly tactical disaster.
“Hey, Viper,” you heard Yunho’s quiet voice, barely a thread of sound in the dark room. You opened your eyes, looking at him, thinking he was already asleep, but his eyes were cracked open just a sliver—hazy and heavy, yet still fixed on you with that same unwavering devotion. A tiny tug of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, making the butterfly stitch on his lip crinkle. “Do me a favour?” He paused to take a shallow, careful breath, his hand squeezing yours one last time. “Don’t go back to The Abyss anytime soon. Or... or any bar, really. I don’t think I can fight off all the jerks in this city. I’m actually... I’m really bad at it.”
A tear escaped your eye and soaked into his t-shirt, but you were smiling through it. “You’re terrible at it. Your form was embarrassing.”
“I know,” he whispered, a hint of that shy, dimpled grin touching his voice as his eyes finally remained closed. “But for a guy who prefers spreadsheets to fistfights... I think I held my own. Just... let’s stick to the server from now on. I’m much braver when I have a digital gun.”
“Deal,” you whispered back, listening as his breathing finally deepened into a steady, rhythmic lullaby. “No more bars.”
As the room fell into a deep, peaceful silence, you realized he was right. He was a terrible fighter, a shy strategist, and a tactical snob. But as you drifted off to sleep beside him, you knew you’d never felt safer than you did right there, in the wreckage of his arms.
⤷ school was finally out which meant you had time to relax and hang out with your best friend. but everything about your laid back summer was put on hold the moment you agreed to help out a stranger and become his temporary summer love.
pairing : student!yunho x student!reader
genre : fluff, angst, humor, smau, fake dating au, strangers to lovers
warnings : swearing
status : completed
started : 08/19/22
ended : 7/15/24
updates : friday’s every other saturday when i want to
coffee house diaries masterlist || main masterlist
send me an ask/dm if you would like to be on the taglist.
project: make you love me (jyh) | series masterlist
—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.
—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader x park seonghwa
—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut
—general warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, unprotected/protected sex, alcohol consumption, party/club scenes - additional warnings will be posted for each chapter.
—release: july ‘23
note: thank you to my baby @persphonesorchid for the beautiful banner and for being my hype woman always!!
"They became the King and Queen of Gotham City — and God help anyone who disrespected the Queen."
➯a/n: did i say one shot ? i meant series with in depth relationship development... whoopsie 🥲
(>ᴗ•)genre: smut with plot, gotham au
ಠ_ಠwarning/content: more specifically listed on each chapter but general warnings include: sugar baby reader / obsessive joker yunho, psychos falling in love, generally rough sex scenes, daddy kink, dark kinks like cnc / dacryphilia / power dynamics, criminal activity, violence
summary: yunho was hongjoong’s right hand man, his best dealer, his best racer, last thing yunho needed was to get distracted by a cop’s daughter
warning: street racer yunho, violence, oral, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is pregnant
pairing: yunho x afab/reader
genre: smut, drama, angst, romance
word count: 15.5k
chapter eleven
chapter thirteen coming soon
masterlist
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The hum of the flickering ceiling light had started to sound like a countdown. Yunho sat on the edge of the bench, head bowed, elbows on his knees, fingers knotted together so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. He hadn’t moved much in two days. Not because he couldn’t. Because if he did… he might start pacing. And if he started pacing, he might start breaking.
There had been no visitors. No phone calls. Not even a glimpse of her face. He wasn’t allowed. And the last time he had seen her, it had been in a blur of flashing lights, agents yelling, and her frozen in place as that ATF bitch spat the truth like a goddamn dagger. He hadn’t even gotten to react. They shoved him in the car before he could do anything but stare at her. Wide eyed. Frozen. Devastated.
Now he just sat here. Going insane. Replay after replay after replay of every moment he’d spent with her the past few months. Trying to figure out when she’d found out. Trying to understand why she hadn’t told him. Wondering if she’d meant to. If she ever would have. He didn’t blame her. Not after what happened. Not after what he is.
The door buzzed. Yunho didn’t even lift his head. He knew the rhythm of the guard’s boots by now. Could track time by them. But the steps that followed were heavier. Slower. Familiar. “You look like shit,” came Junmyeon’s voice as Yunho’s head finally lifted, slow and hollow eyed. “Feels worse than it looks,” he muttered, voice dry from not talking.
Junmyeon didn’t sit. He just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the usual edge in his stare dulled by what might’ve been exhaustion. Or guilt. “They’re holding you with intent,” he said. “No hard charges yet.” Yunho gave a bitter laugh. “You’d think they’d have learned by now.”
“They’re using the bar incident. You and Han. The fight. The window getting shattered. Public property damage, assault, disturbing the peace…”
“Let me guess,” Yunho drawled, “Agent Bitch is stacking the list.” Kim’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. “She’s working with Han’s people,” he said. “His parents are covering legal fees and pulling strings. She’s been gunning for Outlaw since she took the badge. You gave her a reason to keep going.” Yunho tilted his head back against the concrete wall. “He started it.”
“You swung first,” Junmyeon said bluntly. “And you know damn well that’s enough for her to twist it.” A silence stretched before Yunho looked at him. “Have you seen her?” Junmyeon didn’t answer immediately. “She’s fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Kim exhaled, slow and deliberate. “No. I haven’t. Not since that night. But Seonghwa’s with her. Hongjoong’s got eyes on her too. She’s still going to school. Trying to keep her head down.” Yunho’s chest ached from the space growing between him and the only thing he gave a damn about. The silence lingered before Junmyeon said quietly, “She didn’t tell you because she was scared.”
Yunho swallowed hard, teeth grinding together. “Scared of me?”
“Scared of this,” Kim said simply, motioning to the walls around them. “Scared you’d end up here…. That she’d probably be alone.” Yunho looked away. He didn’t have anything to say to that. Because it was true. Because maybe he was scared too.
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The outdoor tables were half shaded by low hanging trees, the sunlight slicing through the leaves like it couldn’t decide whether to be gentle or cruel. Y/N sat across from Seonghwa, a half eaten sandwich in front of her, untouched for the last ten minutes. She hadn’t said a word since they sat down. Seonghwa noticed. He always noticed. “You’re not eating,” he said softly, not accusing, just… worried.
Y/N blinked, slow like she’d forgotten how to respond to normal conversation. Her hand rested on her stomach without thinking, her fingers absently tracing over the fabric of her shirt. “I’m just not hungry,” she murmured and Seonghwa didn’t push. He just leaned back in his chair, sipping from his coffee cup. “You know… they say stress isn’t great for the baby.”
Her eyes flicked up, narrowing. “Don’t start.” She stared down at the paper wrapper of her sandwich like it might give her the answers she couldn’t say out loud. “I ruined everything,” she whispered.
Seonghwa’s brow furrowed. “Y/N…”
“I should’ve told him. Before. I should’ve found a way.” Her voice cracked, the tears threatening even though she refused to let them fall. “He looked at me like I’d betrayed him.”
“No he didn’t,” Seonghwa said, gentle but firm. “He was being arrested in front of a hundred people. And that ATF witch blew your life apart in the middle of it. You didn’t ruin anything, she did.” Y/N still didn’t speak. She just bit her bottom lip, blinking hard, her gaze glassy. “I haven’t seen him. I haven’t even… I don’t even know if he wants to see me.”
“He does.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Seonghwa said, voice low and sure. “You’re the only thing he cares about.” Y/N’s fingers curled tighter around the edge of the bench. “Then why hasn’t he tried…”
“He can’t,” Seonghwa interrupted. “He’s not allowed visitors. You think he wouldn’t be at the bars on the windows trying to crawl out if he could get to you?” She let out a shaky breath. The tears were coming now, whether she wanted them or not. “I just keep thinking… maybe he thinks I kept it from him because I didn’t want him in the baby’s life.” Seonghwa stood slowly, walking around the table, crouching beside her. “Yunho might be a hothead. He might be reckless. But he’s never once made you feel unsafe. Not once. And no matter how scared you are, you know he wouldn’t walk away from you. Especially not now.”
Her voice was so soft it almost broke. “I miss him.”
“I know,” Seonghwa whispered, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sure he misses you too.”
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The air inside the bureau felt colder than usual. Too clean. Too sterile. Y/N pulled her hoodie tighter around herself as she and Seonghwa stepped off the elevator. It was strange being there without flashing lights, chaos, or some looming disaster. Just regular people doing regular work. But her eyes didn’t see any of that. Not the agents, not the desk clutter, not even the sideways glances. All she could think was, He’s here. He’s just one floor below me. And she couldn’t even see him.
Seonghwa waited in the hallway as she quietly stepped into her father’s office, the door already cracked. Captain Kim Junmyeon was on the phone, jaw tense, voice clipped with irritation that was typical but sharper now. She heard a muffled “I don’t care who she’s working for, she’s off my leash the second I catch her slipping,” before he ended the call and looked up as she stepped in. “Hey,” he said, surprised, but not unkind. “Shouldn’t you be home?”
Y/N shook her head, voice already too soft. “I needed to see you.” Junmyeon immediately pushed aside the papers on his desk, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Something wrong? Is it the baby?” She sat, her hands clenched in her lap, eyes already glassing over. “No. I mean… not physically.” He waited before she whispered, “How is he?” The weight of the question collapsed the silence between them.
Junmyeon leaned back, sighing. “He’s holding it together. Not talking much, but that’s not new for Yunho. You know how he gets when he thinks everything’s on fire, shuts up, locks down, and tries to carry it alone.” Her lip trembled and she bit it. Hard. “I know you can’t get him out,” she said. “I’m not asking that. I just… I just need to know. Because I feel like I’m losing my mind. I go to class and pretend I’m normal, and he’s down there. Being treated like he’s trash probably. And I don’t even know if he….” She cut herself off with a choked breath. Her hands moved to cover her face, shoulders shaking as the tears came fast, hot, and unstoppable.
Junmyeon rounded the desk before she could even wipe her face, crouching beside her, arms gently wrapping around her like he used to when she was a kid and scraped her knees. Y/N clung to him, burying her face in his chest. “I think he hates me,” she sobbed. “I think he hates me for not telling him.” Her dad held her tighter, voice low and firm. “No, sweetheart. No. He doesn’t hate you.”
“You didn’t see his face…”
“I’ve seen Yunho at his worst, Y/N. Trust me when I say that wasn’t anger. That was fear. That boy looked like someone ripped the floor out from under him, and not because of you. Because he couldn’t protect you. Because he couldn’t be there when you needed him.” Y/N shook her head, still crying. “I didn’t want him to fall apart. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want him to feel trapped.”
Junmyeon smiled, just barely. “You tried to protect him the way he’s always tried to protect you.” She gave a weak, watery laugh. “God, this is probably just the hormones.”
“It’s not,” her dad said gently. “But if it helps you feel better, blame them anyway.” She wiped at her eyes, sniffling. “He really doesn’t hate me?”
“Not even close.” Junmyeon rose and helped her up slowly, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “He’s gonna be okay. And so are you. Just keep going. Take care of yourself. I’ll get him out. One way or another.”
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The tension in the holding cells was different that morning. Something about it felt final, like a page was being turned, but the ending hadn’t been written yet. Yunho sat on the edge of the cot in his cell, jaw clenched, hands resting between his knees. He hadn’t slept much. Not because of the mattress, or the noise, or the food. But because he knew what was coming. The transfer.
Across the hall, in a separate block, Wooyoung was pacing. Again. He’d been pacing every morning for the past couple weeks, muttering curses under his breath and complaining about the ATF agent who was making their lives hell over a dime bag. But even he had gone quiet today. Steel doors echoed open down the corridor. Boots on linoleum. Keys jangling.
Yunho stood when he heard his name. “Jeong Yunho.” He stepped forward as the guard unlocked the cell. No cuffs yet, not until they reached the transport area. But the heaviness of the moment settled between his shoulder blades like lead. The doors behind him shut with a hard, mechanical clang.
Wooyoung was next. “Jung Wooyoung.” They didn’t speak as they were led down the hallway side by side, only exchanging a glance, silent acknowledgment that neither of them had any idea what came next. “Correctional holding center’s just temporary,” one of the guards said like that made it better. “They’ll reassign you both once the ATF figures out what they’re really trying to charge you with.”
Yunho’s jaw ticked. He knew what they were doing. Drag it out. Smear his name. Hope something sticks. Try to break him before they even hit trial. As they were loaded into the van, Wooyoung finally leaned in and whispered, “Tell me again why I didn’t move to fucking Seoul when I had the chance.” Yunho cracked the faintest smirk, though it never reached his eyes.
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The holding cell had been cold. But the correctional facility? It was colder in every other way. Concrete hallways stretched like arteries through the building, lit by flickering fluorescent lights. Cameras blinked overhead, watching, always watching. The guards were quick, efficient, and disinterested, more routine than intimidation, but still not gentle.
Yunho and Wooyoung stood in line, along with three other inmates just transferred in from the city jail. The chain of custody was complete. Now came the next layer of waiting. “You ever been strip searched by a man who chews gum like a damn bulldog?” Wooyoung muttered, clearly trying to mask his own nerves. Yunho didn’t flinch. “Don’t think they’re offering upgrades for new inmates.”
“Figures.”
Once processed, they were handed jumpsuits, dark navy, stiff, and scratchy, and escorted down a long corridor to their assigned cell block. The bunk beds looked like they’d collapse under the weight of a strong wind. But it was quieter than they expected. This wing was for overflow holding, not permanent prison housing, but not soft, either. Just another place to make you feel small. The door clanked shut behind them.
Yunho let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face before sitting on the bottom bunk. Wooyoung dropped onto the one above him, still bitching under his breath about everything from the toilet to the lack of privacy.
“She’s pregnant.”
Wooyoung stopped mid ramble. “What?”
Yunho didn’t look up. He stared at the wall like he could still see her standing in front of him from that night at the race. “Y/N. She’s pregnant.” The silence was immediate before Wooyoung let out a shocked, “Shit.” Yunho nodded once, jaw clenched. “She didn’t tell me. Not until the ATF bitch outed her in front of everyone.”
“Jesus.”
“And now I’m in here,” Yunho continued, “while she’s out there dealing with everything alone. Med school. Stress. And I can’t even hold her and tell her it’s going to be ok.” Wooyoung slid down from the top bunk, sitting beside him now. “You think she thought you’d bail?” Yunho shook his head. “No. I think she thought I had too much already. And she was right.”
“But you’re still here.”
“Exactly.” His eyes finally met Wooyoung’s. “And I don’t give a shit if they move me again, or drag this out for months, I’m getting out. I’m getting out, and I’m going home to her.” Wooyoung was quiet for a moment, then let out a sharp exhale. “We better not die in this hellhole before that happens.”
Yunho smirked just a little. “Not a chance.”
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The apartment was unusually quiet. Y/N stood by the open fridge, absently staring at the shelves without really seeing anything. Her stomach had been in knots all day, whether from nerves, the baby, or both, she didn’t know anymore. Seonghwa was lounging on the couch, half watching something on TV, half watching her, his expression soft with concern. “You need to eat,” he said gently.
“I’m trying,” Y/N mumbled, closing the fridge door. “Nothing sounds good.” Before either of them could say more, a firm knock echoed through the apartment. Y/N turned, brows furrowed. “Are we expecting anyone?” Seonghwa shook his head and got up, crossing to the door. The second it opened, Y/N’s heart jumped.
Her dad stood there, his face tired but calm. “Can I come in?” he asked. Y/N nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course.” Junmyeon stepped in, glancing once around the living room before turning to face her. “They moved Yunho and Wooyoung this morning. Correctional facility, just outside the city. You can see him now.”
Y/N’s breath caught. The words settled over her like a blanket and a storm all at once. Her heart started pounding as she blinked up at him. “For real?” she whispered, eyes welling before she could stop it. “I can… go?” Her dad nodded. “You’re on the list. I made sure of it. You can go whenever you want.”
A small sound left her throat, a sob or a laugh, it was hard to tell. Seonghwa moved behind her and rubbed her back softly, and her dad stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as Y/N nodded, wiping her face quickly. “I want to go. Tomorrow.”
“I’ll drive you,” Seonghwa offered as her dad gave her a small smile. “Just be ready for him to cry. I think he’s been holding it in so long he doesn’t even realize he’s cracking.”
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The metal bunk creaked when Yunho rolled onto his back, the springs groaning beneath him. Light bled in through the narrow slit of a window high above, casting harsh lines across the cell. It had only been a couple of days since the transfer, but time here bent in weird ways. It felt like they’d been locked up for weeks. Above him, Wooyoung was still asleep, one arm tossed dramatically over his face, muttering something in his dreams. The guy could get arrested and still sleep like a log.
Yunho hadn’t been so lucky. He kept thinking about her. About the baby. About how he hadn’t seen her face once since that night at the race when everything shattered. He kept hearing that ATF agent’s voice dripping with poison. He would’ve given anything to have seen Y/N before he got thrown back in a cell.
The clank of keys snapped him out of it. Boots approached, deliberate. Then a voice at the bars. “Jeong. You’ve got a visitor.” Yunho blinked, pushing up from the bunk. “Kim?” The guard shrugged, already unlocking the door. “Find out yourself.” That didn’t exactly inspire confidence as Yunho stood, tugging on his shirt with one hand as he stepped into the hall. His stomach twisted, caught somewhere between hope and dread. He wasn’t expecting anyone. No one had said anything. Unless something had happened.
Unless she….. No. He shoved the thought down fast. He couldn’t survive thinking that. He followed the guard down the corridor, heart thudding in time with each step. And as they turned the corner toward the visitation room, Yunho realized something… his palms were sweating. He barely cleared the doorway to the visitor’s room when he saw her. Y/N. Standing just on the other side of the table where they were supposed to sit across each other, looking like she might bolt any second. She looked tired. Pale. Hair pulled back, hoodie zipped to her collarbone, oversized like she was trying to disappear. But her eyes, those were the same. Wide. Glassy. Locked on him like he was something holy and dangerous all at once.
And Yunho couldn’t breathe. He didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t wait for instructions. He crossed the room and pulled her straight into his arms. Her hands pressed against his chest, startled, but she didn’t push him away. She just melted into him, trembling slightly as he wrapped both arms around her like he could anchor them both back to earth. Then the guard’s voice barked behind him. “Hey! No physical contact! Back behind the line!” Yunho didn’t move right away. His forehead pressed against hers. His hand cradled the back of her head. He needed this, they needed this. After everything. After all the silence and steel bars and late nights on a bunk trying not to lose his mind.
She was here. And he still loved her more than anything in this cursed world. He finally exhaled and let her go, taking one slow step back toward the table. “Sorry,” he muttered to the guard, though it was clearly a lie. Y/N blinked up at him, her voice barely audible. “You look…”
“Like shit?” Yunho offered, cracking the smallest smile. “Yeah. I’ve seen a mirror. Not a great era for me.” She almost laughed, but her eyes welled instead as Yunho sat down, hands on the table, eyes locked on her. “Don’t cry, baby,” he whispered. “I’m right here.” She cried anyway and Yunho didn’t interrupt. He let her sit across from him, sleeves covering her hands with shaking fingers. Her tears rolled in silence, bottom lip trembling as she stared at him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice warbled. “It’s just…. these stupid hormones…”
He exhaled through his nose, soft. “You don’t have to explain.” She wiped under one eye, then the other, and finally let out a breath that cracked halfway through. “You don’t hate me?” Yunho’s chest ached. The fact that she’d even ask, that it had apparently had kept her up at night, hurt more than the cuffs, more than the holding cell, more than that fucking wreck. “No,” he said, slow and clear, like there wasn’t a single atom of doubt. “I could never hate you.“ She looked down, sniffling. “I just… everything kept spiraling. And then that bitch said it in front of everyone and I hadn’t even said it to you yet….”
“Hey.” He leaned forward, palms flat against the table beside hers. “None of that is your fault. She wanted to humiliate you. She wanted to break me. And yeah, she got close. But I’m still here. And you…” he gave a faint, crooked smile, “you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Y/N blinked hard and almost laughed. “I’m three months,” she whispered after a moment, touching her stomach unconsciously. “End of the first trimester.”
Three months. Yunho felt his breath catch. He did the math in his head. That long? That meant… That meant the night she found him working on the wreckage of his car. The soba shop. Her leaning over the console of her car with his dick in her mouth, all soft moans and teasing glances. The night he was completely gone for her after the club when he got jealous…. and had no idea they were already more than two bodies in a dark room. A long silence settled. The kind that could only sit between two people tied together by something huge and terrifying and permanent.
“I’m missing everything,” he murmured. “Every week. Every little moment.…. you’re doing it alone.” Her voice was thick. “Not alone. Seonghwa’s been helping. And my dad… after the shock wore off, he’s been… surprisingly okay.” Yunho nodded slowly. “But it should be me.” She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to as despite the sigh of annoyance from the guard, his hand grabbed hers. “I love you…. Both of you.”
Her eyes lit up, even through the tears.
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The heat of the early afternoon sun bounced off car hoods and slicked pavement as Y/N pulled into the spot out front, cutting the engine with a relieved sigh. “I swear if I don’t eat in the next five minutes, someone’s gonna end up on a missing persons list,” she muttered, already unclipping her seatbelt as Seonghwa snorted beside her, unbothered in his sunglasses and med school lanyard still swinging from his neck. “Easy, killer. You’re eating for two now. That’s like… double the homicide motive.”
Y/N rolled her eyes but grinned anyway, hand resting absently over the small swell beneath her hoodie. “You say that like it’s a joke, but I’m legitimately thinking about chewing the steering wheel.”
“You better not,” he said as they both opened their doors. “It’s faux leather. That baby deserves better.” They stepped out into the lot, half laughing, joking as always, the kind of light that had gotten her through so many dark days lately. But the second she glanced up her heart dropped. There he was. Han. Casually exiting the restaurant’s shaded front patio, sunglasses perched low, his lip still healing from the last time Yunho got ahold of him. A few guys trailed behind him, laughing, smoking, unaware, but he stopped dead the moment he saw her. And the grin that spread across his face was pure poison.
“Well, if it isn’t baby mama,” he drawled, voice smug, echoing way too clearly in the air between them. Y/N froze. For just a beat. Then her hand instinctively rested on her stomach again as Seonghwa stepped forward slightly, shoulder blocking hers as Han clicked his tongue. “Didn’t think you’d show your face out in public after all that. Word is your man’s still locked up.” His grin widened, snake like. “Guess you’re flying solo now, huh?”
Seonghwa’s jaw tightened but Y/N didn’t say anything yet, but her eyes? Fire. Ready to ignite as Han didn’t stop smiling. “My lawyer says he can get up to a couple years alone just for assaulting me,” he said, tone slick, head tilting like he was enjoying the breeze. “And who knows what that ATF agent’s gonna dig up next. Wouldn’t be surprised if he gets locked up long enough to miss the birth.”
Y/N’s spine straightened. Her jaw locked. But Han wasn’t done. He looked down, pointedly, eyes falling to the slight curve of her stomach beneath her hoodie. “I wonder if the little bastard’ll grow up just like Daddy? Hot headed, criminal blood, maybe with the same temper….”
CRACK.
No one saw it coming.
Not Seonghwa, who had just turned toward her, ready to step in. Not Han, who’d barely finished the word “bastard.” Not the older woman at the nearby café table who dropped her iced coffee as Y/N’s fist connected with Han’s face with the kind of fury that came from months of anger, shame, and hatred. Her knuckles hit the bridge of his nose with a sickening crunch, the cartilage giving way beneath the force of it.
