Fai_Ryy
almost home
occasionally subtle
Today's Document
Sweet Seals For You, Always
noise dept.
Monterey Bay Aquarium
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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shark vs the universe
Andulka
Cosmic Funnies
pixel skylines
DEAR READER
Product Placement
PR's Tumblrdome
trying on a metaphor
wallacepolsom
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Show & Tell
seen from Jamaica
seen from United Kingdom
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@bunny-hwa
Masterlist | ATEEZ Fics by Bunny-Hwa
Welcome! ✨️
Here's where you can find all my Ateez works, from angsty one shots to slow burns, mature stories, and multi-chapters series.
Everything is sorted by member and type for easy browsing!
💌 Upload Schedule:
— Series -> Saturdays or Sundays
— One-shots & request -> ??
So if you're looking for a midweek pick-me-up or a weekend binge read, I've got you covered ♡
Permanent Taglist: Here
Series ->
♡ Popular, Boy | +18, Smut, Angst [Complete]
One-Shots ->
♡ Strangers | Angst, Suggestive [13,7k]
♡ Until I Die | Heavy Angst, Suggestive [12,7k]
♡ Sacred Hell | +18, Smut [8,5k]
♡ 30 minutes | +18, Smut [3,1k]
Series ->
☆ Angel Tears |+18, Smut, Angst, and more [Complete]
One-Shots ->
☆ Cry for me | +18, Smut [3,8k]
☆ Come back, please | Angst, fluff [14,3k]
☆ Still think I'm a dream? | +18, Smut [3,2k]
One-Shots ->
◇ Troublemaker |Yunho&Mingi| +18, Smut [8,2k]
Can't help it I want you |Yunho&San| +18, Smut, Angst Part 1 [10,8k] Part 2 [15,5k]
◇ Mine | Fluff, Suggestive [8,7k]
◇ My fault | Angst no comfort, Fluff [26.4k]
[Part 1] [Part 2]
[Loading....]
One-Shots ->
□ Baby, I'm jealous |San&Wooyoung| +18, Smut, Angst Part 1 [7,5k] Part 2 [6,3k]
Can't help it I want you |Yunho&San| +18, Smut, Angst Part 1 [10,8k] Part 2 [15,5k]
One-Shots ->
♤ Troublemaker |Yunho&Mingi| +18, Smut [8,2k]
One-Shots ->
○ Baby, I'm jealous |San&Wooyoung| +18, Smut, Angst Part 1 [7,5k] Part 2 [6,3k]
○ Maybe, in another life | Angst, Suggestive [10,2k]
One-Shots ->
▪︎ Come back, please | Angst, fluff [14,3k]
Series ->
Stream Of Sin | +18, Smut, Angst [On going]
One-Shots ->
♧ No one's Favorite |Angst [15,2k]
Reactions ->
♧ Wearing lingerie |+18, suggestive [1,3k]
⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆
Permanent Taglist:
@domfikeluva @hurryupmars @a-tiny-thing @silenttrxxs @innocygnet @alliecoady98 @posseup @yothangie @a-atiny_niawoo @justconniez @niaee @0407files @maidens-world @zaynsfl4m3s @maplelilly05 @xh01bri @sannieily @nkryuki @lemonkait00 @khaskl08 @badbitch69420sworld @jilxxasu @vnxlla @lezleeferguson-120 @lunaryoongie @stayatinykatsy @milliesupremexx @unbroken-shadows @itzyejiluv @lover-ofallthingspretty @queenofdumbfuckery @johaeyeon @xopierrot @m0onchild-98 @nyx-y @daniela-f-uwu @atinyno1likeme @bbyunicornbby @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @hecateslittlewitchling @herpoetryprincess @twancingyunhao @prchiquita8 @yoonglesbae @estrnrea @amazaynaastha
All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.
Hello my lovely readers ♡
It's been a month since the last time I posted something, and I came here to apologize.
I know you had heard this before, and I'm so sorry for saying it again, but fuck my damn job that doesn't let me do what I love the most: writting.
Since I started working in that place, I've been such a mess, mentally and physically. The last month was the worst. Finally, after all the problems and all the anxiety, I decided that it's time to leave that place.
I haven't quit yet (I'm scared 🥹) but I'm doing it soon.