Han reeled back, a strangled yell caught in his throat as his hands flew to his face, blood already pouring between his fingers. “Fuck!” he shrieked, staggering backward, doubled over. “You broke my nose, you crazy bitch!” Y/N stood there, breathing hard, eyes wide and hand cradled against her chest, hissing softly through clenched teeth. “Shit,” she muttered. “That hurt more than I thought.”
“You think you can just…. You’re pregnant!” Han howled and Seonghwa was already between them now, hand outstretched like he was ready to throw down too. “Say another word. One more, Han.” Han was still cupping his face, blood leaking onto his shirt, his eyes murderous. “Congratulations,” Seonghwa snapped, stepping forward, “you just got your ass handed to you by your ex girlfriend in her second trimester. Maybe next time, keep your fucking mouth shut.”
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The ER was it’s usual mix of fluorescent chaos and low level dread nurses rushing, stretchers squeaking, monitors beeping. Y/N sat on a plastic hospital bed, cradling her hand in a fresh wrap, her knuckles already swollen and tender. Seonghwa sat on the edge of a nearby chair, still in his hoodie and jeans, chewing the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing every time she winced. “Don’t,” Y/N warned through gritted teeth.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“I’m thinking you hit harder than Jongho.”
Before she could retort, the door swung open. Captain Kim Junmyeon walked in like he owned the hospital, shoulders squared, jacket still damp from the evening rain, and eyes locked directly on his daughter. He stopped. Looked at the wrap on her hand. Then looked at her. Then back at the hand. “You broke your hand,” he said slowly, his voice deadpan. “On Han’s face.”
Y/N tried to shrug. “Technically… fractured.”
Seonghwa chimed in, “He called the baby a bastard. She didn’t hesitate.”
“His nose is definitely broken,” Y/N added, lifting her hand like she was showing off a trophy. “Made a very satisfying noise.” Junmyeon blinked once. Twice. Then slowly, a smirk pulled at his lips. “That’s my girl.” Y/N stared at him, disbelieving. “That’s your reaction?”
“What, you want a lecture?” he asked, stepping closer and kissing the top of her head. “You decked a guy for disrespecting you and my future grandkid. I’m not mad.” He looked at Seonghwa. “Are you mad?”
“I thought it was beautiful.”
Junmyeon nodded, now thoroughly entertained. “He files charges, I’ll throw in a countersuit for emotional distress. From me.” Y/N sighed, still cradling her hand but grinning through it. “If Yunho finds out I hurt my hand on Han’s face, he’s gonna try and one up me.”
“God help Han then,” her dad muttered. “Because you just beat him pregnant. Imagine what Yunho’s gonna do once he’s out.”
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The night air had a bite to it, that lingering chill that clung to your clothes even after the heater in the car had been blasting for twenty minutes. Y/N’s fingers gripped the wheel a little tighter than usual, her right hand still throbbing, bandaged and resting in her lap. Seonghwa sat in the passenger seat, quiet for most of the ride, fidgeting with the frayed string of his hoodie as the neon lights of the garage came into view. “Want me to wait out here?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“No,” Seonghwa said softly, unbuckling. “It’s better if you come in. Joong would probably want to see you anyway.” She sighed, pushing her door open. Her boots crunched the gravel as they stepped out, the soft glow of the garage bathing them in warm light. The familiar scent of motor oil and metal hit her, grounding her in the chaos of her life like it always did. And there it was, Yunho’s car. Parked, gleaming under the overhead lights like a sleeping beast. She paused, eyes locked on the body, her throat tightening for a reason she couldn’t name.
“Hey!” Jongho and Yeosang rounded the corner from inside the bay, both with greasy hands and tired eyes. Jongho’s brows furrowed as he caught sight of her. “What the hell happened to your hand?” Y/N opened her mouth to explain, but didn’t get the chance. “She punched Han,” Seonghwa deadpanned, walking straight past them toward the back office.
There was a beat of stunned silence before Yeosang blinked. “You… what?”
“Fractured her hand on his face,” Seonghwa added, almost proudly. “ER confirmed it.”
“Holy shit,” Jongho muttered, looking at her like she’d just grown wings. “You serious?” Y/N lifted her bandaged hand. “Han ran his mouth. Called the baby a bastard. I didn’t even think, just…” She mimed the swing.
“She’s basically a legend now,” Jongho said. “That’s gotta be, like, strike ten against Han in the universe’s karma ledger.” The corner of Y/N’s mouth lifted, just a little. But her eyes drifted again, back to Yunho’s car, back to what wasn’t here. She crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight as Yeosang nudged her gently. “He’s gonna be okay, you know that, right?” She nodded. Slowly. “I just want him home.”
Jongho exchanged a glance with Yeosang, then gave her a quiet, genuine smile. “He will be. And when he hears you hurt your damn hand on Han’s face? He’s gonna be so fucking proud…. though he’ll probably want to kill Han more now.”
Y/N snorted as she stood beside Yunho’s car, her bandaged hand resting lightly on the roof. The car looked untouched, fierce and brooding beneath the overhead lights, just like it had the night they arrested him. She let out a breath, barely audible. “He loved this thing more than food sometimes,” she murmured, tracing her fingers carefully along the door frame. “I used to joke he’d sleep in the damn driver’s seat if he could.”
Jongho glanced over from where he was wiping his hands on a rag, walking up slowly until he stood just a few feet from her. His tone was softer than usual, a rare thing. “We haven’t let anyone touch it. Not even to move it,” he added. “Yeosang yelled at one of the new guys for walking too close with an open bottle of water. He’d kill us if we let anything happen to this car.” He paused, then added with a faint smile that softened the weight of his words, “Or you.”
Y/N didn’t say anything at first. Her hand curled lightly around one of the side mirrors. That same hand that had just connected with Han’s face like lightning. Her chest ached with the memory, with the burn in her fingers and the ache in her heart. “I think I miss him more when I’m around his stuff,” she whispered.
Jongho nodded once. “That’s because everything he loves ends up loving you back.” He paused for a second before grinning. “So… uh…” he cleared his throat, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, “I’m gonna be the godfather, right?”
Yeosang, who was walking over with a Gatorade in hand, snorted. “What makes you the godfather?” Jongho turned on him like he’d been personally offended. “What makes me…. are you serious right now? I’m Yunho’s best friend!” Yeosang took a sip, unfazed. “You’re his roommate. That doesn’t mean you get automatic godfather status.”
“Oh my god,” Jongho groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m literally the one who kept him fed while he was recovering! I brought him pain meds! I covered for him when her dad hated him!”
“You also forgot to lock up the garage one night,” Yeosang replied smoothly. “And you crashed his bike into the dumpster.”
“It was one time and the kickstand was faulty!”
Y/N blinked at them both, trying and failing to suppress a laugh as they started circling each other like kids arguing over who got the last slice of pizza. “I’ve known him longer,” Jongho argued. “But I’m smarter,” Yeosang countered.
Y/N finally cut in, eyes wide. “Okay, guys, please, my hand is already halfway broken, don’t make me break my sanity next.” They both shut up at once, though Jongho muttered under his breath, “I’m still gonna win.” Yeosang narrowed his eyes. “We’ll see.” Y/N rolled her eyes, fond and exasperated all at once, whispering under her breath, “God help this baby.”
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The chow line moved like molasses, half the guys too tired to talk, the other half too wired to shut up. Yunho stood behind Wooyoung, arms crossed, eyes half lidded from a night of shit sleep and dreams that all ended the same, with Y/N’s face and the faint echo of a heartbeat that didn’t even exist yet in his arms.
The plastic tray clattered onto the counter in front of him. Slop. Bread. Something green he didn’t trust. Prison cuisine at it’s finest. They took their usual spot at the corner of the mess hall, back against the wall, where Yunho could watch the doors, the guards, and every single twitch from the guy who sat two tables over and liked to stare too long. Yunho didn’t speak. Just picked at his food, trying not to think about her as Wooyoung took a big bite of whatever mystery meat they were calling protein today, chewed once, twice, then elbowed Yunho like they weren’t surrounded by barbed wire and felons.
“So,” Wooyoung said through a mouthful of bread, “you want a boy or a girl?”
Yunho blinked. “What?”
“The baby,” Wooyoung smirked. “Come on, you’ve been thinking about it, right? A tiny little Yunho running around, wrecking shit and giving Y/N gray hairs.” Yunho shook his head, staring at his tray. “I haven’t really…”
Wooyoung leaned in. “Liar.”
Yunho sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay. I don’t know. A boy would be easier, maybe. But a girl…” He trailed off and Wooyoung grinned like a shark sensing blood in the water. “Oh god. You’re panicking.”
“I’m not…”
“You are.” Wooyoung burst into laughter, nearly choking on his food. “You’re thinking about a daughter with Y/N’s looks and your attitude and you’re imagining every asshole that will hit on her times ten when she’s grown, aren’t you?” Yunho didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His jaw was tight. His tray untouched.
Wooyoung clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Bro, you’re gonna be the scariest dad. I can already see it. Some poor kid knocks on your door for prom and you’re standing there, six feet tall, covered in grease, holding a wrench, just waiting.” Yunho tried to hide the smile. Failed. “I’ll be a good dad,” he murmured after a pause, surprising even himself with how sure he sounded.
Wooyoung looked over, serious for once. “Yeah, you will be.” And for a second, between the guards, the bars, and the plastic trays… Yunho actually believed it.
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The correctional center’s visiting room always smelled like a mix of disinfectant and desperation. Chairs were bolted to the ground, the tables scratched with initials, and the air conditioning never worked right. Still, it was the only time Yunho looked forward to the damn clock ticking. The only time the world outside these walls felt even a little bit close. He sat at the edge of his seat, elbows braced on the table, eyes locked on the door like he could will her into existence.
And then there she was. Hair tied back, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame again, but nothing about her presence felt small. Not to him. Her eyes searched the room until they found his and in that one second, Yunho’s chest loosened like it hadn’t in days. “Baby,” he breathed, standing as much as the rules allowed until the guard’s grunt reminded him to sit back down. She made her way over, heart in her eyes, that smile, soft, a little sad, but real, pulling at his ribs.
But the second she reached for his hands across the table, he saw it. Her right hand. Wrapped up. His brows furrowed, concern cutting through his joy in an instant. “What happened to your hand?” She blinked like she forgot it was even there. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, his voice low, gentle, but firm. Y/N sighed, glancing at the guard like she was weighing how much trouble she could admit to in front of a badge. “Han,” she muttered and Yunho’s eyes sharpened. “What about him?” Her mouth twitched. “He opened his mouth… I closed it. With my fist.”
Yunho’s eyes went wide for half a beat, then something dangerous flickered behind them, pride and fury in one tangled mess. He couldn’t stop the smirk that followed, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You broke your hand… on Han’s face?”
Y/N shrugged. “Technically fractured it. But yeah. Seonghwa said I dropped him like a sack of shit.” Yunho exhaled through a short laugh, biting back the way his hand twitched with the need to pull her across the table and kiss her. “That’s my girl.”
She flushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
“Don’t,” he cut in. “Don’t apologize for protecting yourself. For protecting our kid.” He looked down at her hand again, gently brushing his fingers over her knuckles. “Just wish I could’ve seen it.”
“I’m pregnant and just decked my ex in public,” she said with a tired smile. “I’m probably one more mood swing away from setting the world on fire.” Yunho looked up at her, eyes softening, the corners crinkling. “Good. Let it burn. As long as you’re safe.” Their fingers laced and for a moment, the concrete walls and fluorescent lights disappeared, just her, him, and the future they were fighting like hell to get to.
She kept glancing down, biting her lip like she was hiding something. Not guilt this time. Not fear. Something else. He knew that look. She was up to something. Yunho tilted his head. “What is it?” Y/N hesitated, then carefully reached into the pocket of her hoodie. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she unfolded something, a small, slightly crinkled square of glossy paper. She held it up, glanced at the nearby guard with a flicker of hesitation. The guard looked over, then gave a small nod. “He can have it.”
She slid the picture across the table like it was the most precious thing in the world. Yunho’s hand hovered for a second before he picked it up. And then he saw it. Black and white. Grainy. But unmistakable. A tiny shape, curved in the center of the image. His throat closed up. The little bean. The flicker of a life they made. A future captured in a moment. It was an ultrasound. He stared, silent, the air thick in his lungs, thumb brushing over the corner like he was afraid it would disappear. His eyes burned, but he didn’t blink. Couldn’t.
“From the appointment,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know if I should bring it, but… I thought maybe you’d want to see it. Have it. Even if it’s just in here.” Yunho nodded slowly, jaw clenched to keep it steady. “Thank you,” he finally whispered as he kept looking at the picture. Like it was a map out of hell. A reason to survive every second of this.
A reason to come home.
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Yunho’s thumb dragged over the edge of the ultrasound, over and over, like muscle memory. He didn’t realize he was doing it until Wooyoung shifted, the bunk creaking above him. Yunho’s voice came out low. Flat. So quiet it barely stirred the air between them. “Woo… when we get out of here…” He finally looked up, eyes dark, steady, terrifyingly calm. “I have to kill him.”
Wooyoung didn’t joke. Didn’t flinch. He just watched Yunho the way you watch a storm roll in when the sky has already turned that wrong shade of green. “Han,” Yunho continued, jaw tight. “People like him don’t stop. They don’t learn. They don’t disappear just because a judge tells them to.” His fingers curled around the paper, careful not to crease it. “He already tried to kill me. He put his hands on her. He’s still running his mouth, still smiling like none of it matters.”
Wooyoung swallowed, then spoke carefully. “You saying this because you’re angry… or because you’ve thought it through?” Yunho exhaled through his nose, something cold and final settling in his chest. “Because I’ve thought it through.” He glanced down again, softer now, like the sharp edge dulled just a fraction as he stared at that ultrasound picture. “This isn’t about me anymore. It’s about making sure he never gets near her again. Never gets near my kid. Ever.”
Wooyoung leaned forward, forearms on his knees, voice quiet but serious. “You know once you say that out loud, there’s no unsaying it.”
“I know.”
“And you know if you do it wrong, you don’t just disappear him,” Wooyoung said. “You disappear you. And then what happens to them?” Yunho’s throat worked. That landed. Hard. He stared at the wall for a long second, the concrete suddenly looking very small, very temporary. “That’s why,” Yunho said finally, voice steadier than before, “it has to be clean. Permanent. No noise. No trail. He doesn’t get arrested. He doesn’t get a second chance. He just… stops existing.”
Wooyoung blew out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus, man…. We’ve only ever…. You’ve fucked some guys up Yunho but you’ve never killed anyone before.” Yunho looked up at him then, really looked. “I won’t do it stupid. I won’t do it angry.” His gaze dropped back to the ultrasound. “But I will do it.”
The cell went quiet again, the kind of silence that isn’t empty but loaded. After a moment, Wooyoung leaned back against the wall and shook his head once, a crooked, humorless smile tugging at his mouth. “You know,” he said softly, “I always knew becoming a dad would mellow you out.”
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Y/N sat at the dinner table with her dad and grandma, a steaming plate of kimchi stew in front of her, but her appetite had long since disappeared beneath the noticeable swell of her stomach. Four months along, and it was getting harder to hide. Not that she was trying anymore. Her grandma, peering at her over her glasses, tilted her head with a knowing smile. “So, do you know yet?”
Y/N blinked. “Know what?”
“The baby, dear.” Her grandma pointed her chopsticks gently at Y/N’s stomach. “Is it a boy or a girl?” Y/N gave a soft laugh, setting her spoon down. “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Should be able to find out then.” Her dad, still dressed in his uniform, grunted his approval. “Make sure you get all the scans they offer. Don’t let them skip anything just because you’re young.” Then, muttering as he sipped his drink, “Or because the father’s in jail.”
Y/N didn’t bite at that one, she just smiled to herself, fingers idly brushing the spot where the baby kicked sometimes. “I will, Dad.” Her grandma reached over, placing a warm hand over hers. “Doesn’t matter what it is. It’s going to be loved. That’s all that matters.” Then, more mischievously, “Though I have a feeling it’s a boy. A strong one.”
Y/N laughed again. “God help us if he’s anything like his father.”
Her dad snorted into his drink, “More like, god help me.”
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The paper crinkled under Y/N as she shifted on the exam table, one hand resting protectively on her growing bump. Seonghwa sat in the chair next to her, flipping through a medical brochure on prenatal vitamins with a raised brow. “Did you know your baby’s fingernails are already growing?” he asked, making a face. “Weird.”
Y/N snorted. “You gonna faint when I go into labor?”
“No. But I am gonna make sure someone records it for blackmail purposes.”
Before she could fire back, the door opened and her OB-GYN stepped in, smiling warmly. “Good afternoon, Y/N. Seonghwa.”
“Hi, Dr. Kang,” she said, heart already starting to pound.
“Well, everything looks good from the scans. Let’s do a quick check, then I’ll ask the real question, alright?” The doctor went through the usual, heartbeat thudding strong and steady, blood pressure steady, uterus measuring right on track. Y/N exhaled in relief at every confirmation. Then Dr. Kang stepped back, folding her hands. “So,” she said with a smile. “You’re officially at seventeen weeks. Do you want to know the sex today?”
Seonghwa glanced at Y/N, raising his brows. “You sure?” Y/N nodded, already breathless. “Yeah. I want to know.” Dr. Kang turned toward the computer, pulling up the latest scan. “Well then,” she grinned, clicking through. “Let’s take a look.” She turned the monitor so Y/N could see, tapping gently at the screen. “Congratulations,” she said with a warm smile. “You’re having a boy.”
Y/N blinked, the words taking a second to register before she let out a breathless laugh. Her head dropped back as she covered her eyes, shoulders shaking. “Oh thank god…” she muttered, grinning wide now. “I don’t think Yunho can handle a girl.” Seonghwa snorted beside her, clearly trying not to laugh. “Honestly? That poor man would have a heart attack the first time she smiled at someone.”
“Or if she ever said the words, I have a boyfriend,’” Y/N added, already imagining Yunho’s entire nervous system short circuiting as Dr. Kang chuckled. “Well, lucky for him, he’ll have a son. And everything looks healthy and right on track.” Y/N nodded, wiping at her eyes. It was a good day. A needed one. “Thank you, Dr. Kang.”
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The sound of metal clinking echoed through the garage as Jongho leaned further into the open hood of the Charger they’d been fixing since morning. Grease smeared across his forearm, sweat beading at his temple, he reached for the socket wrench Yeosang held out. “I still say this engine’s cursed,” Jongho muttered. “It’s not cursed,” Yeosang replied, wiping his hands on a rag. “It’s just been driven like it owed someone money.”
Upstairs, in the office overlooking the floor, Hongjoong had one hand gripping his desk, the other holding the phone to his ear.
“Don’t bullshit me, Hyun,” he snapped quietly to his lawyer. “You said we’d have movement this week. The charges are weak. All they have is a broken window and a bruised agent with a personal vendetta…” He paused, eyes narrowing at the sound of a familiar car door shutting outside.
Footsteps approached, heavy, deliberate, cocky. Hongjoong didn’t need to look to know who it was. He ended the call with a clipped, “Call me when there’s real news.” Downstairs, Jongho was already stepping away from the car as agent Bae strode in like she owned the place, flanked by two others. She wore the same smug expression she always did, like she’d finally caught the big fish and was just watching it squirm.
Yeosang muttered, “Round three.” as Hongjoong stepped out of his office slowly, leaning over the railing before heading down the stairs. His voice was calm. Too calm. “Back so soon, Agent Bae?” he said, walking up to meet her halfway. “Was it my charming personality or the scent of motor oil that brought you back?”
“I just like the view,” she said, eyes flicking from Jongho to Yeosang, then back to him. “Still running illegal repairs through this place?”
“Still trying to find a crime where there isn’t one?” he shot back. “Gotta admire the dedication.”
She smirked. “Don’t worry. We’re patient.” Hongjoong didn’t reply. Just watched her and her team start poking around, opening tool drawers and checking plates, like they might suddenly find a kilo of coke hidden under a wrench. As she made her way deeper into the garage, Hongjoong turned to Jongho and Yeosang, his voice low. “We have to find a way to get rid of her.”
Jongho arched a brow. “You mean legally… or?”
Hongjoong didn’t answer, just stared after her with ice in his veins.
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Yunho sat on the edge of the cold plastic chair in the visitation room, his fingers drumming nervously against his thigh. The noise of the facility, distant shouts, clanging doors, guards calling out, was always a dull roar in the background. But today, it felt muted beneath the thunder in his chest. When the guard opened the door and let her in, everything else disappeared.
Y/N stepped in, her hoodie stretched slightly over her growing belly now, the subtle swell impossible to miss. She looked radiant. Tired, but radiant. Her hand was nearly healed, still wrapped lightly, but her eyes lit up the second they found him. “Hey,” she said softly, sliding into the seat across from him. Yunho didn’t say anything at first. He just stared. His chest tightened at the sight of her. He had memorized her face but it still hit him like a punch. “You look…” He exhaled. “Beautiful.”
Y/N gave a small smile, then reached into her pocket. “I brought you something.” He tilted his head, watching her carefully. When she pulled out the folded piece of paper, he thought it might be a note or a letter. But when she unfolded it and turned it around, his breath caught in his throat. Another ultrasound. Clearer than before. A little profile this time. A tiny hand.
He didn’t reach for it right away. He just stared at it, like it might disappear. “It’s a boy,” she whispered and Yunho blinked. “A… boy?” She nodded. “Found out at my last appointment. You’re gonna have a son.” He swallowed hard. His throat felt thick. “A son…” Something in him cracked open. His hand reached for the photo slowly, reverently, like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched. His thumb brushed the image. “He’s real.”
Y/N smiled, teary eyed. “Yeah. Very real. And he has your nose.” She teased and Yunho let out a half laugh, half sob. His eyes didn’t leave the picture. “I’m gonna get out,” he said quietly. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’m gonna get out of here… and I’m gonna be the kind of dad he deserves.”
Y/N reached for his hand across the table, and this time the guard didn’t say anything. “You already are,” she said.
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The sun was dipping low by the time Y/N and Seonghwa pulled into the garage lot, the sky painted in soft lavender streaks and golden haze. The scent of grease and engine oil lingered in the air as usual, but there was something calmer about the scene this evening, at least until Yeosang rolled out from under the lifted Impala with a scowl. “Let me guess,” Y/N said, closing her car door, “another raid?”
Yeosang groaned dramatically, wiping sweat and grime from his temple with the back of his hand. “Third one this month. I’m starting to think she just likes seeing my face covered in oil.” Seonghwa snorted beside her. “She probably hates that it’s still such a good face.”
Hongjoong stepped out from his office at the sound of voices, sliding his phone into his pocket, his brows lifting. “It’s true. I’ve had to physically hold him back from trying to flirt with one of the cops on that ATF bitch’s payroll.”
“I was buying time,” Yeosang called from under the car again as Y/N laughed, patting Hongjoong’s arm as he opened his arms to Seonghwa, pulling him close for a quick kiss on the cheek. The little grin on Seonghwa’s face was instant, his hand settling low on Hongjoong’s back. “We brought food,” Y/N said, holding up the bag Seonghwa had insisted on grabbing from their favorite dumpling place on the way.