This week was finally peaceful, and I wrote a little, it's just 1k words of chapter #29 but is something 😅
Sorry for making you wait, and sorry for making this kind of post, but I really want you to know the reason of my absence.
Thank you so much for always being here to support my work^^ I love you sooo much and thank you sooo much for everything ❤️
I promise that bunny hwa will be back soon! ✨️
— bunny hwa ♡
Sream Of Sin
28: Dom vs. Dom
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 10,3k
Synopsis: The truth comes out. The war begins.
Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, talk of poliamorous activities, and adult content. Threats, intimidation, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, jealousy, obsessive behavior. Verbal confrontation, strong language, underage content references, non-consensual distribution of Intimate media and sexual talks.
a/n: I hope you enjoy this chapter! Sorry for being MIA for almost three weeks, but work has been a bitch and I dont think it'll stop. Soooo I apologize in advance if I dont post the next chapters often. Maybe I dont have motiviation to work, or even write but you know what I have? Tickets to see Aespa live hahah.
Anyway, love you!! ❤️❤️
Series Masterlist
Masterlist
It was late night when your phone lit in the dark of your room, buzzing on your night table. Something that made you look at it in confusion. It was almost midnight. You were almost ready to sleep, you were reading some book that Seonghwa recommended to you.
You left the book aside on your bed and grabbed your phone. You frowned immediately when you saw the person who was calling you at this hour.
Jongho.
“Hello?” You said.
The line stayed in silence for a couple of seconds before you heard his voice.
“Good night, Eunji.”
“What happened?” You asked, visibly amused by his sudden call.
He never greeted you, he never texted you. And of course, he never called you. This was new.
“Can we talk?” He said quietly.
You smiled, finding the question funny “We are already talking, Jongho.”
You heard him scoffing, and you were sure he rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“I’m outside your house. Let's talk face to face, Jeong.”
And he hung up. Leaving you almost speechless. You sighed, but you were already standing up and putting some sneakers on.
In silence, you stepped outside your room, trying to not wake up your family in the other rooms. With a slow pace, you walked through the empty hallways of your house, until you reached the main door.
When you opened it you saw a pretty black car parking right outside. You assumed Jongho would be inside, so you walked towards it and with all the trust of the world, you opened the car door and got inside.
“Hey there, handsome.” You leaned on the seat, crossing your legs.
Jongho scoffed, not believing the level of trust you had with him “I could’ve been a stranger, Eunji.”
“But you aren't." You replied, a silly smile on your lips.
He sighed “Whatever. Let's get to the point.”
“What’s the hurry, babe?”
“Eunji, this is serious.” He muttered, you could notice the tired tone on his voice.
Why does he look mad? Did you do something?
“Okay... what’s going on?” You fixed your position, now facing him completely.
He took a deep breath, arranging his thoughts, trying to know how to start this. He didn't want to scare you or make you feel attacked. He could be direct and rude with others, but not with you—not anymore at least.
“Look… I noticed something the other day.” He stared, quietly. Watching his words. “You know I follow this camgirl, Holy JiJi, remember?”
You stayed in silence. Why is he telling you this? Did he find out the truth?
“... yeah.” You answered softly.
“Well, I recognized the man that was with this girl. And the girl too.” He continued, his voice shaking at the end.
You opened your eyes wide, faking surprise “O.m.g! Who?!”
Jongho narrowed his eyes, a pang of incredulity on his chest, he knew you already knew he was talking about you. He let the silence extend to a level where the tension in the air was palpable, until he sighed, his eyes closed shut as he dragged his hands through his face.
“San. And you, Jiji.”
He remarked the last name, he saw how your entire form froze, the previous smile falling a little. He didn't want to push you to talk, but the only subtle way he could possibly face this situation was with zero sugarcoat, just straight to the point.
You frowned—not scared or angry at San for being this reckless, but confused as fuck. How come that now everyone knows about your page, first Mingi and now Jongho.
Now what, Yunho was going to find out next?
“I recognized San’s ring.” Jongho continued, taking the silence as an opportunity to clarify the thousands of questions your head might have in this moment. “I talked with him at school today, and after talking for a while I just tie the info and—”
“You figure it out is me.” You cut him, surprising him.