“God bless you,” Jongho muttered from where he was leaned over the engine bay of another car, rubbing his stomach. “What’s the occasion?”
“Well…” Y/N smiled, shifting a little and tugging her hoodie tighter over her bump, which was just beginning to show now that she was almost five months along. “We found out the sex.” The guys immediately perked up. Hongjoong blinked. Yeosang sat up. Jongho dropped the wrench he was holding. “Well?!” Jongho demanded. “What are we having?!”
“It’s a boy.”
Yeosang whooped. Jongho grinned. “I knew it,” Yeosang said, pointing at her stomach like he’d won a bet. “That kid’s gonna come out with Yunho’s shoulders.”
“God help us,” Seonghwa muttered. “I’m buying noise canceling headphones now.” But Y/N turned toward Hongjoong then, her voice a little softer. “I was actually gonna ask you something,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I mean… I know it’s not official yet, but I think Yunho would want it. I’d really like it, too.” Hongjoong straightened up a little, sensing the shift in tone. “Would you want to be the godfather?”
He blinked. “Wait… seriously?” Before he could fully react, Yeosang stood and placed a hand on his chest like he’d just been betrayed. “Wow. Just… wow.” Jongho threw his rag at Yeosang. “Why would it be you? I’m the one who practically raised Yunho. I’ve known him since we were kids…”
“You were the one who said the baby might be born with his eyebrows,” Yeosang fired back and Y/N tried not to laugh as they fake argued behind her, and Hongjoong just stared at her, then over at Seonghwa, who gave a small, encouraging nod. “I’d be honored,” he said quietly.
Y/N smiled, relieved. “Good. That means Seonghwa gets to spoil him too.”
“Oh, he already started making a list,” Hongjoong said dryly, pulling Seonghwa closer by the waist. “We’ve got onesies in our online cart already. With little skulls and leather jackets.” Seonghwa grinned. “Gotta match his future uncles.”
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The low hum of fluorescent lights filled the bureau’s dim hallway, the air outside Junmyeon’s office was thick with the quiet buzz of agents moving through their routines. Inside, he sat behind his desk, glasses pushed up into his hair as he stared at a file he wasn’t really reading. He looked tired, had been for weeks now. The case, Yunho’s incarceration, his daughter’s stress, it all weighed heavier every day.
A knock on the door pulled his attention. “Come in.” One of his younger agents stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and lowering his voice as he approached. “Sir. I think we found something.” Junmyeon’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of something?” The agent glanced at the office window, then stepped closer. “It’s about Agent Bae. We dug into her transfer paperwork, her case files, all of it. She’s not sanctioned. Her name isn’t attached to any formal ATF task force. She’s here without jurisdiction.”
Silence hung between them for a beat before Junmyeon blinked once. “She forged her placement?”
“Or someone placed her here quietly. Either way, she’s acting without proper clearance. That raid on the garage? Illegal. Same with Yunho’s arrest. Every move she’s made could be thrown out if we bring this to the right judge.”
Junmyeon’s jaw locked tight. The bastard Han and his family had money, but not nearly enough to erase federal protocol. “She’s been trying to bury my daughter’s boyfriend on the word of a rich little shit and fake authority…” he said under his breath, eyes narrowing with fire. “Get me copies of everything. Now.”
“Yes sir.”
“And start a trace on who’s funding her presence here. I want names, because if someone thought they could run game in my backyard without me knowing…” He stood, his voice low and dangerous now. “I’ll burn their whole house down.”
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Y/N adjusted her bag over her shoulder as she stepped out of the building, the early morning sun warming the front steps. Seonghwa followed beside her, flipping through something on his ipad, distracted until he noticed the sharp shift in Y/N’s expression.
Agent Bae was waiting by the curb, leaned against a sleek black government car, arms crossed and that smug little smile plastered across her face like she owned the street. “Well, well,” Bae said, pushing off the car. “If it isn’t the future doctor and single mother.”
Y/N stiffened. “Do you ever do anything other than harass people who are smarter and better looking than you?” Seonghwa stepped forward, voice calm but cutting. “You’re not supposed to be here. This is private property.” Bae ignored him completely, eyes locked on Y/N’s stomach. “What are you now, five months? Starting to show. Guess it’s true what they say… like father, like child. Can’t stay out of trouble.”
Y/N’s jaw clenched, but she refused to look away. “You really that obsessed with him? Or are you just pissed he never gave you the time of day?” Bae’s smile twitched. Just slightly. “Let’s be honest, you think Yunho’s getting out of this? He’s already missed every doctor’s visit. Won’t be there for the birth either, if things go the way they’re going.”
“Oh, I do.” Bae cut him off, her smile darkening. “With the charges he’s facing, especially once my partner wraps up the ATF investigation, he’ll be lucky if he gets out by the time the kid hits middle school. Maybe high school, if he’s on his best behavior.”
Y/N’s breath hitched, but she stood tall, forcing her chin up. “You act like this is a game.” Bae shrugged. “I just think it’s poetic. His father raised a criminal, and now you’re having the sequel.” Before Seonghwa could lunge, Y/N grabbed his arm. Her voice was sharp as glass. “You done?”
“Not quite.” Bae gave her one last lingering look, at her stomach, at the spark in her eyes. “But I will be soon. You’ll see.” She turned, stepping into her car like she hadn’t just spit venom, like she hadn’t tried to break a pregnant woman down in a damn parking lot. The car pulled away without a sound.
Seonghwa exhaled hard, his hand still clenched into a fist. “You okay?” he asked softly as Y/N’s eyes stayed on the horizon for a moment. Then she looked down, placed her hand protectively over her belly.
“I’m fine.” She was a terrible liar.
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The concrete stank of sweat and blood. The roar of the men caged around the makeshift ring was deafening, but Yunho didn’t hear a damn thing. His pulse drowned out everything, his heartbeat a war drum in his ears as his knuckles split skin again and again. The guy he was pounding into the floor? Some cocky asshole named Jinwoo, who used to run with them back at the garage years ago. Thought he was untouchable. Thought he could talk shit about Y/N like Yunho wouldn’t snap.
Big mistake.
Yunho’s fist slammed into the guy’s jaw, again, until his head snapped sideways, blood trailing from his nose like a leaky faucet. He tried to raise an arm in defense, but Yunho grabbed it, twisted, yanked him to his knees, and kneed him in the face with enough force to make the crowd flinch. “Still wanna talk about her?” Yunho growled through clenched teeth, dragging the guy back up like a ragdoll just to send another punch straight to his ribs.
The guy wheezed, sputtering blood onto the floor. On the edge of the crowd, Wooyoung stood watching, arms crossed, lips pursed. He didn’t stop it. Didn’t flinch. He knew this wasn’t just about Yunho blowing off steam. It was about everything. Y/N. The pregnancy. Being locked up like a caged animal. That smug ATF agent. The fact that Yunho couldn’t touch the woman he loved, couldn’t protect her, couldn’t feel her belly and know their son was okay. And now this scumbag was saying shit about her like he didn’t deserve to get his face shattered.
Yunho cracked his neck, blood running down his forearm, his fists aching. His chest heaved as he stood over the guy, half conscious, a mess on the floor. He turned to the guard running the fight. “We done?” The guard, looking a little too pleased, gave a nod. “Yeah, Jeong. He’s out.”
Yunho turned without another glance, walking toward the exit where Wooyoung was already holding a towel out for him. “Feel better?” Wooyoung asked, not even pretending to be concerned as Yunho wiped the blood from his hands, not sure whose it was anymore. “No.”
“You know,” Wooyoung said casually as they walked back toward their cell block, “next time someone says something like that… maybe just break a tooth or two. Leave something for the next guy.” Yunho didn’t answer. He couldn’t. All he could see in his mind was Y/N’s face. Not being with her.
Someone was going to pay.
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The sound of the metal door clicking open never failed to make Yunho’s jaw tighten. But the moment he saw her, everything else melted away. Y/N stepped into the room slowly, her hand no longer bandaged, her belly round and unmistakable now. Her sweater stretched over the curve of her bump, her face flushed from the cold wind outside. Yunho stood before the guard even motioned him forward. His legs moved on instinct, his pulse racing. Every time he saw her, he was floored again. This time, more than ever. “You look…” His voice cracked slightly. He took a breath. “Hi.”
She smiled softly. “Hi.” They both sat. For a second, neither said anything. Yunho’s eyes dropped to her stomach, then back to her face. “How are you feeling?” he asked and she gave a dry laugh. “Pregnant.”
“Still having the cravings?”
“Worse. Yesterday I cried because the store was out of the weird pickles I like.”
He chuckled, leaning forward slightly, resting his arms on the table, studying her face. “Your hand?”
“Healed. Still sore sometimes, but worth it.”
Yunho frowned. “What happened, Y/N?”
She bit her lip, debating how much to tell him, but eventually her frustration bubbled over. “It’s Agent Bae,” she said. “She’s been showing up outside the school. Talking shit. Saying you won’t be there when the baby’s born. That you won’t hold him until he’s a teenager.” Yunho’s nostrils flared, jaw clenching hard. “She said that to you?” Y/N nodded. “I’ve been trying to keep it together, but it’s driving me insane. I hate feeling this helpless.”
“You’re not helpless,” Yunho said, his voice low and steady. “And she’s a coward. She wouldn’t talk like that if I wasn’t behind bars.” They stared at each other for a moment. The emotions were quiet, heavy, but loud enough between them. “She’s trying to get in your head,” he added. “Don’t let her win.” Y/N folded her hands over her belly. “I just want you home. I don’t care about anything else.”
Yunho swallowed hard, the weight of what she was carrying sinking deeper into his bones. “I think about you every second,” he murmured. “I think about what you’re going through without me. And I swear to God, Y/N, I’m not gonna let our son grow up thinking his dad abandoned him.” She smiled at that, tears already glossing over her lashes. “I know,” she whispered.
They both sat back then, the air between them still heavy, but warmer now. Until Yunho said quietly, “Trial’s next month.”
Y/N nodded slowly. “I know.”
“Your dad thinks he can punch holes in their case, especially after what they dug up on Bae… but I don’t trust the system.”
She reached out as far as she could across the table. He met her hand halfway. Palms pressed. Fingers curled. “Whatever happens,” she said, “I’ll be waiting.”
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The old suit was wedged deep in the back of Yunho’s closet. It smelled faintly of pine and dust, the fabric still crisp, preserved from the last time he’d worn it, years ago, for his father’s funeral. Y/N stood beside the open closet, one hand resting on her stomach, the other held out for balance against the doorframe. She didn’t have to ask Jongho to help, he was already crouched inside, pulling the suit bag forward with care like it was some kind of relic. “Man,” Jongho muttered, dragging it out. “I forgot this thing even existed.”
He looked back at her with that protective, no nonsense gaze he’d mastered over the last few months. “Last time he wore this, I was like… seventeen. We had to practically force him into it. He’d rather be buried in grease stained jeans than wear something with buttons.” Y/N gave a quiet laugh, her fingers brushing down the plastic covering. “He’ll wear it again. For court.”
Jongho leaned his shoulder against the closet wall, crossing his arms. “How is he?” he asked, voice lower now. She hesitated, “He’s trying to be strong. For me. For the baby. But he’s scared.”
“Yeah,” Jongho sighed. “Makes two of us.” He nodded toward the box in the corner. “You want me to grab anything else? There’s an old watch in there. He used to wear it when he had to look respectable. Might bring him some luck.” Y/N smiled and stepped aside to let him grab it. “Thanks, Jongho.” He glanced over at her again, his expression softening. “Have you heard anything from Woo?”
She shook her head slowly. “No. Not directly. Just know from Yunho that they’re bunked together. He says Wooyoung’s being Wooyoung, keeping him laughing when he can.”
“Good.” Jongho stood, brushing dust off his jeans and handing her the suit. “Means neither of them’s totally losing it.” She took the suit with a careful grip. “Let’s hope this fits.” Jongho grinned. “If it doesn’t, you can blame prison workouts.” They shared a look, half smile, half ache, and for a second the weight of it all was quieter, held between two people who both loved Yunho in very different but equally fierce ways.
They stepped into the living room, the old suit still slung carefully over her arm. The apartment was quiet aside from the soft hum of the air conditioner, and Jongho was halfway to asking if she wanted something to drink when a knock sounded. Y/N froze mid step. Jongho narrowed his eyes and let out a sigh that sounded like trouble. The moment he pulled the door open, the easygoing look on his face disappeared. He barely swallowed a groan as he came face to face with the one person he absolutely did not want to see right now.
“Jongho,” Yunho’s mother said sharply, arms crossed and heels already halfway into the apartment like she owned the place. “Why am I just now finding out my son is in jail?”
“Because you’re not exactly on the family mailing list,” Jongho mumbled, then forced a tight lipped smile. “Nice to see you too.” She stepped in fully, eyes already scanning the space and that’s when they landed on Y/N. Her gaze dropped, slowly, deliberately, to Y/N’s stomach. “You’re pregnant,” she said, flat, stunned. Y/N straightened, meeting her gaze without flinching. “Good to know your eyes still work.”
“Are you kidding me?” Yunho’s mom snapped, stepping closer. “Is this some kind of joke? I had to find out my son was arrested through a thirdhand rumor, and now I come here to find this?” Y/N tilted her head, tone even but laced with frost. “You mean me? The woman who’s been with your son through everything? Who stayed when you left again?”
Jongho held up a hand. “Maybe now’s not the time for round two.” Yunho’s mother looked ready to explode. “Does Yunho even know about this?”
“He does,” Y/N said coolly. “He’s the father. Not that you ever cared enough to be around and ask.” That one hit its mark. She blinked, her mouth opening but no words coming out at first. Finally, she muttered, “This is unbelievable.”
“No,” Y/N replied, brushing past her as she headed for the hallway, “what’s unbelievable is that it took you this long to show up. You’re lucky Yunho’s not here, because if he was, he’d probably slam the door in your face.” And just like that, she was gone, the suit still folded over her arm.
Jongho exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well. You wanna go now, or wait until she starts throwing dishes?”
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The diner was quiet, a break in both their days. Y/N sat across from her dad, poking at her fries while he sipped coffee with that half distracted, half grumpy look he wore every time work and family collided in his head. She stabbed a fry, flicked her eyes up at him, and muttered, “Yunho’s mom showed up again.”
Junmyeon groaned like she’d just stabbed him with that fry. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, setting his mug down harder than he needed to. “I haven’t liked that woman since back when I was partners with Yunho’s dad. Couldn’t stand her then, like her even less now. Always walked around like she was too good for the rest of us, talking down to everyone, including her own damn husband. The man was a saint for putting up with her.”
“She was acting like she hadn’t just abandoned him again after the crash,” Y/N muttered bitterly, crossing her arms. “Like she has any right to an opinion on anything.” Her dad shook his head. “She doesn’t. And if she says one sideways word to you again, you call me. I’ll deal with her.” Y/N cracked a small smile, nudging her food. “You might be the only grandpa I know who threatens baby grandmas.”
“I’m not threatening,” he said calmly. “I’m promising. That woman might share blood with my grandkid, but I’ll be damned if she tries to rewrite history while Yunho’s locked up and can’t defend himself.” Y/N’s smile faded. Her hand went protectively over her stomach. “He’ll be out before the baby gets here, right?”
Junmyeon looked at her, steady and sure. “Damn right he will.”
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The courtroom was already buzzing by the time Y/N walked in, her hand instinctively resting on her belly as she followed Seonghwa to their seats. She was flanked by Jongho, Yeosang, and Hongjoong, each of them sharply dressed but unmistakably carrying the edge of men who didn’t belong in a courtroom unless it was for reasons like this.
Yunho’s trial. The one everyone thought would go exactly how the ATF agent wanted. Y/N could feel her heart slamming in her chest the moment she sat down, eyes immediately scanning for Yunho. He hadn’t entered yet. Her fingers clenched her purse tightly as Seonghwa reached over to squeeze her knee in a small, grounding motion. Hongjoong was the calmest of them all, leaned back in his seat like this was a routine meeting. His fingers idly toyed with a silver ring, the corners of his mouth tugged up just enough to hint at something dangerous simmering under the surface.
Because… well, he knew the judge. Of course he did. The man owed Hongjoong more than a few favors, keeping his hands clean thanks to Hongjoong’s money and silence. And today? He was repaying that debt in full. Across the aisle, Agent Bae strutted in, heels echoing off the stone floor like she owned the place. She smirked as if this was already a done deal, as if Yunho would be dragged back to his cell in cuffs before lunchtime.
Yunho was led into the courtroom in his suit, looking too good for someone they were trying to throw away. The courtroom was stifling in its silence as Agent Bae took the floor, heels tapping with confidence, smirk practically stapled to her face. She addressed the court with that signature smug tone that grated on everyone who knew better. “This man,” she began, gesturing toward Yunho like she was pointing at a wild animal in a cage, “has evaded the law long enough. From illegal drops to violent altercations, including the most recent assault that landed another man in the ER, Jeong Yunho is not only a danger to society but a poster child for unchecked criminal behavior.”
She paced with a flourish, unaware, or maybe in denial, that the walls around her were already starting to crumble. Yunho sat still, unreadable in the suit Y/N had picked up from Jongho’s apartment, sharp black pressed against the tension in his frame. Beside him, his attorney, the ever calm, ever slippery, Min Hyun, a name whispered in Busan’s illegal underground with both reverence and fear, barely blinked. Behind them, Junmyeon sat with a scowl on his face, arms crossed, looking every bit the overworked, pissed off father who had better places to be. He didn’t look at Bae. He didn’t need to. The judge already had everything he needed.
The evidence Bae brought forward was flimsy. Video surveillance from a drop with Yunho’s blurred figure. Phone records that were inconclusive. Photos that were conveniently missing timestamps. The bar fight was the strongest charge, but even that had mitigating details once Hyun laid into it. “Your Honor,” Hyun finally stood, slow, casual, with the poise of someone completely and utterly in control, “what my client is accused of amounts to circumstantial evidence at best.” He stepped forward. “I find it curious, your Honor, that Agent Bae failed to disclose that she is not, in fact, operating under Busan jurisdiction… a fact that disqualifies most of the gathered evidence from admissibility.”
The gallery buzzed faintly. Agent Bae’s smugness flickered. The judge blinked slowly. He already knew. They all did. “Motion to dismiss all charges due to lack of admissible evidence, faulty jurisdiction, and a gross misuse of investigative authority.” And that’s when Bae’s face truly fell as Hongjoong sat with his chin propped on his hand, looking thoroughly entertained. Junmyeon didn’t smirk, but the way his eyebrow lifted said enough.
The judge leaned back, exhaled, then looked over his glasses. “Motion granted. Mr. Jeong, you’re free to go.” Gasps. Murmurs. Y/N blinking like she hadn’t heard right. And Yunho just stared for a second longer before his eyes flicked to her. Everything else blurred out. He was free. Because of who he was. Because of the people who loved him, protected him. Because he wasn’t just some criminal. He was theirs.
Yunho didn’t flinch as the cuffs clicked open. The courtroom was a mess of quiet gasps and murmurs, Agent Bae frozen in disbelief as her entire case collapsed before her eyes. Yunho stood slow, shoulders rolling back, years of street smarts and swagger settling back into his bones like he’d never been locked up at all as he turned his head just enough to glance at her. “Good luck next time,” he said, voice smooth, eyes gleaming with unbothered defiance. “You’re gonna need it.”
Bae’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Because she knew she lost. The second the cuffs were gone, Yunho didn’t waste a second. He moved past the table, past Hyun with a quick nod of appreciation, past Y/N’s dad who gave him the slightest approving tilt of the head, and straight to her.
Y/N was already up, halfway through the row, heart in her throat, tears threatening to spill. But they didn’t get the chance. Yunho reached her, hands cupping her face as if he needed to make sure she was real, lips crashing into hers like he’d been starving for the taste of her because he had. It wasn’t a soft kiss. It was months of waiting. Of longing. Of loving her from behind bars. She melted into him, her hands gripping his jacket, his arms sliding down to wrap around her middle, not too tight, but firm, protective, reverent.
His forehead pressed to hers as he whispered, “I missed you.” And then his hands found her belly, his palms gentle, fingers splaying across the swell. His eyes dropped, then closed as he leaned down and pressed his lips to the curve of her stomach. The first time he’d really touched his kid. The courtroom didn’t exist anymore. Not to Yunho. Not when his whole world was standing right in front of him.
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The garage felt like it was holding it’s breath. Quiet for once, no roaring engines, no blaring music, just the hum of fluorescents and the familiar scent of motor oil and old rubber. Yunho stepped out of Y/N’s car and didn’t even make it halfway to the main doors before he was jogging. Straight to his own car. It sat gleaming in the corner, freshly tuned, recently waxed, pristine like it had been waiting for him just as much as Y/N had.
Yunho let out a low breath and wrapped his arms around the hood like a man reunited with a lost love. “God, I missed you too,” he muttered, pressing his cheek against the warm metal as Y/N stood a few feet away, arms crossed, trying not to smile too wide. “Sometimes I think you might love that car more than me.”
“Never,” he teased over his shoulder and Y/N rolled her eyes with a little laugh, walking up to him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but I’m free,” he grinned, grabbing her waist and pulling her into his side, arm slung around her like he wasn’t letting go again. “You know,” Hongjoong said, walking towards them. “Wooyoung’s trial is in a few days. With the judge we got, and how sloppy Bae’s case is looking now? He’ll probably walk.”
“I hope so,” Yunho said. “He’s losing his damn mind in there.” That’s when Junmyeon strolled in. He looked at everyone, especially Y/N, his eyes lingering on her then her belly where his grandson was, with something between pride and concern, before turning to Yunho. “Congratulations,” He said. “But don’t let your guard down. Bae may not have real jurisdiction, but she’s pissed. And someone like her?” He shook his head. “She’s not finished. Not by a long shot.”
Yunho’s jaw flexed, but he nodded. “Then we won’t be either.” Junmyeon let out a sigh as he tucked his phone away, giving one last look at Yunho, who stood surrounded by his crew, back in his element, for now. “I’m heading back to the bureau,” he said, turning to Y/N. “Make sure Bae isn’t flipping desks and filing false reports now that she lost.”
Y/N nodded, “Call me if she tries anything.” Her dad gave her a dry smile before muttering, “I’ll call you when I get the call about the tantrum she’s definitely throwing,” and headed out. The second he was gone, Yunho looked at Hongjoong. His tone dropped, eyes sharp. “We have to get rid of her.” Hongjoong didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Trust me… I know. She’s gonna keep digging till she finds something or burns the whole damn city down trying.”
And it was starting to look like there was only way of getting rid of her.
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Y/N unlocked the front door to her and Seonghwa’s apartment, flipping the lights on as she stepped inside, the sound of her keys hitting the bowl by the door echoing softly. Behind her, Yunho followed in, one of his duffel bags slung over his shoulder, fresh clothes finally packed after their stop at his and Jongho’s apartment. The place was quiet, dimly lit by the glow of the hallway lamp. Seonghwa hadn’t come back, still staying with Hongjoong for the night.
Yunho dropped his bag by the couch, exhaling as he looked around, shoulders finally starting to loosen. It was the first night in a long time he wasn’t surrounded by cement walls, bars, or guards watching his every move. The hum of the fridge, the distant buzz of the heater kicking on, it was domestic, familiar… and he didn’t realize how much he missed that kind of silence.