Jongho thought that this topic would be difficult for you, and it was, but after your talk with Mingi and his reassuring words, you weren't scared anymore. Now that Jongho knew too, you felt some kind of relief.
You knew he was a judgemental person, with values, and with a high moral. You knew he judged you when he found out—he is probably doing it right now. But something that calmed your nerves, was that he decided to talk with you, he didn't run to your parents or Yunho, he decided to talk with you first.
Just like Mingi did. And that said more than anything.
“Eun—”
“I know what you might be thinking.” You cut him off again, softly this time. “And it is, but everything has an explanation.”
Jongho stares at you, amused that you didn't react the way he expected. He cleared his throat, the question that consumed his thoughts was in the tip of his tongue, the look you were giving him—pretty doe eyes staring right into his soul, but there was something else in them, sadness…?
“Tell me why, Eunji.” Jongho said softly, his voice a velvet murmur. “I want to know the truth.”
You sighed, that topic again. Always the fucking trauma.
“First, you tell me what you think about all this.” You looked at him, finding something that could tell you that he was disgusted at you. “Depending on your answer, I’ll consider whether to tell you or not.”
Don't get it wrong. You trusted Jongho, you knew he was a good person, and he always understood your vague words and actions. But there was still a little insecurity that screamed at you, telling you to be careful. You didn't want to get hurt, or hurt him either.
Jongho analyzed your form, he could see how your shoulders were tense, how your eyes avoided his, how you played with your hands. He knew you enough to know that you were nervous.
“I’m not gonna lie, Eunji.” He sighed, taking your hand in his, ready to tell you his real thoughts about this topic. “At first, I was so mad at San because he is my friend, and finding out something like this… made me feel bad.”
You looked at him, a slight frown forming on your face “What you mean by ‘feeling bad’?
“I wonder if he was doing it for money, if he was suffering to obtain it that he had to sell his body in that way, made me feel like a bad friend for not noticing his struggles.”
“Well, he isn't doing it for money.” You murmured.
San was doing it just for fun, he had told you the first time that you two recorded together.
“He mentioned that.” Jongho scoffed, still remembering San’s words. “Then I wonder why you were doing this. I know for sure you dont need the money either, you’re fucking rich.” That made you laugh, and he smiled satisfied. “The only thing that I can think of all this is that you enjoy voyeurism or some shit like that.”
You laughed again, this time a rich sound that echoed in the car. You had never thought about you having such a kink, but now that he mentioned it, maybe you do have a thing for people watching you having sex.
“You’re laughing because you know it's true, right?” Jongho narrowed his eyes as he pulled you closer to him. “I saw you three times, Eun.” He murmured, tone so low that made you shiver in that kind of exciting way. “And let me tell you that you seem to like me watching you.”
You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. You nodded, suddenly feeling shy.
“But I know that's not the real reason behind your page.” He said and his next movements made you gasp.
He grabbed your waist and in a fast move, he had you sitting on his lap, so close that you could feel the heat of his body, the smell of his cologne, the intensity of his gaze.
“Porbably I’m gonna judge you.” He mocked you with that smile that you loved. “But before doing so, I’m gonna listen and understand the situation. I’m not like Yunho.”
Yunho being mentioned made your entire body tense. The memory of his words, his accusations, the way he'd looked at you like you were something dirty—it all came rushing back. Jongho felt the shift in your body, the way you stiffened against him, and his grip on your waist softened.
“Hey…” He murmured, his thumb tracing small circles on your hip. “I'm not him. I'm never going to be him. You know that, right?”
You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat “I know.”
“Then talk to me.” His voice was gentle, coaxing. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”
You took a deep breath, your fingers finding the collar of his shirt, playing with the fabric as a nervous habit. Where did you even start? How did you explain something that had changed the entire trajectory of your life?
“A video.” You began, your voice quiet. "The one that got leaked when I was in high school. You know about it?"
Jongho's jaw tightened, and shook his head “What video?”
“Some guy drugged me when we were doing a school project. I didn't remember anything. I found out when he sent the video to Yunho, later it leaked and I’m pretty sure all the school watched it.” You let out a bitter laugh. “I was accused of being a hooker.”
Jongho stared at you with a big frown, listening without interrupting you. You told him everything. The video surfaced online, enough to destroy your reputation. The way Yunho had believed the worst, had called you horrible names, had abandoned you when you needed him most.