Y/N was already padding into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and eyeing leftovers. “You want anything?” Yunho didn’t answer at first. His gaze lingered on her from the doorway, the soft stretch of her shirt over her growing belly. She wasn’t just his girl anymore, she was the mother of his child. He walked over slowly, slipping his arms around her from behind as she stood there staring at a container of fried rice. “Nah,” he murmured against her neck. “I’m good right here.”
She smiled, closing the fridge, leaning into him. “You sure? You barely ate anything earlier.”
“I’ll eat in a bit,” he whispered, pressing a kiss under her ear, then resting his hands gently on her stomach. “Right now I just want this.” And for a few quiet seconds… that was all there was. No jail cells, no trials, no raids, no scheming agents or broken hands. Just them. Just home.
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A couple hours later, the apartment was quiet as steam curled from the cracked open bathroom door, drifting into the hallway as Yunho stepped out, towel slung low on his hips, damp hair pushed back from his forehead. The lights were low, just the bedside lamp casting a soft golden hue across Y/N’s bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed in one of his tshirts, scrolling absently through her phone, though she wasn’t really reading anything. She looked up the moment she felt his presence, her eyes trailing slowly over him.
Three months. It had been three months since they’d really been alone, three months of missed touches, missed nights, and longing in quiet moments that neither of them could do a thing about. And now he was here. Finally here. Yunho crossed the room slowly, eyes locked on her like she was the only thing he could see. He leaned down, pressing a kiss just beneath her ear before trailing lower, down her neck. She let out a breathy sound, tilting slightly into his touch before he whispered against her skin, “You look like heaven.”
Y/N hesitated, her fingers curling in the fabric of the shirt as she bit her bottom lip. “I don’t. Not really.” Yunho paused, pulling back slightly so he could see her face. She wasn’t looking at him. “What do you mean?”
“I just…” She shifted a little on the bed, her hand brushing gently over the swell of her stomach. “I’m bigger now. I know it’s stupid, but… what if it’s different? What if you don’t want me like this?” Yunho blinked once. Then twice. And then he let out the softest, almost incredulous scoff as he dropped the towel right there, completely unbothered, before kneeling in front of her between her legs. His hands slid up her thighs slowly, reverently. “Baby…”
She looked down at him, still uncertain, until he shook his head with that familiar seriousness that melted her every time. “You’re carrying our baby. You think I give a single fuck how big you are?” His hands smoothed over her hips, pulling her a little closer to the edge. “I’ve never wanted you more in my life.” Yunho leaned up and kissed her, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. “You’re beautiful. You’re mine. You’re everything.”
He didn’t rush. Still kneeling between her legs, his hands slid up under the oversized shirt she wore and he pressed another kiss to her inner thigh, then another, higher this time. She felt his breath warm against her skin, his fingers hooking the waistband of her panties, dragging them down with the same patience that made her thighs tremble. “I missed you,” he murmured against her skin, kissing the curve where her thigh met her hip. “Missed touching you… hearing you…”
Y/N couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe as Yunho tossed the lace to the side, but he didn’t move fast. He didn’t pounce or take. He worshipped. His hands ran up her thighs again, slower this time, his lips finding the softest spot just above her knee and trailing a path higher. Every kiss lingered. Every breath against her skin made her head tip back further into the pillows. “I need this,” he whispered, eyes lifting to hers as his fingers flexed against her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed. “I need you.”
There was something in his voice, raw, reverent. Like he wasn’t just touching her body, but grounding himself again after months of suffocating silence. Her hands slid into his damp hair, and Yunho’s mouth opened against her skin, ready to show her just how badly he needed every inch of her. He kissed her inner thigh again, lips soft, before finally lowering himself fully between her legs. His hands smoothed along her hips as he settled in like it was the only place in the world he wanted to be, because it was.
The first touch of his tongue was slow. Deliberate. A gentle sweep from bottom to top that made her breath hitch. He hummed low at the taste of her, burying himself deeper, dragging another long, slow lick before he closed his lips around her clit and sucked gently making Y/N’s hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through the dark, damp strands. “Yunho!”
He groaned at the sound of his name, like it was the first drop of water after a desert stretch. His tongue moved again, taking his time, savoring every reaction she gave him. He alternated between lazy, teasing flicks and deep, consuming strokes that left her trembling. It wasn’t just physical. It was him memorizing her all over again. Every soft moan, every twitch of her hips, every breathless whimper she tried, and failed, to stifle. “I missed this,” he murmured between kisses, his breath hot against her. “Missed you.”
He flattened his tongue and dragged it slow, groaning again as she arched off the bed. When her thighs started to tremble, he gripped them tighter, locking her in place. There was no escape, not from the way he worshipped her, not from the way he took his time making her fall apart. “Let go for me,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to her. “Let me have it, baby. I need to feel you come on my tongue.” He dove back in, hungry, relentless, and completely hers.
She came with a gasp, hips jerking up, thighs clenching around his head as Yunho kept his mouth on her, soft flicks of his tongue coaxing every last wave of pleasure from her. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, her voice a broken moan of his name as her entire body trembled. Only when she whimpered from the overstimulation did he finally ease off, kissing the inside of her thigh with a smile that was all boyish pride and filthy satisfaction. “Missed the way you taste,” he murmured, voice thick and low.
He climbed up, gently grabbing her by the waist, pulling her into his lap like she weighed nothing at all. She settled across him, flushed and breathless, straddling his thighs as he cupped her face, kissing her, deep and slow, her flavor still on his tongue. She whimpered against his mouth, shifting until she felt the press of him nudging at her entrance. It had been months. And yet, her body welcomed him like no time had passed at all.
Yunho held her hips and let her sink down on him slowly, both of them gasping in unison at the stretch, the closeness, the relief. His eyes fluttered shut for a second as her warmth wrapped around him, his jaw clenched tight, breath unsteady. “Fuck…” he hissed, chest heaving as she rocked her hips slowly, her hands slid up his chest and Yunho couldn’t take it anymore, he tugged his shirt she had on, up and off, finally revealing her fully to him, her breasts fuller now, rounder, the barest veins visible beneath the soft skin, evidence of the life growing inside her.
His hands cupped them gently, thumbs brushing over her nipples as his mouth dropped open. “Shit… your tits are bigger.” Y/N groaned and rolled her eyes with a breathy laugh, even as a moan slipped out. “God, you’re such a guy.” But Yunho just grinned up at her like she was the only thing in the universe. “Yeah? And I’m your guy. So I get to enjoy all of this.”
Yunho laid back against the pillows, watching her as she began to really move. Y/N rolled her hips with slow, careful intent, bracing her hands on his chest again as she rode him in a rhythm that wasn’t rushed, it was deliberate, controlled. Her breath hitched every time she sank down fully, her body adjusting to the stretch of him, even after months apart. “Fuck,” Yunho whispered, his hands resting on her hips, letting her move how she needed. “You’re so perfect like this…” He was used to their usual kind of chaos, fast, hard, wild, but this? This was different. It was tender, almost reverent. She couldn’t bounce or slam down on him like she used to, not with her being pregnant, not with her body working overtime every day, but none of that mattered.
What she could do was roll her hips just right, grinding down into him slowly enough to feel every ridge of him, every twitch of his dick as it dragged along her walls. Her head tilted back, lips parted in a quiet moan, her breasts bouncing gently with each shift of her weight and Yunho watched her, eyes glazed with pure worship. “I missed this… missed you, baby.” Y/N looked down at him with a soft, breathy laugh, brushing sweat sticky hair from her forehead. “We used to break furniture.” Yunho smirked, sliding one hand up to cup her breast. “Yeah, and now you’re riding me like you own me.” His voice dipped low, wicked but full of love. “You’re carrying my kid and still the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She flushed at the compliment, but didn’t slow down. Her rhythm stayed steady, fluid, and Yunho matched her movements with subtle thrusts from underneath, just enough to keep her gasping, just enough to build that pressure between them again before he sat up slowly, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s lower back to steady her as he shifted, pulling her chest to his and holding her like she might slip away again. His mouth caught hers in a breathless kiss, all heat and hunger and desperation.
Her moan was soft against his lips, her arms winding around his neck as he rocked up into her, deeper than before. It had been too long. Way too long. His hands gripped her hips tighter, helping her move with him, guiding her pace as he started thrusting up into her a little harder, deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin muffled by their breathless kisses and gasps. Yunho pulled back just enough to look at her face, his voice rough. “I’m not gonna last.”
She smiled, breathless, her hips rolling down to meet him every time. “Don’t care. Just…. just don’t stop.” His eyes fluttered closed for a second as he bit back a groan, then opened again to look at her, really look. “Are you close?” She nodded, moaning against his mouth. “Y…. Yeah… baby….” Yunho didn’t stop. One hand slid between them, his thumb brushing over her clit just enough to push her closer. He could feel it in the way her body tightened, the way her thighs trembled. Her moans started breaking, going higher.
He kissed her again, whispering between thrusts, “Come with me… I got you.” Her nails dug into his shoulders as her body arched, the orgasm slamming into her hard, pulling a loud cry from her throat as she clenched down around him. Yunho groaned deep in his chest, his rhythm faltering before he gave in fully, letting go, burying himself in her as they both came.
They stayed like that for a minute, just breathing. Chest to chest, foreheads touching, her fingers still tangled in his hair. Yunho was the first to break the silence, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Okay… maybe you being pregnant is a little dangerous for my self control.” She let out a breathless laugh, still recovering. “You think?”
He kissed her again, slower this time. “Worth it.”
The styling room was quiet, save for the soft hum of equipment and rustle of fabric as you made the final adjustments to Yeosang’s hair. He sat still beneath your touch, head tilted slightly while you tousled the last wave into place. “All done,” you said, stepping back to inspect your work. His platinum blonde strands glinted under the lights, artfully messy, a little sharp around the edges, just like the moodboard had asked for.
Yeosang glanced in the mirror and nodded. “You’re dangerous with your hands.” You arched a brow, fighting a smile. “Tell that to your roots next month.” He snorted and slid off the chair with his usual quiet grace, stretching his arms before heading toward wardrobe. As he passed by the doorway, you caught movement in your peripheral.
Yunho.
Fresh from makeup, already in partial wardrobe, his vest wasn’t buttoned yet, sheer sleeves loose around his forearms. He filled the doorway with quiet confidence, black hair falling into his eyes. “You ready?” he asked casually, stepping in. You nodded once, but your fingers tightened slightly around your comb as he approached. His presence always filled a room. But today… today he looked carved from something darker, something deliberate.
He sank into the chair Yeosang had just vacated, resting his arms on the armrests, legs spread just a little too wide and you swallowed. From the counter, you grabbed the concept sheet, needing a second to compose yourself. You’d already glanced at it this morning, but now, with Yunho sitting there, watching you through the mirror, you studied it again. The reference photo showed him with his hair pulled back into a half ponytail, loose strands around the face, sharp angles softened at the jaw. You hesitated. Because Yunho had never worn his hair like that before.
Even the few times he’d grown it out, he always left it down, pushed back with a beanie or styled away from his face with texture and volume. Never pulled up. Never tamed. “You good?” he asked, tilting his head. His voice was calm, but you didn’t miss the curiosity flickering behind it. You lowered the sheet slowly. “You’ve never worn your hair up before.” Yunho shrugged, the movement lazy. “First time for everything.”
You turned away so he wouldn’t see your expression. Something about that answer, about the way he said it, like it meant something more, made the heat bloom low in your stomach. You cleared your throat. “Alright. Let’s see what we’re working with.” You stepped behind him, fingers brushing the nape of his neck as you began combing through his thick, dark hair. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned back into the touch just a little and you pretended not to notice. But god… this was going to be a problem.
Your fingers moved with practiced ease, separating strands, smoothing them down, combing through from root to tip. Yunho’s hair was soft, mainly because you being a hair stylist and his girlfriend, you made sure to keep it healthy, it was silkier now that it had grown out past his ears, thick and slightly wavy in the back. You ran the brush down again, slower this time, focused.
And then he moaned. A quiet, low sound from deep in his chest, not dramatic or playful, but real. Felt. “I love when you play with my hair,” he said, voice like gravel wrapped in velvet. His eyes stayed half lidded in the mirror, jaw slack, neck tilted ever so slightly like he was offering himself up and your grip on the brush faltered. “Shut up,” you hissed, instantly flustered. “We’re at work.”
He grinned, the kind of grin that said he wasn’t sorry at all. “Didn’t say anything inappropriate.”
“You moaned.”
“Did I?” he said innocently. “Pretty sure that was just a sigh of appreciation.”
You smacked his shoulder with the back of the brush, and he laughed, warm and unbothered, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. Not once. You fought the urge to roll your eyes and instead leaned closer, reaching forward to gently section off the top half of his hair. The tips of your fingers grazed his scalp again, and you could feel it, the way he shivered, barely perceptible but very much there. “You keep reacting like that, and I’m gonna clip your hair up with a binder clip and call it a day,” you muttered.
“You know that would still turn me on, right?”
“Yunho.”
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “But if you keep touching me like this…”
Your fingers paused just behind his ear.
“I’m gonna start thinking we’re not working.”
You inhaled sharply through your nose. You were dangerously close to threading your fingers into his hair instead of the tie you’d just picked up. But you couldn’t let him win. Not here. Not yet. You ignored every word he said after that, at least on the outside. Inside? You were a wreck.
The texture of his hair, the way it slipped between your fingers like ink, the low heat rolling off his skin, it all worked against your professional resolve. But you kept going, sectioning the top half carefully, gathering it like muscle memory, like it wasn’t driving you insane to feel him melting under your hands as he stayed still, unnervingly so, just watching you through the mirror.
When you finally tied it off, a few stray strands framed his face exactly like the reference photo, except better. Way better. His cheekbones looked sharper, his lips more plush, and his eyes… God, his eyes looked lethal now, framed by that loose dark curtain. Your hands dropped to your sides before you could do something you’d regret in public. That’s when the door swung open.
“Next victim,” Wooyoung announced, striding in like he owned the place. “What’s up, hot people?”
You stepped back automatically as Yunho slowly stood from the chair, rolling his neck once. The way his hair moved, soft and heavy in the back, controlled on top, made your stomach flip and he caught the look in your eye before you could hide it. And he grinned. Full blown, smug, knowing grin. “Thanks, baby,” he said, sauntering past you like nothing had happened. “That felt amazing.”
You knew he wasn’t just talking about the styling as Wooyoung flopped into the chair Yunho had just left, completely unaware of the storm he was walking into. “Think you can make me look that good, too?”
You cleared your throat. “I can try.” But you weren’t looking at Wooyoung. You were still watching Yunho, and he was still watching you over his shoulder, that damn grin playing on his lips as he walked backward out of the room.
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The main set was dimly lit, warm with moody tones and artificial smoke curling through the air. You stood with the rest of the styling staff behind the monitors, clipboard in hand, headset looped lazily around your neck as the photographer called out directions. The boys were cycling through individual shots, Yeosang already done, Wooyoung next, San prowling the edge of the backdrop waiting for his turn. And then there was Yunho.
Center of the frame. Looking like temptation in high definition. His vest was now buttoned up tight, hugging every inch of that maddening torso, the sheer sleeves catching just enough light to make you clench the clipboard tighter. But it was the hair. The fucking hair. Pulled back, slightly tousled, ends curling softly behind his ears, that elegant half ponytail making his entire jawline look criminal.
He wasn’t even doing much, just tilting his head, staring down the lens like he was trying to melt it. But your eyes were glued to him. You’d never seen him look like that. Calm. Controlled. Hot as sin. And he knew. You could feel it every time his gaze flicked slightly off camera. Like he was looking for you.
You shifted your weight, arms crossed tightly now, forcing yourself to glance at your clipboard. It didn’t help.
“You good?”
You froze at Mingi’s voice, way too close. You turned your head to find your boyfriend’s best friend standing just to your left, hands in his pockets, a curious smirk tugging at his mouth. Before you could respond, Jongho’s voice came from your other side. “You’ve been staring for, like, five full minutes.”
“I have not,” you snapped a little too quickly.
They both blinked at you and Mingi leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You gonna survive or should we get you a cold drink?”
“Or a dark room?” Jongho added helpfully.
You opened your mouth to tell them both to shut up and that’s when Yunho shifted his stance in front of the camera, slowly lifting his hand to run it through the loose strands that framed his cheek. His fingers brushed right over the tie you’d fastened, tugging it just enough to make a few locks fall back over his face. It was so deliberate. And you knew exactly who he was doing it for. You made a strangled noise in your throat.
Mingi snorted. “That’s a yes.”
Jongho chuckled, nudging you with his elbow. “Better go fix his hair, noona. Looks like he messed it up just for you.”
“Pause for a second!” The photographer’s voice cut through the bass heavy music playing over the speakers, calling for a quick break to adjust lighting. Yunho stepped off the mark, taking a few long strides toward the edge of the set.
You were already moving. Clipboard forgotten, headset discarded somewhere near Jongho’s smug little smile, you crossed the floor with practiced ease, head high, face calm, totally unbothered. Except, of course, for the fact that Yunho had just intentionally ruined the half ponytail you had styled, and now everyone was expecting you to fix it.
He was waiting. Arms relaxed at his sides, smugness radiating off him like steam from a hot sidewalk. His eyes met yours and held, a glint of amusement, no, satisfaction, blooming behind his dark gaze as you stopped in front of him, ignoring the way your pulse skipped when he tilted his chin slightly, giving you full access to the mess he made. Of course he did.
“You pulled pieces loose,” you muttered under your breath.
“I did,” he said, voice low. “Terrible of me.”
You stepped in close, brushing your fingers through the front sections that had fallen out of place. He smelled like clean skin and faint cologne, bergamot and warmth. His hair was soft, still holding its shape where you’d styled it, except for the few strands he’d deliberately tugged loose like some kind of tease.
Your hands worked quickly, re tightening the band at the crown. But your breath caught when he leaned in just enough for his voice to ghost across your ear. “I missed your hands.” Your fingers stuttered. Then you yanked the tie just a bit tighter and he flinched. “Oops,” you said flatly, stepping back.
Yunho smirked, adjusting his vest like he didn’t just flirt with you while a dozen people watched. “You wound me.”
“Not yet,” you whispered, low enough for only him to hear and his eyes darkened. Just slightly. Just enough.
“Back to position, Yunho!”
He turned slowly, gaze dragging over you before he walked back to the center of the set, ponytail perfect once again, jawline sharp, and the ghost of a smirk still curving his lips.
You exhaled slowly as Mingi, off to the side, gave you a thumbs up and wiggled his brows. You were so screwed.
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The shoot wrapped with applause and scattered laughter, the energy still humming even as the team began to disperse. Monitors shut off, lights dimmed, props moved to the side. Staff collected clipboards and cables, stylists gathered their kits, and the boys started peeling out of concept clothes like they couldn’t wait to breathe again.
You lingered near the edge of the room, watching it all wind down, waiting to leave with Yunho. Wooyoung had already flung himself onto the nearest couch, shirt halfway pulled over his head, whining about being tired. San was laughing at him. Yeosang was still taking mirror selfies in full wardrobe. And Yunho had already changed. Gone was the sheer vest and tailored trousers, replaced now by his usual comfort fit, black oversized hoodie, sage green cargo pants.
But what made your chest tighten was that he’d left his hair up. The ponytail was still in place, slightly messier now, a few strands curling loose behind his ears, but still, it was up. Like he liked it. Like he didn’t want to take it out. And it looked obscenely good with that hoodie. He was sitting on one of the stools by the mirror, bent over slightly as he laced up his sneakers, sleeves pushed to his elbows. You tried not to stare. You really, really did. But there was something about the contrast, the softness of the tied up hair, the street style slouch of his clothes, the strength in how he moved that made heat bloom low and slow again in your stomach.
Yunho glanced up mid lace, catching you from across the room. And he smiled. Not the teasing smirk from before. Something quieter. Warmer. But still dangerous. He patted the empty space next to him on the bench. Didn’t say a word. Just the pat. Like an invitation. No…. like a challenge.
You took a small step forward, just one, already feeling the buzz under your skin like a lit fuse. And that’s when San’s voice cut through the air like a damn whistle. “Hey,” he called, swinging his duffel bag over one shoulder as he approached, all warm smiles and post shoot glow. “You two wanna grab food with us?”
You blinked. “Us?”
“Me, Mingi, and Jongho,” San nodded. “We’re gonna hit that Korean BBQ spot near the studio. The one Mingi always says has the life changing pork belly.’”
From the corner, Mingi threw up a fist and hollered, “Because it does!” Jongho just rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath about needing real sustenance as you turned slightly to glance at Yunho, who was now sitting upright, forearms resting on his thighs, eyes on you like he hadn’t even heard San. But the little tilt of his head and lift of his brow said it all, up to you, baby.
Your stomach did a little somersault as San looked between the two of you, then squinted. “Unless…” His voice lowered just slightly, amused. “You’ve got other plans?”
“No,” you said too quickly, straightening your shoulders. “No plans.” Yunho’s smirk returned, barely. He looked like he was chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as you added, “I could eat.”
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The BBQ place was buzzing, the familiar clatter of metal chopsticks, sizzling meat on grills, and background music just loud enough to compete with San and Mingi arguing over the best dipping sauce.
You sat squished between Yunho and the wall, close enough that your thigh brushed his every time either of you moved. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he hadn’t stopped leaning just slightly toward you the whole time, arm draped casually over the back of the bench, fingertips ghosting your shoulder every so often like he forgot they were there. He didn’t forget. You were pretty sure he was doing it just to see how long you’d last before combusting.
Jongho was flipping the meat like a pro, San was already halfway through the side dishes, and Mingi was leaning back in his chair, eyeing the empty drink menu like it had personally wronged him. “This is a crime,” Mingi announced. “We have grilled pork, rice, good company, and no soju?”
“We just sat down,” Jongho deadpanned.
Mingi scoffed, waving his hand. “I’ll order it. We need a bottle or three. Especially with them here.”
San snorted as you raised an eyebrow, amused. “Them?”
Mingi just grinned. “You’ll see.”
You rolled your eyes and slid out of the booth. “I’m going to the restroom. Try not to set anything on fire.” Yunho let his hand trail along your back as you passed, barely brushing your waist. You didn’t react. But he saw the way your breath hitched.
The second you disappeared around the corner, Mingi turned, eyes locked on Yunho like a heat seeking missile. “Well, well,” he said, dragging out the words. “You know she’s gonna pull your hair out by the time she’s done with you tonight.”
Yunho didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just lifted a slice of pork belly with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Then he smirked. “I hope so.”
San groaned. “Jesus Christ.”
Jongho shook his head, flipping another slice. “Can we not talk about hyung getting manhandled while we’re eating?”
Mingi laughed, raising his hand for the server. “I’m just saying, she’s been giving him that look all day. You saw it, right?”
San leaned back with a shit eating grin. “She looked like she wanted to mount him mid photoshoot.”
“Yeah,” Mingi nodded. “And he looked like he wouldn’t stop her.”
“Still wouldn’t,” Yunho said, completely unbothered and the other three groaned in unison. “God, it’s like watching a porno in slow motion,” Jongho muttered just as your footsteps sounded as you returned. The table went suspiciously quiet, all four guys suddenly very focused on grilling, pouring drinks, and not saying a damn thing.
You paused, eyes narrowing. “What’d I miss?”
Mingi handed you a shot glass without looking up. “Nothing. Drink.”
Yunho reached under the table and squeezed your thigh once. Just enough to make your eyes widen. Just enough to make you wonder what the hell he and his ponytail had planned for later.
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Dinner had stretched into that sweet, blurry haze where the food was mostly gone, the laughter was too loud, and everything tasted like salt and soju. Half a dozen empty bottles littered the table, side dishes were a mess. You were flushed, comfortably buzzed, your legs pressed to Yunho’s under the table, the two of you talking low between bites, laughter curling around every soft brush of his fingers against your thigh. But San had pulled you into a back and forth drinking game halfway through dinner and now you were laughing harder, cheek warm against Yunho’s shoulder while you teased Jongho for being the only one still sober enough to read the bill.
“Okay,” Mingi grinned, holding the next bottle high. “One more round!”
“God,” Jongho groaned, “You’ve said that four rounds ago.”
“Shut up and accept your fate.” Mingi filled every shot glass with wild bartender flair, sliding one each toward San, Jongho, Yunho, and then to you. But before Yunho could reach for his glass, your hand shot out and snatched it instead. All four of them paused as you turned, shot glass in hand, and looked right at Yunho. Then, without a word, you reached up and fisted the tie of his ponytail.
His breath caught. So did everyone else’s as you tugged, firm but not cruel, tilting his head back just enough to expose the sharp line of his throat, jaw flexing as he looked at you, pupils dark and blown despite the ambient lighting. “Open,” you said softly.
His lips parted instantly and you poured the shot into his mouth slow, watching the way his throat worked to swallow it down, his lashes fluttering just slightly as the liquor burned it’s way past his tongue. Then you let go and Yunho exhaled like he’d just been kissed.
You didn’t say a word, just turned back to your food like nothing had happened as the table erupted.
“WHAT THE FUCK!”
“Noona!!”
“Oh my God! I think I just got pregnant.”
Jongho buried his face in his hands. “I want to leave.”
Mingi was howling. San looked half deranged, half proud. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
You just smirked and sipped your own shot as Yunho leaned in close, voice a whisper of gravel and desire against your ear. “That was not smart.” You turned your head slightly, your smile lazy. “Who said I was trying to be?”
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Yunho and Yeosang’s apartment was warm, low lit, and smelled faintly like sandalwood and laundry detergent, clean, lived in, and just the right amount of chaos. The front door clicked shut behind the two of you, the night air replaced by the familiar comfort of home as you both kicked off your shoes.
“Hey,” Yeosang called from the couch without looking away from the TV. He was half buried under a throw blanket, eyes glued to the screen. Next to him, Wooyoung was curled sideways in a hoodie two sizes too big, elbow deep in a bag of chips. “You’re late. That pork belly better have been worth it.”
“Ask Mingi,” Yunho muttered as you slipped past the couch with a quiet smile and headed straight for the open kitchen and pulled open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting off the cap as the laughter from the TV show carried faintly through the space.
You leaned against the counter, sipping slowly. And that’s when you saw him. Across the kitchen, standing in front of the hallway mirror, Yunho was adjusting his ponytail. His hoodie was loose, sleeves bunched around his forearms, but it didn’t hide the way his shoulder blades shifted under the fabric, or how his back curved slightly forward as he undid the tie.
Your eyes dragged over every movement as he finger combed his hair back again, the dark strands catching light, falling heavy and soft between his fingers. He tugged it higher this time, a little tighter. The kind of hold that said, don’t even try to pull it out unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences.
His jaw flexed as he twisted the band into place. You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just watched him. Because something about him, barefoot in his apartment, in baggy cargo pants and a hoodie, his hair tied up with your hands still technically the last ones to touch it, made your stomach flip.
He looked up and caught your reflection in the mirror. And you saw it happen. That flicker in his gaze. That change in air pressure. He turned slowly to face you, leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, head tilted. “Thirsty?” he asked, nodding toward the bottle in your hand.
You didn’t answer him. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t say a damn thing. You just capped the water bottle, set it quietly on the counter… and walked. Straight past the living room, past the hallway mirror, past Yunho, your shoulder brushing his chest as you passed him. No eye contact. No pause.
You didn’t need to look back. Because you felt him follow. His footsteps were silent, but the weight of his presence behind you was impossible to ignore. Heavy. Focused. Dangerous in the way that made your breath catch halfway down the hallway.
You reached his bedroom door and opened it slowly, slipping inside without hesitation. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of his bedside lamp. Warm toned, cluttered in a comfortable way, a jacket tossed over the back of his gaming chair, ipad on the nightstand, phone charger trailing off the bed. The scent of him lingered thick in the air, clean skin, cedar, a hint of something spicy from his shampoo.
You stepped to the center of the room and waited as behind you, the door clicked shut. Yunho stood just inside the threshold, hoodie slightly wrinkled, his hands loose at his sides, chest rising slow but deep. The hair tie had loosened a little in the walk down the hall, a few strands falling back into his face again.
He crossed the room in just a few slow steps, gaze fixed on you like he was already imagining a dozen ways the next hour might play out. His hands found your waist first, warm, steady, fingers pressing just enough to remind you how big they were. He pulled you flush against him, his voice low and amused right at your ear. “So,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth brushing your skin, “you gonna admit how much you love the ponytail now… or after I make you scream?”
You exhaled sharply, not from surprise, but because he was already kissing you, deep and slow, his mouth lazy but deliberate, like he had all night to ruin you and no intention of rushing a single second. He kissed like he knew you, every breath, every beat, every bite that made your knees buckle just a little. Because he did. And he used it.
Each kiss backed you up one step… then another… then another, until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed and he smiled against your mouth like he’d just won something. That was his first mistake. You grabbed the front of his hoodie in one hand. And his ponytail in the other. Yunho froze when you fisted it tight and pulled, just enough to tilt his chin up, mouth parting slightly as his breath caught. He didn’t expect that.
“You talk a lot of shit,” you said softly, voice threading with heat as you tugged him down to sit on the bed. He went willingly, eyes wide, lips still parted as you straddled his thighs with a slow roll of your hips, fingers still gripping the ponytail like a leash. “Funny how you think you’re gonna be in charge tonight.”
His breath stuttered. And that’s when it hit him. He wasn’t. Not even close. Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe as you rolled your hips once against his lap and slowly leaned back just enough to slide your hands under the hem of your top.
His eyes followed every motion, lazy, hungry, dark with anticipation as you pulled your shirt up over your head, exposing skin inch by inch. You dropped it beside the bed without breaking eye contact, relishing the way his jaw tightened the moment your bra came into view.
You weren’t in a rush. You knew what you were doing. He’d spent the whole day teasing you, back at the studio, at the restaurant, with his smug little glances and that damn ponytail you styled yourself. Now? You were going to enjoy watching every single ounce of power drain from him as you peeled yourself open like a gift with his name on the tag.
Your hands moved down, undoing the button of your jeans next. Yunho’s hands twitched at his sides like he was fighting every instinct to grab you. “Don’t move,” you said quietly and his breath caught as you stood slowly, pushing your jeans down your legs with deliberate care, knowing full well his gaze was locked on every curve, every shift of your hips as you stepped out of them and kicked them aside.
You stood there in nothing but your bra and underwear, blue and black mismatched, head tilted slightly, arms relaxed at your sides. He looked ruined already. But you weren’t done. Not even close. You crossed back to him, slow and confident, straddling his lap again, the heat between your bodies undeniable as your mouth brushed his ear, breath hot and teasing. “Strip.”
His hands moved instantly. Because of course they did. Because unho wasn’t in charge tonight. You were. His hands came up immediately, he obeyed, just like you told him to. But not without a little flair. First, he reached behind him and tugged the hoodie off in one clean motion, the hem brushing over your thighs as it came free. He tossed it to the floor without breaking eye contact, his jaw set, chest rising a little faster now beneath his thin white tee.
But instead of rushing like he should have… he slowed down. One hand dipped beneath the hem of his shirt and paused, fingertips brushing his own skin, his abs tightening just enough to make you feel it under your thighs. His other hand gripped your hip like a warning, like a test, like, come on, baby, push me.
You tilted your head, one brow raised. “Are you stalling?”
“Maybe,” he murmured, thumb brushing your skin. “It’s more fun when you’re watching.”
You narrowed your eyes. Then leaned forward just enough to tug his ponytail again, sharper this time, not enough to hurt but enough to make him exhale hard through his nose, his hands freezing like you’d shut off the power in his body. “I said strip,” you whispered, your voice silk wrapped steel.
Yunho sucked in a breath and yanked the shirt over his head this time, fast, like he finally understood the stakes. You sat back and let your eyes drag over him, shoulders broad, muscles taut, stomach flexing under your gaze. You could feel the heat rolling off of him now, barely contained beneath his skin, like he was straining to keep himself still for you.
Then he reached for his his pants. And this time? He slowed down on purpose. Smirking. Dragging it out. Pushing your buttons the same way you’d pushed his. Like a challenge. Like a threat. Like a promise. Your fingers curled into his thighs.
“Careful,” you said, voice low.
“Or what?”
You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “I’ll make you beg before I even touch you.”
Yunho’s breath hitched as he moved you off him so he could kick his pants and underwear off. And for the first time tonight, he didn’t have a comeback as stood fully naked now. And he was gorgeous.
Flushed skin. Thighs tense. Chest rising in shallow breaths. That cocky smirk he wore so well? Barely hanging on now, threatening to break under the weight of whatever the hell you were about to do to him. He was already wrecked. And he knew it.
You let your fingers drag slowly up his bare chest, nails teasing his skin. He shivered, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach, touch, grab, do something. But he didn’t. Not without permission. “Now…” you whispered, standing up, reaching on your tippy toes so your mouth could brush the shell of his ear, “go get your favorite toy.”
Yunho tensed and you felt it. That flicker of hesitation. The way his breath stilled for a fraction of a second before he exhaled and carefully looked at you. He didn’t ask what you meant. He knew. You saw the flush creep higher up his neck, spreading to his ears. Saw the way his jaw flexed, his body practically vibrating with restraint as he nodded once.
And you didn’t miss the way his dick twitched as he turned toward the closet. He was trying not to look too eager. But you saw right through it. The closet door creaked open as he reached up to the top shelf, behind a stack of folded hoodies, and there it was. A black box. Sleek. Discreet. You’d only seen it a couple times before, during nights when the lines had blurred enough for him to let you in a little deeper, let you see the part of him he kept tucked between dominance and desire.
The part that liked you in control.
He brought it over to the bed, wordless, offering it to you like something sacred. You took it slowly. Opened it carefully. Nestled inside was the harness. The strap on he’d picked with you in mind, size, color, shape, weight. Everything. Yours for the nights he gave himself over to you completely. Like tonight.
You looked up at him, now standing at the edge of the bed, chest bare, dick heavy between his thighs, hair still tied up but starting to come loose around his temples as you took your time pulling the harness out of the box, laying it across the bed with quiet, deliberate grace. The leather was warm from storage, flexible but firm, the familiar weight settling into your palms like muscle memory.
Yunho stood in front of you, bare, still flushed from the inside out. His chest rose with every breath, his eyes dark and heavy lidded as he watched you step into the harness, pulling it up over your hips with a slow, practiced roll. “You remember how this works,” you said softly, fingers working the straps into place. He nodded. Then, without being told, he dropped to one knee.
Yunho’s large hands moved with care, adjusting the side straps with quiet reverence, tightening, pulling, making sure the harness hugged your hips just right. His fingers brushed your thighs as he double checked the buckles, knuckles grazing the soft skin just above your panties. The way he looked up at you from his knees? Obscene.
You hooked your thumb under his chin and tilted his head back. “Good boy.” A breath escaped him like it’d been knocked right out of his lungs. You let him stand then, let him climb onto the bed first, slow, crawling on elbows and knees, the muscles in his back flexing with every shift forward, his skin practically glowing in the soft lamplight.
He arched a little, already in position, already waiting. Obedient. Eager. Yours. You reached for the drawer in the nightstand, fingers finding the bottle of lube without even looking. You popped the cap and drizzled it generously over the strap, then more in your hand, warming it as you watched him exhale into the mattress. “You still want this?” you asked, voice lower now, serious, because even in the filth, this part mattered most.
Yunho turned his head slightly, lips parted, cheeks flushed. “Yes,” he rasped. “Please.” Your smile was slow, dangerous. “Good.” You straddled behind him, lube slick in your hand, heat rolling off both your bodies as you reached down and finally touched him, one hand steady on his hip, the other gliding the lubed up strap through your fingers once more before pressing it gently between his cheeks.
Yunho inhaled, deep and shaky as you leaned forward, your chest brushing his back, lips ghosting his spine as you whispered, “Relax for me.” He nodded, head low between his arms, fingers twisting in the sheets as you started slow. One hand spread him open just enough, the other guiding the strap’s tip to his entrance. You pressed in carefully, not even breaching him yet, just enough for him to feel it. Just enough for him to know what was coming.
He sucked in a breath.
Then you pulled back.
Waited a beat.
And did it again, press, withdraw, tease.
“Fucking hell,” he groaned, hips twitching. “You’re doing it on purpose.”
“Mhm,” you murmured, pressing in just a little further this time, making him stretch around the tip before easing back out again. “I like watching you fall apart.”
Yunho whimpered into the mattress, whimpered, and it made your own body clench with heat. So you did it again. And again. And this time, you pushed in just deep enough to have his breath stutter and his fists ball into the sheets.
“Shit,” he choked. “You’re such a….”
You rolled your hips forward, shallow, controlled and he cut off with a hiss as you smiled, gripping his hips tighter. “Something you wanna say?”
Yunho turned his face toward the pillow, growling under his breath. Then, louder, sharper, “Just fuck me already.”
You stilled and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” he growled again, louder this time, practically shaking with need. “Fuck…. please. Just fuck me.”
You let out a soft hum, shifting forward, your grip tightening on his waist. “Since you asked so nicely.” And then you pushed in deep. And Yunho moaned like he’d been waiting his whole damn life for it as you gripped his hips, steady and sure, as you slowly pushed forward more, inch by inch, watching the way Yunho’s back arched, muscles tightening, breath catching.
The stretch was deep, deliberate. And you didn’t rush it. You took your time filling him, giving him every inch, letting the harness settle flush against you as you bottomed out and he gasped. Fingers twisted in the sheets, forehead pressed to the mattress as he tried to breathe through it, through the fullness, the heat, the slow burn of being completely taken.
You stayed still, your hands sliding over the curve of his hips, soothing. One of them dragged up his spine, the other smoothing down to the dip of his lower back as you leaned over him, chest against his back. “You good?” He nodded, tight, shaky.
“Say it,” you whispered.
“I’m good,” he rasped. “So good.”
You kissed his back, soft and slow. “That’s my boy.”
And then you started to move. Gently. Just a slow pull back, a shallow thrust forward, measured, smooth, the kind of rhythm that let him feel it. Every inch. Every motion. You watched the muscles in his back ripple, the way his arms shook slightly from how hard he was gripping the blankets.
He moaned low, raw and guttural. “F…. Fuck…”
You smiled, hips rolling forward again, deeper this time. “I want you to feel all of it,” you murmured, voice dark against his skin. “No rushing. Not tonight.” He moaned again, desperate, helpless as you rocked into him again, dragging it out, building that pressure just right.
And Yunho was already trembling. Already ruined, and you’d barely even started. Your thrusts stayed steady for a moment longer, hips rolling deep and slow, just enough to keep him on the edge, trembling, mouth spilling breathy curses into the sheets.
But then you felt it. The shift. His body opening up, fully adjusted, muscles relaxing beneath your touch. His thighs spread wider, back arching just enough that you could feel how ready he was. You tightened your grip on his hips and snapped your hips forward, just once, firmer, and Yunho moaned, loud, raw, and absolutely wrecked.
“Arch back,” you breathed, voice sharp with command. “Now.” He obeyed instantly, shifting his weight onto his palms, back curving into a perfect arch that made you groan under your breath. “Good boy,” you said, and that praise hit him like a damn drug, his head dropping slightly, hair falling loose around his face as he whimpered.
And that’s when you grabbed it. His ponytail. Your fist wrapped tight around the base, yanking just enough to pull his head back and own every inch of him and Yunho choked on a moan. “Oh my… fuck!” You smirked. “You’re so easy to ruin like this.” Then you started to move. Harder. Deeper.
Each thrust slapped against him with purpose, your grip on his ponytail keeping him right where you wanted him, head tilted back, mouth parted, completely under you. He was panting now, loud, his thighs shaking, hands gripping the sheets like his life depended on it. “Look at you,” you murmured between thrusts, voice syrup slick and cruelly sweet. “All that cocky energy gone the second I fuck you right.”
He groaned, shameless, head tilting further back into your grip as you pulled his ponytail tighter and he whined. “Please…”
“For what?” you taunted, hips snapping faster now, driving into him harder, rougher, making the bed creak beneath the rhythm. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”
“Y… Yeah…. fuck, yes!” His knuckles were white, whole body trembling now. And still, you didn’t let up. Not when he sounded that pretty. Not when he looked that good. Not until you had him gasping and moaning your name like it was the only thing he remembered how to say.
Your hips slammed into him now, rhythm unforgiving, the slick sound of skin and dildo echoing through the bedroom loud and obscene. The bed creaked beneath you, headboard rattling slightly against the wall, but you didn’t slow down. Not when Yunho was begging for it with every ragged breath. He was a mess beneath you, his body rocking forward with every deep thrust, arms barely holding him up, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. You still had his ponytail wrapped tight in your fist, using it to keep his head tilted back, mouth open, his moans getting louder with every stroke.
And then he cried out. Loud. Too loud. His voice broke around your name, spilling into the room like a warning shot, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt, that anyone still in the apartment just heard Yunho moan like he was being fucked into the afterlife.
The image of Yeosang and Wooyoung out there, wide eyed and traumatized over their bowls of popcorn?
Delicious.
But not as delicious as the way Yunho came. Because it hit him hard. You felt it in the way his whole body locked up, how he whimpered your name one more time, desperate, broken, and then shuddered, coming untouched beneath you. His arms gave out, chest collapsing into the mattress as he trembled through it, cum dripping onto the sheets below.
You didn’t stop. Not right away. You rode him through every twitch, every gasp, your grip in his hair softening only once his body began to relax, tension leaking from his limbs like he’d just been exorcised. And maybe he had been.
You slowed, pulling out carefully and Yunho collapsed completely, face buried in the pillows, panting like he’d run a damn marathon. He looked ruined. And perfect. You reached down, gently unfastening the harness, sliding it off your hips piece by piece with the same calm authority you’d carried all night. The strap hit the floor with a soft thud, and you let your fingers trail across his spine once before sitting back on your heels, reaching for the edge of the bed.
But you didn’t even get the chance to move. Because in a flash, he grabbed you. Your yelp caught in your throat as Yunho’s hands locked around your waist, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing. The air left your lungs as your spine hit the mattress, and suddenly, he was above you, towering, eyes dark, hair half falling out of its ponytail, sweat slicked and completely feral.
The tables had turned.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he rasped, voice still rough from moaning your name. His hands slid up your sides with purpose, not slowing as they reached the clasp of your bra. You opened your mouth to say something, maybe to tease, maybe to push him again, but your breath hitched instead when his fingers made quick work of the clasp, dragging the straps down your arms before tossing the bra somewhere behind him.
“You think I was gonna let you finish with me and walk away?” he murmured, mouth already lowering to your chest. “Not a chance, baby.” Your eyes fluttered shut as his tongue dragged across one nipple, then the other, slow and possessive. Then he was moving again. Gripping your hips. Dragging you down the bed like he owned you.
“Yunho…”
You barely got the name out before your panties were halfway down your thighs, ripped off so fast you gasped. You barely had time to breathe, let alone process the shift, before his head dipped between your legs and his mouth was on you. No warning. No hesitation. Just pure, greedy need.
You cried out, back arching, hand flying to his hair, gripping what was left of the messy ponytail he hadn’t bothered to fix. He groaned at the pressure, tongue sliding through your folds with a hunger that was dangerous. “You’re so wet for me,” he muttered against you, voice all gravel and heat. “I didn’t even have to touch you yet.”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Because Yunho had taken back control. His tongue worked like he knew your body better than you did, slow licks, teasing flicks over your clit, then deep, firm pressure that made your thighs clamp around his head on instinct.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t fucking let up. If anything, he groaned into you, loved how tight your grip got in his hair, how your hips arched up to chase his mouth, how close you were already. “That’s it,” he murmured, dragging his tongue up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth again. “You gonna come for me, baby? After all that talk?”
You whimpered, hands fisting the sheets now, one leg hooked over his shoulder as your whole body trembled. Every nerve ending was strung tight, on the edge, about to snap. And Yunho knew it. You felt it, that moment, that rush, your body about to tip over the edge….
And then he stopped.
You gasped, eyes flying open as the sudden loss of contact sent a pulse of frustration right through your core. “Yunho….” you started, voice high, broken. But he was already moving. Crawling up your body like a fucking storm, flushed and glistening, lips wet from you, hair wild, eyes locked on yours with heat so sharp it nearly split you open.
You didn’t even have time to ask why, because you felt it. His dick, hard again, pressed against your thigh as he settled between your legs. “You were gonna come?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, bracing himself on his forearms as his mouth hovered over yours.
You nodded, breathless, thighs still shaking and he smirked, dark. “Not yet.” Then he kissed you, filthy and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue while his dick slid along your folds, hot and heavy, teasing you all over again.
You didn’t even have a second to recover from the intensity of his mouth before Yunho was grabbing you again, hands strong and steady, that dominant energy flooding back in like a tidal wave. “Up,” he ordered, voice rough and low. Before you could question him, he was already pulling you upright, manhandling you into his lap like he owned you, because, right now, he did. His back was pressed to the headboard, legs spread wide, and you landed right where he wanted you, knees on either side of his hips.
You barely had time to brace yourself. Because one hand gripped your waist, and the other wrapped around the base of his dick, hard again, thick and glistening from the way he’d been grinding against the bed while he wrecked you with his mouth. He lined himself up. And you sank down. All the way. Both of you moaned, loud and helpless, your hands flying to his hair, fisting the loosened ponytail, dragging his head back slightly as your hips met his and the stretch sent shockwaves through your body.
Yunho swore under his breath, his fingers digging into your thighs like he needed something to anchor himself. “You feel…” he started, but didn’t finish, just groaned, letting his forehead fall against your collarbone. “Fuck.” You rolled your hips once, slow, and he choked on a sound, trying to hold back.
You pulled his hair again, forcing his eyes up to yours. “Don’t,” you whispered. “Don’t hold anything back.” He moved. Fast. One hand locked around your waist, the other fisted in your hair as he shifted his hips and slammed up into you. You screamed. Your nails clawed at his shoulders, your breath catching violently in your throat as he pounded up into you again and again, no teasing now, no control games, just raw, relentless need. Each thrust knocked the breath from your lungs, your body rocked forward by the sheer force of it.
“Yunho!” you sobbed, voice high, strangled.
“That’s it,” he growled, mouth at your neck, breath hot and ragged, pounding up into you so hard the headboard slammed once, then again. “Say my name. Let them fucking hear it.”
You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. His dick hit dead on with every snap of his hips, slamming right into your g spot like he’d mapped it himself. You were shaking, thighs locking around his waist, your back arching as you tried, failed, to ride it out.