Jongho's hands had stilled on your waist, his entire body going rigid as you spoke. His eyes darkened, not with judgment, but with something else… something that looked a lot like rage, carefully leashed.
“That's why you transferred.” It wasn't a question.
“Yes.” You looked down at your hands, at the way your fingers twisted in his shirt. “I couldn't stay there. Everyone looked at me like I was... like I was nothing. Like I'd asked for it.”
“Eunji—”
“And then I met Wooyoung and Hongjoong.” You continued, pushing through the emotion clogging your throat. “They... they helped me. In their own weird, chaotic way. Wooyoung was the one who suggested the page.”
Jongho's eyebrows shot up “Wooyoung?”
“He said I should take control of the narrative.” You shrugged, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “That if people were going to talk about me like I was some kind of whore anyway, I might as well own it. Make money from it. Turn their judgment into something that gave me power instead of taking it away.”
“And you agreed to that?”
“At first, no. I thought he was insane.” You laughed softly. "But then I thought about it. About how helpless I'd felt when that video came out. How everyone had seen something I never consented to, something I didn't even remember. And I thought... maybe if I chose to show myself, on my own terms, with people I trusted... maybe it wouldn't hurt so much anymore.”
Jongho was quiet for a long moment, processing. His hands had started moving again, soothing strokes along your sides, grounding you both.
“San joined first.” You continued. “He was my first friend after all that situation—he was the one who defended me when some guy tried to... anyway. When Wooyoung told him about the page, he offered to help. Said he didn't mind being on camera.”
“And you believed him?”
“I trusted him.” You met Jongho's eyes. “And he proved me right. He's never made me feel unsafe. None of them have. Wooyoung films sometimes. Hongjoong too. We... we make it work.”
“So you're not just with San in the videos?” Jongho's voice was carefully neutral.
“No.” You shook your head. “I'm with all of them. In different ways. San, Wooyoung, Hongjoong... and Seonghwa.”
Jongho's eyes widened at the last name “Seonghwa knows?”
“Seonghwa knows everything.” You smiled, thinking of your gentle boyfriend, his endless patience, his unwavering acceptance. “He's not part of the videos… yet.”
He looked like he might pass out. Yet? How was it possible that his most religious friend recorded a porn video with you?... To share it?
Park Seonghwa was really mad down for you.
He scoffed, not believing what he heard “And he's okay with sharing you with three other guys?”
“Five, actually.” You bit your lip, watching his reaction. “He knows about you and me. Also, Mingi knows too. He found out the same way you did—through the stream.”
Jongho's jaw dropped “Seonghwa knows about us fucking?
You nodded.
“Oh my god..” He muttered, dragging his free hand through his face, panic all over his body. “Fuck.”
You giggled, taking his hand off of his face “He is okay with it, Jongho.”
He sighed, trying to accept that his hyung knew he was fucking his girlfriend behind his back, he closed his eyes and changed the topic.
“Mingi knows too? As in Song Mingi? Yunho's best friend Mingi?”
“The very same.” You nodded. “He confronted me about it today, actually. After school.”
“And?” Jongho's voice was strained, something flickering in his eyes that looked almost like jealousy. “What did he say?”
You hesitated, remembering the way Mingi had kissed you, the way he'd said goodbye.
“He said he wouldn't tell anyone. That he understood. But he also said he couldn't... be with me anymore. Because of Yunho.”
Jongho processed this, his expression unreadable “So he walked away?”
“He said he'd still watch.” A sad smile curved your lips. “But he wouldn't touch.”
Something shifted in Jongho's expression—a softening, maybe, or a recognition of the weight you were carrying. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your cheek.
“That must have hurt.” He said quietly.
“It did.” You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. “But I understand. He needs to protect his friendship with Yunho. I get it.”
“And what about me?” Jongho's voice was barely a whisper. “Seonghwa hyung is not killing me, right? Where do I fit into all of this?”
You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze “That depends on you, babe. I'm not going to force you into anything. I'm not going to ask you to keep secrets you're not comfortable keeping. But I will tell you the truth, always. No more lies.”
He stared at you for a long moment, his dark eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—not his usual guarded expression, but something real, something vulnerable.