Your hands gripped the loose mess of that ponytail, pulling as you cried out again, louder this time. “Yunho…. fuck, I’m…” You shattered. The orgasm tore through you like fire, your entire body convulsing as you squirted around him, soaking both of you, your scream ripped from your throat with such force it echoed in the damn room.
“Oh fuck,” Yunho growled, eyes wide as your body clenched around him, liquid heat dripping down his thighs. “God, baby, look at you…”
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t slow. You couldn’t even speak, your body was writhing, twitching, completely overwhelmed as he kept fucking up into you, watching your soaked, wrecked expression with pride written all over his face. “You’re not done,” he breathed against your lips. “Not even close.”
You were still pulsing around him, body trembling from that first explosive release, when Yunho wrapped his arms around you and moved. You gasped as he lifted you effortlessly, flipping you onto your back and laying you out beneath him. The sheets were damp, your body soaked with sweat and slick, and Yunho looked like something straight out of a fever dream, his chest flushed, lips parted, hair a complete mess now, the ponytail barely hanging on, strands falling wild across his face.
He knelt between your legs, still inside you, and you could see the twitch of restraint in every muscle as he gripped your waist. And slammed into you again. There was no rhythm now, just need. His hands dug into your sides, holding you in place as he fucked you with ruthless precision, dragging desperate, high pitched sounds from your throat every time he bottomed out and hit that same devastating spot.
The bed was a mess.
You were a mess.
Yunho looked like a man possessed, eyes locked on your face as you fell apart all over again.
“Baby,” you gasped, tears stinging your lashes, voice wrecked, barely audible. “Please…”
He grunted, teeth clenched. “Please what, baby?”
You couldn’t speak. Your mouth moved, but nothing came out except a broken moan as he leaned over you, hips still slamming into yours, and growled right into your ear, “You want me to feel you up, baby? Is that it?”
You could only nod, desperate, choking on your own pleasure, fingers clawing at his arms as your body started to seize beneath him again. And then it hit. Hard. Your second orgasm crashed into you like a wave, violent and blinding, your entire body arching off the bed as you cried out his name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, eyes rolling back.
Yunho’s grip on your waist tightened. One, two, three more thrusts…. And then he was gone too. His hips slammed forward one last time, buried deep, and he groaned, loud and guttural, as he spilled inside you, thick and hot and so much you felt it flood through you instantly.
His body dropped forward, forehead pressed to your shoulder, both of you panting, shaking, soaked in sweat and everything else. The room was silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing and the faint creak of the bed still rocking from the aftermath.
You didn’t say anything.
You couldn’t.
Neither could he.
Because Yunho had never come that hard in his life.
You were both completely, utterly wrecked.
Exactly as you wanted.
Exactly as you both deserved.
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The mirrored walls of the ATEEZ practice room were already fogging with heat and effort. Music thumped from the speaker in the corner, San and Mingi mid warmup while Jongho leaned against the wall, stretching.
The clock on the wall read 11:08. The others still weren’t there yet.
“Late again,” Mingi muttered, pausing mid stretch. “What’s new.”
Just then, the door opened. Yunho shuffled in first, hoodie halfway over his head, backpack slung lazily on one shoulder like he hadn’t fully woken up. Yeosang followed, looking suspiciously smug for a man who’d barely said a word. Wooyoung came in last, in borrowed sweats, sipping iced coffee and radiating the kind of chaotic exhaustion you only got from hearing your friends go feral in the next room.
Yunho kicked off his shoes with a grunt and peeled his hoodie off revealing the crime scene that was his hair. Tied up the night before. Wild and knotted now. Strands sticking out in every direction. Half his ponytail had somehow exploded, the other half barely holding on for dear life.
Mingi froze. And then burst out laughing. “Oh my god.” He pointed at Yunho, mouth open. “You look like you got hit by a car.”
“Shut up,” Yunho grumbled, raking a hand through the chaos like it’d help. It didn’t.
Jongho squinted. “You okay, hyung? You’re walking a little… weird.”
“He screamed her name,” Wooyoung added helpfully. “Loud. At least twice.”
Yeosang chimed in, sipping his own coffee without flinching. “Three times. I counted.”
Mingi was practically on the floor now. “You screamed? Jeong Yunho? Screamed? I gotta call Seonghwa.”
“No one’s calling Seonghwa,” Yunho muttered, tugging his hood back up, already regretting being born and flipped them all off.
Yeosang sipped his drink.
Wooyoung and San grinned.
And Mingi? Mingi looked at Yunho’s ruined hair, and smirked like the little shit he was. “She really broke you, huh?”
Yunho didn’t answer. But the crooked smile that twitched at the corner of his mouth said enough.
summary: yunho has been with the thieves guild half his life, he was there best thief, however, this particular treasure to steal will sit him on a path to his undoing
warning: descriptions of violence, blood, fighting, virgin reader, descriptions of sexual visions and dreams, eventual smut
pairing: werewolf yunho x elven/human afab reader
genre: epic high fantasy, romance, drama
word count: 12.9k
chapter three
chapter five coming soon
masterlist
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The first thing she noticed was the warmth. Not sunlight, not firelight, just a slow burn beneath her skin. A flush that clung to her cheeks and curled low in her belly like she’d swallowed something she wasn’t supposed to. The second thing she noticed was the quiet. No crashing rivers. No chaotic nymphs. No whispering leaves. Just stillness. Soft and heavy, like a held breath.
Y/N opened her eyes. She was lying on a narrow bed tucked against a stone wall. The mattress was firm, the blanket scratchy wool. A lantern glowed dimly in the corner, casting warm light across smooth stone floors and shelves stacked with old books and empty potion jars. The air smelled faintly herbal, something sharp and citrusy layered beneath dust and dried lavender.
Her feet were bare. Cloak gone. But her wrists were free, unbound still, and the long sleeved tunic she wore was clean, rough spun linen, probably stolen. Someone had undressed her. That thought sparked a prickle of heat at the back of her neck, one she shook off as she sat up and immediately stilled.
Everything felt… off. Her skin was overly sensitive, every seam of the borrowed clothes brushing like silk over fire. Her mouth was dry. Her heart beat a little too fast. And there was a strange hum beneath it all, like a whisper threaded through her bones. She exhaled slowly, pressing a palm to her chest. The feeling didn’t go away.
There was a knock before the door creaked open, and in stepped someone she didn’t recognize. He wasn’t much taller than herself, a little shorter than San, slender, and absurdly good looking, with dark eyes that crinkled at the corners and a mouth made for trouble. He wore a long brown coat dusted in travel grime, and carried a steaming mug that smelled of wild mint and something vaguely medicinal. “You’re up,” he said, smiling. “That’s good. Yunho thought you might sleep another day.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“Wooyoung.” He set the mug on a crooked side table. “Friend. Chaotic neutral. Tea enthusiast.” She blinked. “…What?”
“Don’t worry, you’re safe here.” He stepped back, giving her space. “Well. Safe ish. It’s an old mage’s safehouse. Not exactly five stars, but it’s off the grid.” She slid to the edge of the bed, keeping him in her line of sight. “Where are we?”
“Nowhere important,” he said breezily. “Somewhere no one’s looking. Yet.”
“And why am I here?”
Wooyoung tilted his head, studying her like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “You were… rerouted.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Nope.” He smiled like it didn’t matter as Y/N stood slowly, ignoring the way her knees felt just slightly too soft and her palms too warm. She crossed her arms. “Did you undress me?”
“I helped change your clothes. San did the rest.”
She made a face. “Comforting.”
“I didn’t peek,” Wooyoung added, holding up his hands. “Congratulations,” she muttered. “You want a medal?”
“No, but a cookie would be nice.”
She bit back a sigh. The flush wasn’t leaving her cheeks, and the strange heat coiling low in her stomach wasn’t either. It was like the air itself was charged, humming through her like she was standing too close to a thunderstorm. She remembered then…. the nymph’s touch. “I don’t trust you,” she said.
“That’s smart.”
“And I want answers.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Yunho.”
“Great.”
As if summoned, a voice came from the hall. “She’s up?” Yunho stepped into the room, and the tension shifted immediately. He looked different somehow. Not just travel worn, but shadowed. His shirt was loose, rolled at the sleeves, and his boots were still muddy. But it was his eyes, sharp, too sharp, that made her pulse stutter.
Y/N straightened. She refused to let her body react to him, but her body had other ideas. That whisper under her skin surged again, louder now, drawn to him like iron to magnet as Yunho’s gaze swept over her, subtle, but she felt it. Like a hand down her spine. Her breath caught. “You good?” he asked.
She forced a nod. “Peachy. Considering I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, dressed by strangers, and apparently ‘rerouted’.” Wooyoung raised a hand. “Guilty of all but one.”
“Which one?”
“Kidnapping. That was Yunho and San obviously.”
“Again,” she deadpanned, “so comforting.” Wooyoung gave Yunho a two finger salute and slipped out, closing the door behind him. Yunho didn’t move as Y/N crossed her arms tighter. “Well?”
“There’s been a change of plans,” he said make her stomach turn. “What kind of change?” Yunho looked at her for a long beat, unreadable. “The kind I’m not explaining right now.” She blinked. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is today.” He sounded tired, but underneath it, there was steel. Command. Something that made her want to scream.
“You said you were taking me somewhere.”
“I was.”
“And now?”
“Now we’re figuring it out.”
“You mean you’re figuring it out.”
His jaw ticked. “That’s right.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to do while you figure out whatever plan I was apparently not important enough to be told about?”
He hesitated. Just slightly. “Stay close.” She blinked.“That’s it?”
“For now.”
“Unbelievable.” Y/N turned away, trying to breathe. The feeling under her skin was growing, blooming like a fever. Her fingertips tingled. Her collarbone ached. She didn’t see the way Yunho’s eyes lingered on her. The way his nostrils flared faintly. Or how he shifted like something in her scent was starting to change. But he felt it. Even if he didn’t know what it meant yet.
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The forest was quieter than it should’ve been. Even with the wind whispering through the trees, even with the faint rustle of branches high above, Yunho could hear every breath he took. Every beat of his heart. Every crackle of dried leaves beneath his boots. Behind him, back in the small inn cabin nestled in the city, the fire would still be burning low. San would be pacing. Wooyoung would be scowling at the door. Y/N would be…
No. He couldn’t think about her right now. He couldn’t think about the way her presence made something ancient stir in his blood. Couldn’t think about how that mark had stopped his breath the second he saw it. He needed clarity. He needed her. The seer. The last time he’d summoned her, he was thirteen. Daring enough to spill his blood for answers he thought would never matter. He’d been wrong.
Yunho stopped in the center of a clearing. There were no stones here. No runes. Just frost covered dirt and the twisted hush of trees that had never known sunlight. He shrugged off his coat. The cold bit at his skin, but he welcomed it. Let it wake him up as he knelt, rolled up his sleeve and drew his dagger.
The blade shimmered dull silver in the moonlight, something ancient in the steel, something not quite human. He turned it in his hand once. Then dragged it across his palm with a steady breath. The pain was bright, sharp, cleansing. He held his bleeding hand out over the earth.
“I offer blood,” he whispered. “Not to gods. Not to ghosts. But to you.” A single drop hit the dirt. The ground shivered. “I call on the old magic,” Yunho said. “The kind that doesn’t need names. The kind that remembers.” His blood dripped steadily now, soaking into the frost bitten soil. “I seek the one who sees.”
For a moment, nothing. Then the wind stilled. Then reversed. A chill swept over him, crawling down his spine like a breath. The shadows bent inwards. The trees leaned, groaning as if bowing. And then the smoke came. Not from fire. From her. It bled up from the ground, inky and slow, twisting like a living thing, until the shape of a woman formed in the dark. She wore a cloak made of mist. Her eyes were stars, dull and dying. Her lips were black, and when she spoke, the sound scraped bone. “You should not have called me.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“There is always a choice, wolf.”
Yunho swallowed. “I need to know.”
“What you already know?” The seer tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Or what you’ve tried so hard to forget?” He didn’t answer as her gaze dropped to his bleeding hand, then flicked back up. “Blood summons truth. But truth demands more than blood.”
“I’ll pay.”
The seer’s smile was slow and wicked. “You already are.” She took a slow step forward, her body half smoke, half shadow. Her bare feet left no trace in the dirt, but the cold she carried licked up Yunho’s spine like frostbite. “You look like your father,” she murmured, voice curling around the clearing like fog. “He summoned me once, too. Thought he could change his fate.” Yunho flinched. “I didn’t come here to talk about him.”
“No. You came for her.” She bared her teeth, a grin that didn’t reach her hollow eyes. “The girl with the mark. Two moons, just like I said.”
Yunho tightened his bleeding fist. “Is it really her?” The seer circled him, silent as a breeze through a graveyard. When she spoke again, her voice sounded older than the stars.
“She is not what you think.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She is more than the prophecy.” The seer stopped in front of him, her face barely inches from his. “More than your undoing. More than a girl. More than a princess.” Yunho’s jaw clenched. “Then tell me what she is.” The seer blinked, slow and unnatural. “She is the thread that unravels the lie you live.”
Yunho didn’t move. The air between them cracked like ice underfoot. “Be careful, wolf,” she said, softer now, though no less cruel. “You asked if she is the one from your prophecy. But you never asked…” Her lips brushed against his ear. “what the prophecy really meant.”
Yunho turned toward her, heart hammering. “Then tell me.” She tilted her head instead, eyes glowing faintly like dying stars. Her breath was visible now, curling in the air between them even though the night was warm. “Always so eager for answers,” she mused, voice thin as paper. “And yet you never ask the right questions.” Yunho held her stare, blood trickling down his wrist as he repeated himself. “Then tell me.”
“When you take it from her…” she said softly, almost lovingly making him blink. Yunho’s heart stopped as she circled him again, smoke curling at her feet, never touching the ground, voice breaking through the quiet of the woods, hoarse. “What will I take from her?” The seer didn’t answer right away. She smiled. Slow. Knowing. “Have you felt it yet?” she asked instead, voice like frost over still water. “How she’s been touched?”
Yunho’s brow furrowed as the seer’s eyes glittered. “The nymph’s fingers linger. She is already… opening. Blooming.” She paused. “But not yet spoiled. Not… ruined.” Yunho’s throat tightened. He felt something ancient twist inside his chest. “Let me show you,” the seer whispered. And Yunho stepped closer as she reached out, palm ice cold as it slammed against his forehead….
The world tore sideways. He saw a bed. Lit by a dozen flickering candles. A storm moving outside an open window. Full moonlight painted red poured over the stone floor, casting silver over bare skin. Y/N’s skin. She was underneath him. Legs parted, arms curled up by her head, lips parted in a moan he could feel in his soul. Her eyes…. shimmering, glazed with lust and something tender, were fixed only on him.
And he was inside her. Not moving with possession, but reverence. Like he knew what this was. What it meant. His mouth was at her throat, then her chest, then her collarbone, then the mark of the twin moons, crescent, pulsed with a faint silver light. She gasped his name when he bottomed out. Clung to him like she wanted this. Like she needed him.
And when he kissed her mark again, it burned, then dimmed. A ripple of silver extinguished like the last ember of a candle. A breathless silence fell. Something ancient broke. A tether severed. A door opened. The seer’s voice echoed in his head, like she was standing right behind him in the vision.
“She was meant to be a sacrifice.”
The image flickered. The same bed, empty now. The same room, but colder. The same mark on her collarbone…. faded.
“But now… she’s yours.”
Yunho recoiled from the vision, gasping, eyes wide, stumbling backward in the forest clearing as if he’d been burned. The seer didn’t flinch as she watched him like a cat watches a bird that doesn’t yet know it’s caught. “You took what they needed untouched. That was the price.” She stepped closer. “And now they’ll tear the world apart to punish you for it and take her.”
Yunho’s blood was still dripping into the moss, but he couldn’t feel his hand. “What did I do?” he whispered. The seer only smiled. “You will choose her. Your wolf will claim het. And in doing so, you will doom you both.”
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The fire had burned down to coals. San was crouched beside it, poking at the embers with a stick, his hair tousled from sleep, or maybe stress. Wooyoung sat against the wall, chewing on something he’d bought, eyebrows drawn tight in suspicion. Y/N had fallen back asleep.
The minute Yunho stepped back inside, both men stood. His shirt clung to him, damp from mist and sweat. His palm was still wrapped in the cloth he’d torn from his own sleeve, the makeshift bandage dark with blood. San took one look at him and frowned. “Where the hell did you go?”
Yunho didn’t stop walking. He didn’t even slow as Wooyoung moved to block his path. “You look like shit,” he said. “And unless that’s someone else’s blood…”
“We need to leave,” Yunho interrupted. The words cut through the space like a blade. San straightened. “What? We just got here. You said…”
“I know what I said.” Yunho’s jaw was locked tight, his eyes unreadable. “There’s been a change.” Wooyoung narrowed his eyes. “You gonna tell us what kind of change, or are we playing guess the fucking doom again?” Yunho didn’t answer as he moved past them.
Wooyoung looked at San, who raised both brows, silently mouthing, what the fuck? San stepped forward again. “Yunho… seriously….. what’s going on?” Yunho paused, his back still to them. “It’s not safe here.” He left it at that as Y/N woke up, sitting cross legged on the bed in the corner, blinking sleepily at him, her cheeks flushed in the candlelight.
She looked… different. Brighter. As if something inside her had started to burn. Yunho looked at her, and the vision from the woods slammed into his chest all over again. Her legs wrapped around him. Her voice whispering his name. Her mark glowing, then dying. His hand trembled. “Get your things,” he said quietly. “We’re leaving.”
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The city curled up from the valley like smoke, its spires black against the rising sun. Once an elven stronghold, now a mismatched sprawl of iron bridges, floating taverns, and storefronts laced with magical wards that pulsed faintly in the dawn light. It smelled like incense and rust, old spells clinging to the air like dust on silk. Yunho kept his hood low. San walked ahead, hand never far from his blade. Wooyoung trailed behind, watching their backs.
Y/N stayed close to Yunho’s side, her breath fogging in the cool morning air. “You’re still not going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked softly. “No,” Yunho said.
“Do you even know?”
He didn’t answer as they slipped into a narrow market corridor, lanterns bobbing overhead, casting long shadows through booths stacked with grimoires, potions, charms bound in gold string. The plan was simple, pass through unnoticed. Re stock. Keep moving. But nothing in Z was ever simple.
Yunho felt the presence before he saw her. A slow, crawling sensation at the back of his neck. Like fingers, icy and familiar, brushing his skin. Then her voice. “Well, well…” Yunho stopped. San froze mid step. Wooyoung let out a low curse.
A figure stepped out from the awning of a velvet draped stall, her dark robes fluttering despite the still air. Hair like midnight, lips stained wine-m red, and eyes that shimmered gold beneath the shadow of her hood. “if it isn’t the one that got away.”
Yunho’s hand dropped instinctively to his belt as the witch smiled. “You’re looking well, wolf.” Y/N blinked. “You know her?” Yunho didn’t move. “Unfortunately.” San shifted closer to Y/N, quietly. “Aw,” the witch cooed, eyes flicking to Y/N. “She doesn’t know what you did, does she? Or what you cost me. Don’t worry, honey, I’m sure you’ll be next.”
“That curse was your mistake,” Yunho said, low and cold. “Not mine.”
“Oh, it worked,” she said sweetly. “Just not the way I wanted it to.” Her eyes glowed faintly now. “Tell me, Yunho… do you still wake up in a cold sweat?” Yunho flinched and that was when the witch moved. Faster than a blink, her hand whipped out, and the sigil beneath her stall flared to life, a burst of violet light carving into the stone.
“Shit… MOVE!” Wooyoung shouted as the entire alley erupted. The spell shot from her fingers like a lash of light. One moment, Yunho was standing still, lips curled into a snarl, hand clenched at his belt, the witch’s magic already twisting like a serpent around his neck.
The next, the coil of violet energy snapped tight, a hiss of crackling force binding his throat, lifting him off the ground. His boots scraped against the stones, hands clawing at the phantom noose choking the breath from him. Y/N screamed, instinct rising like fire in her chest.
Wooyoung’s palm was already glowing blue, runes spidering up his wrist, his own magic flaring to life. But he didn’t get the chance to use it. Because she moved first. Y/N didn’t know what she did, only that something inside her cracked open like lightning through glass, a pulse of heat and light rushing from the center of her chest, wild and burning and furious.
The world went white as a shockwave erupted from her body and Yunho was ripped from the witch’s grip, flung backwards through the air like a ragdoll. The magical coil snapped with a sound like breaking chains, and he hit the cobblestone with a solid thud, coughing hard, hand at his throat. The witch reeled, stumbling back with a shriek, her magic scattering like shattered glass. “What the… what are you?”
Y/N stood frozen, arm still half raised, glowing faintly. Her chest rose and fell in short gasps. The air around her shimmered, a pulsing, raw pressure that made Wooyoung’s magic flicker and San reach for his blade without thinking. “Y/N…” Wooyoung breathed. “I didn’t…” Her voice shook. “I don’t know what that was….”
“She’s touched,” the witch hissed, fury seething beneath her words. “Something ancient sleeps inside her. Something old enough to bite.” San stepped in front of her. “Then you don’t want to test her again.” The witch’s eyes narrowed to slits, then flicked back to Yunho, who was already on his feet, wiping blood from his mouth. He was pissed.
The witch smiled thinly. “Next time, puppy,” she purred. “And next time, she won’t be there to save you.” With a twist of her wrist and a flash of her ring, she vanished in a curl of violet smoke.
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The city was nothing but a memory now, glowing faintly behind them as dusk crept in, bleeding gold across the horizon. They walked a narrow, cracked stone path old and half swallowed by roots and moss, cutting through the dense thicket of gnarled trees and forgotten border shrines. The air was cooler here, still heavy with the buzz of magic, but thinner somehow. Quieter.
Yunho led the way, his jaw tight, not speaking. San was just behind him, one hand still on the hilt of his blade, the other occasionally brushing against the satchel strapped to his side. Protective. Paranoid. Y/N trailed a few steps behind them, eyes down, hands tucked into the sleeves of her borrowed coat.
And Wooyoung? He kept glancing back at her like she was a puzzle box that had just grown teeth. “So…” he said, voice low and light, just for her. “You planning on explaining that light show back there?” Y/N flinched. “I don’t know what that was.”
“You sure? Looked like you did it on purpose.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t even know I could…” She shook her head, frustrated. “I’ve never used magic. Ever.” Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed. “Not even once? Not even by accident?”
Y/N huffed and looked away, her voice quieter. “No. Nothing. I grew up in a palace. If I had magic… someone would’ve noticed.” Wooyoung was silent for a beat. “Not if someone made sure no one noticed.” She blinked at him. “What?”
He shrugged, tone still playful but eyes razor sharp. “I’m just saying. Sometimes the most powerful magic is the kind that gets buried. Hidden. Until something wakes it up.” Her stomach twisted. “Like what?”
“You tell me, princess.” Wooyoung nudged her shoulder gently. “You’re the one who just threw a witch across a street without lifting a finger.”
“I didn’t throw her. I pulled Yunho.”
“Which was very sexy of you, by the way. He won’t admit it, but I think he liked it.”
She glared and Wooyoung grinned, then dropped his voice again. “Seriously, though. Something’s shifting. In you. Around you. Magic doesn’t just happen like that without reason. And the fact it happened when he was in danger…” He nodded toward Yunho’s back. “That’s not nothing.”
Y/N’s fingers curled into her sleeves again. “I felt…” she started, then hesitated, not sure if it was just the nymph’s touch effecting her. “I felt something. Back there. Like… something opened inside me. Like heat. But it wasn’t mine.” Wooyoung’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It felt ancient. And angry. Like it was… waiting.”
Wooyoung was silent again. Thoughtful this time. And up ahead, Yunho’s pace slowed, just slightly, his ears, werewolf hearing, tuned to every word. “You could be like Yeosang.” That startled her. “The warlock? The one San said made those ropes that held me?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Half elven, too. He’s from the Motherland though. Left when he was ten. Didn’t start getting a taste of his magic until he was fifteen. And when it hit, it hit hard.” Y/N furrowed her brow. “Motherland?”
“The Elven Motherland,” Wooyoung explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Wisteria Isles. Cluster of sacred lands floating just off the southern ridge. Can only get there by skyship, unless you’ve got wings or a death wish. It’s where most of the old bloodlines still live.”
She blinked. “I’ve… I’ve never heard of that.” Wooyoung stopped walking. “You’re joking.” She shook her head. “I grew up in the palace like a regular human. My father never…”
“He was human, right?”
“Yes. My mother was the elven one. She died when I was eight.”
Wooyoung’s teasing expression faltered. “Oh.” Y/N nodded slowly, gaze drifting to the cracked stones of the road. “No one really talked about her after that. They kept pictures locked away. Even the servants were warned not to mention her name.” Wooyoung looked stricken, as if he would apologize but decided to move on. “/They’re real, you know. The Isles. Yeosang says the trees glow at night. That the air feels thick with music. That time moves different there. Slower. Truer.”
Y/N’s fingers brushed unconsciously over her wrist, as if some part of her still remembered the lull of her mother’s voice. “Maybe this is part of it,” Wooyoung said gently. “Your power. Maybe it’s always been there. Just waiting for something to wake it up.” She exhaled shakily. “Inconvenient timing.”
Wooyoung gave a huff of a laugh. “Welcome to life on the run, princess.” She tried to smile, but that fear still lingered beneath her ribs like a splinter. She wasn’t just a girl stolen from a palace anymore. She was something far older. Far stranger. And she wasn’t sure what that meant.
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They stopped for the night on the outskirts of the city, where the trees opened into a wide clearing overlooking a dark, glassy lake. The moon hung low and full, its reflection rippling across the water like a second sky. San and Wooyoung had already built a small fire, their quiet conversation rising and falling in the background. Y/N didn’t join them. She sat by herself near the lake’s edge, her cloak pulled tightly around her. Her back to the fire. Her body wound tight as wire.
She could feel what she assumed to be the nymph’s touch growing stronger. The ache had started that morning, subtle, almost ignorable. A strange heat just beneath her skin. But now it was worse. Her hands felt shaky. Her breath was short. Her skin felt too hot, like the moonlight itself was crawling over her.
She didn’t tell the others. She didn’t even know what she’d say. Yunho was the only one who watched her closely. He said nothing. Just leaned against the moss covered stones of a broken wall nearby, one leg bent, arms crossed as he stared out over the clearing.
She didn’t notice him watching. But he was. He’d been quiet ever since they escaped the city. Ever since he returned from the woods. There was something different in his eyes now, sharper. More certain. And maybe a little afraid. He hadn’t summoned the seer since he was thirteen. Since the day she warned him of a girl with a crescent moon mark and eyes full of starlight who would be his undoing.
And now he’d seen her. Not just her face. But what he would do to her. What he would take. He clenched his jaw, gaze darkening. The seer’s words echoed over and over in his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about that vision, her body arched beneath his, her mouth on his name, her mark glowing under his lips as he ruined her for the gods. He hadn’t told anyone. He wasn’t going to.
At the lake’s edge, Y/N shivered and wrapped her arms tighter around herself. The flush in her chest had crept up her neck. Her body felt fevered. She didn’t know the signs. Didn’t know what it meant to be touched by a nymph. Not yet. But Yunho did. The seer had said so. He was already walking toward her before he realized it. “Hey.” Y/N startled slightly, pulling her cloak tighter. “Sorry. I just needed air.”
“You’re fine,” he said quietly, stopping a few feet away. “It’s colder by the water.” She nodded. “I like the cold.” Yunho tilted his head, eyes narrowing. She looked out of it. Or… no, flushed. Her cheeks were tinged, from more than just the chill. Her breathing shallow. “Y/N,” he said softly, “are you feeling alright?” She hesitated. Swallowed hard. “I think so. Just… tired.”
“You’ve barely eaten today.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
He didn’t press. But his gaze dropped briefly to her hand, she was gripping the edge of her cloak so hard her knuckles had gone white. He wanted to tell her what he knew. He wanted to warn her. But if she found out, if she knew what was coming, what he’d seen, what he would take… She might run. So he stayed quiet.
He watched her a moment longer. Then turned to go. “Yunho?” she called after him softly. He paused. “Yeah?” She hesitated. “Thank you. For… not treating me like a prisoner.” A faint smile touched his lips. “You’re not.” And then he disappeared into the dark, back toward the fire, leaving her with the stillness, the moonlight, and the strange pull growing stronger and stranger beneath her skin.
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The sky was ink and stars by the time they resumed their journey. The moon was still high, waxing and gold casting long shadows that swayed with the trees as the group followed the winding path along the riverbank. Their boots crushed through damp leaves, quiet except for the occasional rustle of movement in the woods.
Y/N walked near the back, behind San, in front of Wooyoung. She said nothing. She couldn’t.Her body was humming now. Not with adrenaline or fear, but something worse. Something she didn’t understand. Like static just under her skin, like heat crawling along her spine, blooming in her stomach, pulsing between her legs. Her steps were slower. She stumbled once, barely, and San glanced over his shoulder. “You okay?” he asked softly.
“Fine,” she rasped, not looking up. She was sweating. Her mouth was dry. Every breath tasted like smoke and moss and the faintest sweetness of something she couldn’t name. She was trying to hide it. Trying to stay upright. But Wooyoung had started watching her closely.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked again, voice gentler this time. She nodded too quickly. “Just tired.” Yunho didn’t turn around, but he heard it. He felt it. Her scent had changed again. It was faint, but unmistakable. Not human. Not quite elven either. Something in between. Something laced with sweetness and sin and power. He clenched his jaw, his fists in his pockets, exhaling through his nose, trying to steady his thoughts.
This wasn’t the time. Or the place. He just needed to get her to Seungcheol. If they made it that far. They were heading into deeper territory now. Toward lands where magic was older, wilder, less forgiving. It would take another day and a half, maybe two, if they moved quickly and avoided towns.
He turned slightly, glancing back at her. Y/N was hugging her arms around her middle now, fingers digging into her sleeves. She was biting her bottom lip hard, so hard it had started to bleed. He slowed his steps, letting San and Wooyoung move ahead until he was beside her. “You’re not fine,” he said under his breath. “I said I’m…” she started, but her voice cracked. “You’re burning up,” he murmured. “Your hands are shaking.”
She flinched when he reached toward her. “Don’t touch me,” she whispered, voice thick. “Please.” He stopped. His hand hovering just inches from her arm. “Y/N…” She still refused to tell him, breath choked out. “I just… I can’t breathe right. Everything feels tight. Like there’s something in my skin trying to… get out.”
He looked at her then. Really looked. And all he saw was her. The girl from the seer’s vision. The one he would take. The one who would give herself to him, unaware that doing so would destroy them. He swallowed hard. “Just a little further,” he said. “Then we’ll rest again. You can make it.” She nodded weakly, even though every part of her screamed that she couldn’t. Not without breaking. Not without burning.
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They reached the bend in the road just past midnight. A chill had crept into the air, sharp and biting, and mist had begun curling low across the forest floor like it had something to hide. The path narrowed between overgrown stone markers. One of them was split clean down the middle, as if struck by lightning. The other had long since been devoured by vines.
It was Wooyoung who stopped first. “Hold up.” San’s hand drifted to the dagger on his belt. “What is it?” Wooyoung pointed. “There. Tower.” Yunho turned. Y/N, a few steps behind him, squinted past the tree line. There, just off the path, rising crooked and skeletal in the distance, stood an old watchtower. Its stones were dark with age and rot, the roof partially collapsed, ivy choking the walls like veins.
And something flickered in the highest window. A fire. Maybe two. Yunho’s body tensed. Too high for travelers. Too well lit for ghosts. Too quiet for anything good. Voices. Laughter. Rough and guttural. The kind of laughter that never meant anything safe. “Bandits,” Yunho muttered.
Before Y/N could blink, Yunho had grabbed her by the arm and yanked her off the road, pulling her down into a shallow trench behind the bushes. She fell with a sharp gasp, the impact jolting through her knees as he crouched beside her, his body covering hers, eyes scanning the shadows. She could hear her pulse now. Loud. Unsteady.
San and Wooyoung ducked down next, sliding in beside them, keeping low. “How many?” San asked. “Wooyoung shook his head. “Couldn’t tell. At least half a dozen. Maybe more.” San cursed under his breath. “The fuck are they doing all the way out here?”
“Hiding,” Yunho said. “Or waiting.”
“For what?” Y/N whispered. Yunho’s eyes met hers in the dark. They gleamed for a second, like an animal’s. “For anyone unlucky enough to be traveling after dark.” Silence fell over them again. Not even the crickets dared speak. Y/N tried to breathe slow. Tried to ignore the way Yunho’s hand was still gripping her wrist, warm and tight. The way his body was pressed against her side, practically shielding her.
The nymph’s touch made her skin throb. Not now. Not here. She focused on the tower instead. Counted the torches. Watched the windows. “How do we get around them?” Wooyoung asked. Yunho let go of Y/N’s arm finally, slowly rising to a crouch. “We move quietly.”
They moved in a line, Yunho in front, San and Wooyoung flanking, Y/N tucked behind him. Until a twig cracked under San’s foot and everything froze. A sharp whistle split the air.
“INTRUDERS!”
All hell broke loose. Blades gleamed in the firelight. Men surged from the shadows, rough and snarling, faces painted, eyes wild with greed. San flung a dagger before the first one could raise an axe, and Yunho moved like lightning, dropping two more with clean, brutal force. “Run!” San shouted at Y/N. She bolted back toward the treeline, ducking under a swipe of steel. A hand grabbed her cloak, she yanked free, stumbling, but another caught her.
Strong arms locked around her from behind. Cold steel pressed to her throat. “Got the girl!” the bandit barked. Everything stopped. Wooyoung whipped around, eyes narrowing. The man holding her was tall, almost taller than Yunho, and reeking of sweat, a jagged scar splitting one cheek. “One more step and I’ll slit her open.”
Y/N gritted her teeth, pissed that the reeking man had grabbed her. “Now would be a really good time to use that magic, princess,” Wooyoung hissed, still half crouched behind a crate, blade drawn. “I…” she choked. “I don’t know how!” The man’s blade bit against her skin. “Try anything, and she dies.”
Yunho hadn’t moved. He stood just beyond the ring of firelight, chest rising slow, eyes locked on Y/N, not the man, not the blade, her. Then his gaze flicked once to San who nodded. And that’s when it happened. Yunho closed his eyes. The air changed. The fire flickered. The shadows trembled. Every bandit still standing took a step back, even the one holding Y/N.
A sound. Bone and muscle shifting. A low, guttural growl that didn’t sound human. Y/N’s captor flinched. “What the hell…” Yunho’s body jerked, cracking, warping, his spine arched as his shoulders split outward, shirt tearing, muscles flexing and twisting under skin that darkened like storm clouds. Claws erupted from his fingers. Fangs bared. But his eyes never left hers as he once again transformed into the same beast that had chased her and San.
But the moon above them hung low and thin, barely more than a crescent. There was no full moon. Still, he shifted. Still, he chose to. His werewolf form towered over them, massive and still somehow graceful, his control terrifying in its calm. The bandit holding Y/N took a single step back, and that was all Yunho needed.
He was across the clearing in a blink. The man screamed. Blood sprayed. The blade clattered. Y/N dropped to the ground, gasping. Behind her, chaos exploded. San lunged forward, body shifting as he did and Y/N finally saw him in panther form, taking down two men with terrifying precision. Wooyoung flung himself into the fray, magic blazing from his fingertips like firecrackers, knocking weapons loose, sending men flying.
And Yunho? Yunho wasn’t holding back anymore. He moved like a storm made of shadow and fangs. Each hit was brutal. Final. There was no hesitation. Only purpose. Only her. He tore the bandit from her with a guttural snarl, the man’s scream cut short by the sickening crunch of bone. Blood hit the dirt. Y/N hit the ground.
“Shit!” she gasped, scrambling backward as another bandit lunged for her, face twisted in rage, sword raised to strike… She threw up her hands, panic rising, and her magic exploded. A pulse of blinding silver burst from her chest like lightning unleashed. The air cracked. Trees shook. Three bandits were blasted off their feet, one slamming into the side of the tower with a spine jarring thud, another flung clear over a crate, the third crashing through what remained of the fire pit.
Y/N blinked. She was still on the ground, hands out, chest heaving. “What the…” she whispered. Sparks of silver still crackled around her fingers, fading. The scent of ozone lingered in the air. The clearing had gone silent. San froze, his panther form disappearing behind a crate as he shifted back.
Wooyoung’s mouth dropped open. “Well damn, princess.” Yunho turned, still in his werewolf form, his golden eyes wide, almost startled. Not at the bandits. At her. At the glowing hum still coiling in the air around her skin like it recognized her. Wooyoung laughed, breathless and amazed. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
The clearing had quieted again, save for the crackle of burning wood and the low groans of injured men. But Yunho didn’t stay. He ran. Massive paws tore through the forest floor as his werewolf form charged into the dark, deeper into the trees, deeper into himself, until the chaos behind him was a distant echo.
His breath came hard. His bones ached, twitching under skin that already wanted to shift back. His body no longer wanted the form, it wanted her. He collapsed near a creek, hidden from view beneath a curtain of ivy and moonlight. His claws curled into the dirt as he panted, muscles seizing as the transformation began to unwind. Fur gave way to skin. Fangs vanished. The golden glow of his wolf’s eyes dimmed to brown. And then Yunho was just a man again. Kneeling. Naked. Trembling. “No,” he whispered.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to steady the pulse thundering through his ears. “No, no, no…” He’d always known werewolves didn’t choose their mates. Not really. The wolf chose. The instinct chose. The bond chose. And tonight… it had chosen her. Just like the seer had said. That he his wolf would claim her.
The one he was never supposed to touch. The one he was meant to deliver. The one who would be his undoing. His mate. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t want it. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t even know if she… Yunho let out a strangled breath, hands digging into the earth like it could anchor him to anything but this truth. The wolf had decided. And now… he couldn’t take it back.
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The bandit camp was finally silent. Bodies dragged, torches doused, and whatever hadn’t burned in the chaos now lay scattered and half looted in crates. A broken wheel turned lazily on a rusted cart nearby, creaking in rhythm with the slow rise and fall of the forest wind.
Wooyoung sat cross legged near one of the crates, going through bandit plunder like he was browsing a sale rack. “Why do they always have so many knives?” he muttered, pulling out a curved dagger with a mother of pearl hilt. lThey’re bandits,” San replied from beside him, tugging at the lid of another crate after he gotten dressed in some clothes he looted after he shifted back. “Knives are basically business cards.”
Y/N stood a few feet away, arms crossed tight around herself, breathing uneven. She’d said she was fine after the fight, but she hadn’t looked at any of them since. The edges of her skin still shimmered faintly, a glow pulsing beneath the surface of her collarbones and up the side of her neck, like the nymph’s touch hadn’t quite settled. Her mark, it was brighter now. Her fingers twitched every few seconds like she was holding back magic she didn’t know how to command. She wasn’t speaking.
Yunho was still in the woods, just barely hidden beyond the trees, shirtless, naked, skin slick with sweat, every inch of him humming with something primal and wrong. He’d shifted too fast. Too willingly. The wolf inside him had surged forward the moment Y/N had screamed. The wolf had seen her. And the wolf had chosen.
“San,” Yunho called low, voice hoarse, scraping against his throat like he’d been chewing gravel. “I need clothes.” Wooyoung’s head snapped up. “Wait… you’re still naked?” San rolled his eyes. “Don’t act surprised.” He pulled open another crate, and paused. A slow smirk curved his lips. “Okay, this is a find.”
From inside, he dragged out tall black boots with thick soles and silver laces, a soft charcoal tunic open at the chest, and matching leather pants so tight they looked stitched onto someone’s sins. Fingerless gloves. Even a belt with a gleaming buckle carved into the shape of a crescent moon and grabbed Yunho weapons that dropped after he shifted. He walked and stood near the tree line. “Don’t move. Or do. I don’t care. Just cover up.”
A minute later, Yunho stepped out from the trees. And Y/N looked up, just once. That was enough. His shirt hung half laced down his chest, clinging to skin still flushed from transformation. The boots laced tight up his calves, his fingers adjusting a black glove on his right hand. His dark hair was mussed, the ends brushing just over his brow. But that wasn’t what made her mouth go dry. It was his eyes. Still too gold. Still too wild. Still watching her like he wanted to sink teeth into her throat.
Yunho saw her shiver and clenched his jaw, dragging his gaze away, fists curling. He walked past her without a word, pacing toward San and Wooyoung like he hadn’t almost lost control, like the wolf inside him wasn’t still pacing, still wanting. “Nice look,” Wooyoung said, mouth twisting as he tossed Yunho an apple from a nearby satchel. “Didn’t know you were auditioning for Cursed Pirate King.”
Yunho caught it without comment, biting into it hard enough to crack through the core. San leaned closer. “You okay?”
“No.”
San blinked. “Elaborate.” Yunho’s eyes flicked to Y/N. She’d wandered a few steps away, her arms still crossed tightly, the glow beneath her skin pulsing brighter now. She looked… feverish. Her lips parted slightly, her body shifting restlessly like her skin didn’t fit right. Yunho forced himself to look away. “She’s glowing,” San muttered, brow furrowed. “Think it’s magic inside her?” Wooyoung exhaled, watching her. “Whatever that magica is…. It’s strong.”
San frowned, but Yunho just muttered darkly, “We need to keep moving before this gets worse.” Wooyoung scoffed. “Worse than the part where you went full werewolf and almost tore apart three men with your bare hands?” Yunho’s voice dropped to a growl. “I didn’t almost.” That shut them both up. Yunho swallowed hard, the heat in his gut crawling higher as he finally looked at Y/N.
His mate. And he couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t force that on her. He also couldn’t unfeel it. He couldn’t unknow it. So now, all he could do… was stay away. Stay away, and hope she never found out.
They made camp a little ways off from the ruined tower, far enough that the smoldering smell of fire and blood didn’t cling to the wind anymore, but not far enough to make Y/N feel safe. Not with her skin burning like it was trying to shed itself. Everyone else was asleep. Everyone except Yunho. He sat near the edge of the clearing, shoulders squared, blade across his lap even though he hadn’t touched it in over an hour. He didn’t need to. His senses were sharper than any steel, his instincts louder than the fire crackling behind him.
Especially when it came to her. Y/N had been tossing in her bedroll for over twenty minutes, turning one way then another, her breath hitching, her fists tightening in the blankets. Until finally, she kicked them off and bolted upright, muttering a sharp curse under her breath. Yunho turned fully as she stood, barefoot and wild eyed, the moonlight dragging pale silver lines across her face.
She stormed off into the woods without a word. And Yunho followed. He didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t. Even if he knew he should. “Y/N…”
“Don’t,” she snapped, spinning on him. “Just… don’t, Yunho.” She was standing in a patch of moonlight, her arms wrapped tight around herself like she was trying to hold her body together. Her breathing was ragged. Her cheeks flushed. Her pupils wide. Yunho’s wolf pushed against the wall of his chest as she groaned in frustration. “I feel like I’m on fire.”
Yunho’s throat dried as he took a step closer despite himself. She stepped back. Her hands were trembling. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think. My heart’s racing and my skin…” She clenched her fists. “Something’s wrong with me.” Yunho said nothing. He couldn’t. Because she wasn’t wrong. Something was happening.
The nymph’s touch was coiling inside her like a curse. Like a fuse burning toward the edge of a powder keg. And his wolf, his wolf wanted to answer it. Wanted to drag her into the dirt and claim her where the moon could witness it. “I thought maybe if I just walked it off,” she whispered, eyes glinting with desperation, “I thought maybe I could get it to stop.”
Yunho stepped closer again. She didn’t move this time. “You were touched by a nymph, weren’t you?” He already knew of course but she didn’t know that. “Do you want it to stop?” he asked quietly. She blinked up at him. “I don’t know what I want…”
But Yunho did. He wanted to taste the truth right off her skin. Instead, he exhaled, hands clenched at his sides. “Come on,” he said, voice rough. “It’s not safe out here alone.” When she didn’t move, he added, “You’re burning up. But I promise…. it won’t burn forever. It will pass soon.”
The forest around them grew quiet, too quiet. No rustling leaves. No distant owls. Just the slow drip of condensation off pine needles, and the shallow sound of Y/N’s breathing as she stalked a few steps away from him making him simply follow again, silent and shadowed, his long strides closing the gap effortlessly as the moon glinted off the blade strapped to his side. He caught her by the wrist as she stumbled, breath hitching. “That’s far enough,” he murmured, voice low. Gentle. But it carried something behind it. Steel wrapped in silk.
Y/N turned to face him again, chest heaving, cheeks flushed with the unnatural heat that hadn’t left her for hours. His hand dropped away quickly. Too quickly. She noticed. “You keep doing that,” she said softly. He didn’t answer. “Touching me and then acting like it burned.” Still, no reply. His gaze flicked to the trees, the moon, anywhere but her eyes. “Why do you look at me like that?” she whispered. Yunho finally turned to her, brows knitting as though he hadn’t expected the question. “Like what?”
“Like you’re afraid of touching me.”
The words cracked between them like ice underfoot. He said nothing, lips parting, then closing again as Y/N stepped closer, the hem of her cloak brushing against his boots now. Her scent was stronger tonight. Warmer. Spiced, earthy, intoxicating in a way that made the wolf beneath his skin growl. “I’m not afraid,” he said, finally, but his voice was different now. Lower. Hoarse. “I’m being careful.”
“Why?”
“Because I have to be.”
“That’s not an answer.”
His jaw clenched. “Yes, it is.”
“You think I’m weak?” Her voice didn’t rise but it pierced. “That if you touch me, I’ll break?”
“I know you won’t,” Yunho said tightly. “That’s the problem.” Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Then what are you afraid of?” He exhaled hard, stepping back a pace and dragging a hand through his hair. “Of what I’ll do if I stop holding back.” The truth fell between them, solid and terrifying. Her heartbeat stuttered. She could feel it, the pull between them, magica or instinct, destiny or desire, she didn’t know. But it was there. Pulsing.
Y/N took another step forward, closing the gap again. “Maybe I don’t want you to.” His eyes snapped to hers. The wolf inside him snarled in agreement. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said slowly. “You don’t understand what this means. What I am. What you’re starting to become.”
“Then tell me,” she dared.
“I can’t.”
“Won’t.”
“Can’t.”
“You owe me that much, Yunho!”
“I don’t owe you anything!” he exploded, voice echoing in the trees like a thunderclap. “You think you’re ready for answers? You’re not. You think you’re ready for me?” He laughed bitterly. “I’m a monster.” She reached out anyway. Her hand pressed against his chest, right over his racing heart. “You’re not,” she whispered. And for a moment, he didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.
His hand lifted slowly, fingers curling around her wrist… not to push her away. Not this time. Just to hold. His throat worked around a swallow. He leaned in close, forehead nearly brushing hers. His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “Because every time I look at you,” Yunho whispered, the heat of his breath ghosting over her lips, “I want to give in.”
Y/N’s breath caught. For a second, just one dizzying second, she swore the forest tilted. Her fingers still rested against his chest, his heart thrumming wildly beneath her palm. Her skin was buzzing, hot and restless, her bones aching for something she couldn’t name, only feel. Her lips parted. She could taste the want in the air, thick and heady and wrong in all the right ways. But then… something inside her twisted.
The same way it had when the nymph touched her. Like vines coiling around her lungs. Like honey burning in her blood. Like she was being urged toward him. She stepped back. Fast. Like she’d been burned making Yunho stiffen, hands falling to his sides as she blinked hard, chest still rising and falling too fast. She didn’t speak right away. Just turned her face slightly, lips pressing into a tight line. “I… shouldn’t,” she said finally. Her voice wasn’t quite steady.
Yunho didn’t move. “Y/N…” She shook her head once, sharp. “Something’s wrong with me. You feel it too, don’t you?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Her arms came around herself like a shield. “I don’t know what the nymph did to me. But it’s not real… whatever this is right now. Whatever’s making me feel like…. like I’d crawl inside your skin just to stop the heat…”
She broke off, biting down hard on the words, cheeks flushed with shame and frustration and Yunho’s fists clenched. “I can’t think straight,” she whispered. “And you…. you’re the only thing my body seems to want right now. That can’t be a coincidence.” Still, Yunho didn’t reach for her. Didn’t speak. So she looked him straight in the eye, even though it made her want to crumble. “Just… take me back to camp.”
Her voice was quieter now. Resigned. Controlled, but only barely. “I need space. I need to breathe.” And that, finally, made him nod. A slight dip of his head, like he understood too well. “Alright,” he said gruffly. “This way.” He turned first, leading the path through the trees with careful steps, his back rigid, the tension in his shoulders thick as fog. Behind him, Y/N followed, barefoot, burning, and bitterly aware that if she’d let herself lean in just one more second, she might not have turned away at all.
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Yunho didn’t sleep much. He rarely ever did, not with the kind of thoughts that roamed the shadows of his mind. But tonight, exhaustion pulled him under like a riptide, dragging him from the cold earth and low crackle of the campfire into the stillness of memory. He was thirteen again.
The trees were taller than they should’ve been, gnarled roots like veins twisting through the forest floor. He remembered the sting of the blade across his palm, the way the blood had dripped and disappeared into the soil. He hadn’t known what he was doing back then. Not really. Only that something inside him had called a whisper in his bones, louder than fear.
He’d stood in that ancient grove, lips trembling as he chanted the words from his family’s forbidden texts. Old magic. The kind they said warlocks, let alone a werewolf, weren’t supposed to use. The kind that summoned things. And when the air turned still, when the trees leaned closer, he saw her. The Seer. Her eyes were silver, no pupils, no whites. Just mist. “You’ve called me, little wolf,” she said. “Do you want to know your end?” He’d nodded, despite his knees nearly buckling. She’d only smiled.
The memory bled like ink through water into the next…. But now, he was no longer thirteen. He was grown. His body older, stronger, heavier with want and weight and hunger. The air was thick and warm, spiced with the scent of firewood and something sweet. Candlelight flickered across stone walls, and through an open window, the full moon spilled down like liquid silver.
Y/N was beneath him. Her thighs were parted around his hips, her wrists pinned gently above her head. She was looking up at him like she’d never wanted anything more than to be his. And he was already inside her. Buried to the hilt, hips rolling slow and deep, like he was memorizing her from the inside out. Her breath was ragged. Her lips swollen from his kisses. Her skin glowed in the soft light, and her mark was luminous, alive under his mouth as he leaned down to kiss it.
“Yunho,” she whispered, her voice wrecked, trembling. “Don’t stop…” And gods help him, he didn’t want to. But even in the dream, he knew. She was giving him everything. Not just her body. Not just her trust. Her virginity. All of her. Her role in whatever ancient ritual she was meant for, ruined, just by loving him.
He felt it. The power humming under her skin. How it poured into him the moment her nails dug into his back and her body arched. A transfer. A sacrifice. He hadn’t taken it forcefully. She’d offered. And he had taken. And then… The Seer’s voice, from somewhere just beyond the candlelight… “When you take it from her… when she offers herself to you… the one who’s after her will come for you both…”
Yunho jerked awake. His pulse thundered. His palms were clammy. He didn’t realize he was shaking until he brought his hand up to his face and saw it tremble. The fire had gone low. The others still slept. And across the dying embers, he saw her. Y/N. Curled under her cloak, her back to him, completely unaware of what she was to him, of what she would be. Or what he might become to protect her. Even if it meant taking everything. Even if it meant destroying the path fate had written for them both.
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Late afternoon crept over them like a yawn of gold and heat. The trees lining the narrow forest trail had thinned, and the sun hung low behind them, filtering through the canopy in honey warm beams that made the dust kicked up by their boots glitter like ash. The wind had gone quiet. Even the birds seemed hesitant to sing. They’d been walking for hours. And still, no one said anything.
Yunho led the group in tense silence, his strides long, jaw clenched, shoulders set tight beneath his cloak. He hadn’t so much as glanced back once, not even when Wooyoung stumbled over a root and swore loudly enough to scare a squirrel into spiraling from it’s branch. Behind him, San muttered something under his breath and caught Wooyoung by the elbow.
And at the rear, Y/N burned. It wasn’t the heat from the sun. It was inside her. A gnawing, slow building thrum that made her limbs feel heavy and restless all at once. Her mouth was dry. Her fingertips tingled. Every brush of fabric against her skin made her shiver. The nymph’s touch. She’d been trying to ignore it all day. Breathing through it. Clenching her teeth. Whispering the names of every damn plant she could think of just to stay grounded.
But it was getting worse. It was like being drugged and turned on at the same time, the pressure building like a coiled spring in her lower belly, her thighs involuntarily pressing together every time her foot hit the earth. Her breath came quicker now, shallow, even though the walk hadn’t been particularly grueling. And the worst part? She knew Yunho knew now. He hadn’t said a word to her since last night. But she felt it. The tension. Like he was holding himself on the edge of a blade.
She watched him ahead of her, the way the late sun caught in his dark hair. She could see the twitch in his jaw every time she got too close, the way he veered off to the side when their paths might have crossed too closely. Like he was afraid of her. No… afraid of himself. Y/N swallowed hard and stumbled slightly, catching herself on a crooked tree branch. The jolt of contact sent another pulse of heat down her spine, and she had to clench her jaw to keep from moaning.
Gods. She felt like a live wire stretched too tight, like something in her was going to snap if she didn’t get her hands on something. Someone. She could always try and fix it herself but not around them. She hated this. She hated how her body wasn’t hers right now.
She hated that Yunho wouldn’t even look at her. And she really hated that part of her wanted to beg him to. “Y/N?” San’s voice behind her was quiet, laced with concern. “You okay?” She nodded quickly, too quickly. “Fine. Just tired.” But she could feel Wooyoung watching her too, his brows drawn in sharp lines. Yunho didn’t turn around. Of course he didn’t.
They didn’t see the ruins until the trees gave way. Yunho came to a stop so suddenly that Wooyoung almost barreled into his back. “What the hell, man…”
“Look,” Yunho murmured. They all turned to follow his gaze. What began as creeping ivy became something else entirely, a fractured archway rising out of the forest floor like a ribcage, tangled in moss and pale blossoms. Beyond it, thick vines clung to crumbling stone, wrapping around what had once been towering columns and intricate carvings now worn smooth by centuries of rain and time.
The air shifted. Heavy. Still. Like the forest was holding its breath as Yunho stepped forward, slow and quiet, the leaves crunching softly beneath his boots. “Elven,” Wooyoung said, voice hushed. “These are elven ruins.”
“Are you sure?” San asked. “Positive,” Wooyoung nodded. “No one else carved stone like this. These patterns….” He pointed to the faint spirals etched into a wall half swallowed by earth. “they’re used to mark healing sanctuaries. Or sacred grounds.”
Y/N stared up at one of the columns. Despite the decay, the way the vines wove through it almost looked intentional. Like the forest had claimed it not to destroy it, but to protect it. Something inside her shifted. Stirred. Like recognition. Like a string tied to her ribs had just been tugged as she stepped through the archway. “Y/N,” Yunho’s voice came sharply, but she didn’t stop.
Her body moved like it belonged here. Her hand brushing the cool stone, her eyes catching flashes of symbols she didn’t understand and yet… didn’t feel entirely foreign either. Behind her, the others followed more cautiously. “Feels like no one’s been here in centuries,” San muttered. “Then why does it feel like it’s waiting for us?” Wooyoung whispered.
Yunho said nothing. But his gaze stayed locked on Y/N, watching the way her fingers trailed reverently over the ruins. The way her eyes narrowed like she was trying to remember a dream she hadn’t had yet. Her skin was flushed again. Her breath shallow. The nymph’s touch was getting stronger, it would before it dissipated. And yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling that this place was amplifying it. That something here, something ancient, was responding to her.
Y/N paused in front of a stone pedestal in the center of the clearing, half broken and veiled in moss. A shimmer caught the light, carvings beneath the grime. She reached out, hesitating, then brushing the moss away. A symbol glowed faintly beneath her fingers. The same crescent symbol as her mark. Her breath caught. “Yunho…” she whispered, turning to him.
He was already at her side. His voice came low. Rough. “What is this place?” She stumbled back a step, breath catching as a sharp burn licked across her skin. “Ah!” she hissed, twisting slightly and yanking the collar of her shirt down, shoulder bared. The mark. It was glowing. No, burning. Faint tendrils of silver light pulsed from it in waves, like moonlight bleeding beneath her skin. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but it was deep and wrong, like something inside her was clawing its way forward. “Y/N?” Yunho caught her elbow, voice low and urgent. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t… I don’t know, it just….” Her eyes widened. “It started when I touched the…” Y/N stumbled back a step, breath catching as a sharp burn licked across her skin. “Ah!” she gasped, turning slightly and shoving the fabric of her collar down to ease the sting. Her fingers trembled as she touched the skin just above her shoulder blade. She could feel it. The mark. It was glowing. No, burning. A slow, silver pulse radiated from beneath her skin, hidden by her clothes but unmistakable in the way it crawled down her spine. It felt like something ancient and alive was coiled just beneath the surface, scratching to be let out. “Y/N?” Yunho’s hand shot out, catching her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t…” She swallowed hard. “It just started hurting. Burning.” San and Wooyoung turned sharply, both immediately on alert, hands resting near the hilts of their weapons. “Are you injured?” San asked, scanning her for signs of blood. “No, it’s not that,” she said quickly. “It’s just… it started when I touched that pedestal.” Yunho’s gaze flicked toward her shoulder for a second too long. But when Wooyoung looked over, he was already looking away again, jaw set.
“Probably just old magic in the ruins,” Wooyoung muttered, eyeing the stone structure warily. “These places have a way of getting under your skin.” Yunho’s grip on her arm tightened slightly. “Let me get you away from it.” But the second he guided her back, his hand brushing firmly across her elbow, a low, ancient click echoed through the air.
They all froze. A chunk of the pedestal sank with a heavy scrape, stone grinding against stone. A narrow stairwell revealed itself beneath a shifting panel, winding down into darkness. The air that spilled out was cold. Thick with dust, magic, and memory. “What the hell,” San muttered. “It’s a hidden chamber.”
“Is that supposed to happen?” Wooyoung asked, squinting toward the stairwell. “Y/N, you didn’t push anything?”
“No,” she whispered. Yunho’s hand was still on her. And her skin, where his fingers touched, was lit with that soft, silvery pulse beneath the fabric. Her mark was still reacting, glowing just faintly enough for him to see it. No one else had noticed. Not San. Not Wooyoung. And he wasn’t about to tell them. He let go of Y/N’s arm. The mark dimmed beneath her shirt almost immediately. If Wooyoung noticed the way Yunho was suddenly tense, or how Y/N looked like she wanted to bolt in the opposite direction, he didn’t say anything.
But Yunho didn’t miss the way the pulse of her magic felt different now. Stronger. Sharper. He didn’t miss the faint scent of something foreign on her skin either. And he sure as hell didn’t miss how his touch had opened the door. The stairwell stretched downward, carved from the same moss worn stone as the rest of the ruin. It breathed out a chill that raised goosebumps on Y/N’s arms as she stared down into the dark.
She didn’t think. Didn’t ask.
Didn’t wait. She stepped forward. “Y/N… shit,” Yunho cursed, lunging after her, his voice low but sharp enough to cut glass. His boots hit the first step just as she disappeared into the shadows below. “Damn it.” Wooyoung raised a brow. “She’s got great timing.”
“She’s got no timing,” Yunho snapped. San was already pulling out a small rune glow stone from his pouch, whispering a soft enchantment to cast faint light ahead of them, a gift from Yeosang. “We shouldn’t go in blind,” he muttered. “Yeah, well,” Wooyoung sighed, drawing a blade just in case. “Welcome to another episode of, Shit We Probably Shouldn’t Do But Are Doing Anyway. Let’s go.”
The air grew colder with every step they took. Dust hung like fog, motes of ancient magic clinging to the air in iridescent flickers. Somewhere ahead, Y/N’s footsteps echoed faintly then stopped. Yunho reached her first, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “Are you insane? You don’t just wander into unknown ruins like this.”
“I didn’t wander,” she said, voice strange, like she was listening to something none of them could hear. “It pulled me.” Her hand was outstretched. Her eyes locked on the far wall, where a massive arch had been carved into the stone. Runes ran up either side, elven, tangled and ancient, like vines grown from language itself. The archway was sealed with a heavy slab of blackstone veined in opal light, and her mark, burning just faintly beneath her skin, was glowing in rhythm with it. Yunho felt it. A pulse of magic. A low thrum that matched his heartbeat.
He glanced at the wall. Then at her. Then at the mark just barely hidden beneath her shirt. “Back up,” he said quietly, not looking away from her. “All of you.” San and Wooyoung exchanged a glance. “You’ve seen something like this before?” San asked carefully. “No,” Yunho said too quickly. Wooyoung narrowed his eyes but didn’t press it as Y/N stepped forward again, hand lifting toward the seal, that burn in her shoulder flaring hotter. She wasn’t even sure if it was pain anymore. It was too deep for that. It felt like something buried was finally stretching awake.
And when her fingers brushed the stone…. It sighed. The whole chamber groaned like the earth itself exhaled. Runes lit up like stars reborn. The blackstone seal began to split, not crumble, but unfold, piece by piece, like petals blooming in slow, deliberate motion. Behind it was a room. A sanctuary. Or a tomb. They didn’t know yet. Only that it had waited for her. And that Yunho had no fucking idea how much longer he could keep pretending he didn’t know why.
The door finished unfurling with a low groan, settling open like a mouth ready to swallow them whole. A rush of stale, cold air hit their faces, carrying with it the faint scent of iron and lavender rot, like dried flowers buried in blood. They stepped in cautiously, San lighting another rune stone, its flickering glow barely illuminating the vast chamber. It was round. Domed. The ceiling arched high above them, choked with hanging vines and old roots that had broken through over time, the floor inlaid with smooth obsidian tiles dusted with ash and time. Every inch of the walls was covered in carved reliefs, scenes of elven temples, celestial alignments, shadow beasts, and…
“Is it just me,” Wooyoung murmured, stepping in slow, careful circles, “or does it feel like something in here is… afraid?” San frowned. “You okay?”
“My magica,” Wooyoung whispered, flexing his hand open and closed. “It’s… curling up. Like a dog sensing a storm. I’ve never felt it do that before. Not even in the catacombs.” Yunho said nothing. He was barely listening. His eyes had locked onto something deeper in. Toward the back of the chamber, behind a crumbled altar and a stone basin filled with old rainwater, was a wall nearly overtaken by ivy and shadow. And on that wall, a carving. A single panel.
He moved closer, his breath catching as he brushed the leaves aside. It was a relief carving, older than anything else in the room. Faint, worn, but the image was clear enough. A massive werewolf, body hulking, claws soaked in something dark, fur carved with maddening detail, was kneeling on the ground. In its arms lay a woman. Her body was limp. Head tilted back. Eyes closed. Blood, carved in etched grooves, ran from her chest. The werewolf was howling up toward the moon, but not in rage. In grief. Above them, carved into the arched frame of the panel, were two moons.
One full. One crescent. Both weeping. Yunho’s throat went dry as San came up beside him, squinting. “That… is not ominous at all.” Wooyoung hung back. “Why does the wolf look like it’s in mourning?” Yunho didn’t answer. Because he recognized the woman. Not her face exactly, not fully. But the shape of her. Her hair. The curve of her body. The way she was held. The way he wanted to hold her. And something deep in his gut, the part of him still not fully shifted back, still part wolf, still vibrating from what he felt the night before, howled softly in agreement.
Y/N had moved toward the other end of the chamber, unaware of the image carved into stone. Her fingertips hovered near an old pedestal covered in dust. The pull inside her chest, the fire from the nymph’s touch, and now… something else. Something ancient. Something hers. Something waking. She stared at the pedestal. It looked like stone but pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat buried under marble. Veins of silver ran through its surface, converging in the center beneath a thick layer of dust. Without thinking, her fingers reached out and brushed it aside.
A click echoed. Then a shhhhck, the sound of stone scraping stone. The top of the pedestal split down the middle, a seam forming as the center bloomed open like a flower. And nestled inside… Twin daggers. Elegant and deadly. Their hilts were carved from wisteria wood, etched in silver and wrapped in ancient elven symbols that shimmered faintly under the rune light. Their blades were curved, like crescent moons, almost like they were made by dragon fire, and nearly black, with veins of glowing violet pulsing just beneath the surface.
The moment she saw them, her breath caught in her throat. Something in her blood sang. “Don’t,” Yunho said sharply as Y/N’s hand paused inches above them. “They’re calling to me,” she whispered. “I said don’t,” he repeated, stepping forward. “They’re mine,” she snapped. “No,” Yunho said, voice low and too calm, “they’re cursed. Or protected. Or both. You don’t just touch things in an ancient ruin glowing with magica.”
And before she could stop him, before she could even blink, he snatched them up before she could. One in each hand. The moment he gripped them, the pedestal slammed shut with a deafening thud. Y/N lunged at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“I’m protecting you,” he said, already sliding the daggers into the empty sheaths at his side like they belonged there. “No, you’re controlling me,” she hissed, pushing at his chest. “You don’t get to decide what I touch!”
“Enough!” Yunho barked, eyes flashing. But before she could retort, before the argument could catch flame… The ground shook. Small at first. Then violently. Dust fell from the ceiling. Cracks splintered up the walls. The water in the basin boiled. San’s voice rang out. We need to get out… NOW!” Wooyoung grabbed Y/N’s arm as stones began to tumble from the arch. “This place is collapsing! Wasn’t me this time!” he added as he dragged her away.
Yunho turned back just long enough to take one final glance at the carving, the werewolf cradling the dead woman. Then the whole wall split apart, the stone groaning in grief and he ran as the chamber shuddered violently. Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor beneath their feet as centuries old dust rained down from the ceiling. Somewhere in the depths of the ruins, a massive grinding sound groaned to life, like ancient gears finally turning again after ages asleep.
“Shit,” Wooyoung muttered, eyes darting upward. “We really need to stop touching things.” San grabbed Y/N’s arm as more pieces of the ceiling began to fall. “Move!” They all turned for the exit, but the archway they’d come through was already caving in. A stone beam dropped from above with a thunderous crash, slamming into the floor where Y/N had stood not two seconds ago. “Go, go, go!” Yunho shouted. They sprinted through the debris strewn corridor, the walls trembling around them. The glow of the old runes flickered bright, then gone, leaving only the natural light seeping in from cracks overhead.
“Left!” San barked. “We came in from the right, genius!” Yunho snapped. “I don’t care! Just pick one and run!” San yelled back as Y/N was panting, vision blurring with dust, the ache of her still burning mark searing under her clothes. Her legs moved on instinct, chasing the sound of Yunho ahead of her. She nearly tripped over a collapsed archway, stumbling hard, and then a strong hand yanked her upright. Yunho. He didn’t say anything. Just grabbed her wrist tight and pulled her after him, hand lacing with her own, his pace relentless. Even in the chaos, his body moved with fluid precision, daggers at his sides, hair wild, jaw clenched as if holding back something deeper, something growling just under the surface.
They burst into the last corridor just as another collapse sent a wall caving in behind them. “Faster!” Wooyoung wheezed. “I do not want to die under ugly rocks in an ugly ruin!” The tunnel narrowed, stone grinding around them, closing in. The exit was close. Yunho shoved Y/N ahead of him through a sliver of collapsing stone, just wide enough for a body, and ducked through after her, shielding her with his frame as a final quake cracked the ground beneath their feet and they fell.
They tumbled out onto grass and stone, landing in a mess of limbs and curses and coughing dust. The ruins behind them gave one final howl, a deep, magical rumble, and then sank further into the earth with a deafening roar. Silence followed. Y/N lay on her back, chest heaving, blinking at the purple streaked sky overhead. Her heart still thundered. Her throat burned. Her entire body ached. Beside her, Wooyoung flopped onto his stomach and groaned. “Remind me again why we can’t just travel through normal forests like normal people?” San spit out a leaf. “This is your fault.”
“My fault?! I didn’t touch the glowy elf pedestal!”Wooyoung snapped as Y/N sat up, turning her glare on Yunho. “You stole my daggers.”
“They’re not yours,” he said, brushing dust from his sleeves without meeting her eyes. “They were meant for me.” She argued and he scoffed. “You don’t know that.”
“They were offered to me, Yunho!”
“Offered by a cursed ruin that almost killed all of us!”
Her voice dropped low, venomous. “And you think you’re the one who should carry them? You, with your big brooding werewolf complex?” San and Wooyoung glanced at each other but wisely said nothing. Yunho stood there, silent, back straight, jaw tight. He looked at her, really looked, and for a moment, Y/N swore she saw something flicker behind his eyes. But then he turned away. “We need to move,” he muttered.
And just like that, the conversation ended. He led the way into the trees, twin daggers strapped at his sides, not once looking back. Y/N followed, burning. Not just from anger. But from something far more dangerous still festering beneath her skin.
Attack On Titan is something that will resonate with me for a long long time I'll always be attached and the pain and joy that comes with it , the characters , the beautiful meanings , the art and most importantly the escape from such a scary and dark world that's what mattered to me the most was the aspect of escape from reality that I was struggling to want to remain in normally , this series was something I used as a way to escape pain and that's what I will remember it for forever , the people I've met from this show , the laughs I've had at cons doing skits all because of a series is crazy it's changed me as a person and I'm so thankful for that yes some people will say it's just a show but honestly it's so much more to so many people me including, thank you Hajime Isayama we owe it all to you
all good things come to an end 💔⚔️. Shinzou Sasageyo