“I'm not going to pretend I understand all of this.” He said. “The videos, the page, the... arrangement you have with the others. It's a lot.”
“I know.”
“But I'm not going to judge you for it either.” His thumb traced your jawline, gentle and reverent. “You went through something terrible, Eunji. Something no one should have to go through. And you found a way to survive. To take back your power. That's not something to be ashamed of. That's something to be proud of.”
Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time they weren't sad “Jongho…”
“I'm angry, though.” His jaw tightened. “At the bastard who did that to you. At Yunho for abandoning you. At everyone who looked at you like you were the one in the wrong.” He pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours. “But I'm not angry at you. I could never be angry at you.”
“You're not disgusted?”
“Disgusted?” He laughed, the sound warm and incredulous. “Ji, I've been half in love with you since the first time you smiled at me. Finding out you have a secret porn page doesn't change that. It just... explains some things.”
You laughed too, watery and relieved “Explains what?”
“Explains why you're so good at... certain things.” His ears turned pink, and you felt your own cheeks flush. “And why you're so comfortable in your own skin. Most girls our age are still figuring out what they want. You've known for a while.”
“Trauma will do that to you.” You shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. “Nothing like a near-death experience to make you realize life's too short to be shy.”
Jongho shook his head, but he was smiling “You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
The laughter faded, replaced by something heavier, more charged. Jongho's hands were still on your waist, your hips, and you were still sitting in his lap, close enough to count his eyelashes. The air in the car felt thick, electric.
“You know.” You murmured, your fingers trailing up his chest. “You could always join us. If you wanted. Be a guest star on the page.”
Jongho's eyes widened in horror, his whole body going rigid “Dear god. Absolutely not!”
“Not even once?” You teased, grinning at his reaction.
“Eunji, I go to church every Sunday.” He shook his head emphatically. “I lead chapel duty. I'm pretty sure appearing in a porn video would get me excommunicated or something.”
“I'm pretty sure you had never thought about that when you fuck me."
“Because it's you, you blind my mind." He grabbed your wandering hands, holding them still against his chest. “So no videos. No cameras. No thousands of strangers watching us.”
“Fine, fine.” You laughed, relenting. “But the offer stands. If you ever change your mind…”
“I won't.”
“You had said that before, and look at us now.” You shrugged, obviously making fun of him.
He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and the tension between you had shifted into something softer, more familiar. His hands released yours, sliding up to cup your face instead, tilting it toward him.
“I've missed this.” He admitted quietly. “Being with you. Just... existing in the same space.”
“I've missed you too.” You meant it. The past few weeks had been strange without him, without the secret glances and stolen moments. “I'm glad you came tonight.”
“Me too.” His thumb traced your lower lip, his eyes darkening. “There's something else I should tell you, though. Before I forget.”
“What is it?”
He hesitated, his brow furrowing “Ann sent a message earlier. To me, San, Mingi, and Yeosang. She wants us to meet at her house tomorrow after school.”
Your heart stuttered “About what?”
“She didn't say. Just that she had something important to tell us.” His jaw tightened. “Given how she's been acting lately... I don't think it's good.”
Ann. Again? You almost groaned.
You just got rid of a fucking bastard, and now you had to deal with Ann again? Fucking sake, god couldnt give you a damn rest.
“Thank you for telling me.” You pressed your forehead against his, grateful for his honesty. “Will you... will you tell me what she says? After the meeting?”
Jongho was quiet for a moment, considering. Then he nodded “Of course. But Eunji... if she knows about the page—”
“She doesn't.” You shook your head. “She can't. Only a handful of people know, and none of them would tell her.”
“Then what does she want?”
“I don't know.” Fear coiled in your stomach, cold and unwelcome. “But whatever it is, I need to be prepared. Please, Jongho. Tell me what she says.”
“I will.” He pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapped tight around you, his chin resting on top of your head. “I promise.”
You stayed like that for a long moment, breathing each other in, finding comfort in the embrace. His heart beat steady against your cheek, a calming rhythm that chased away some of the anxiety.
“Jongho?” You murmured against his chest.
“Hmm?”
“Can you kiss me?”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes soft in the dim light “I thought you'd never ask.”
His lips met yours, gentle at first, almost tentative. It had been weeks since the last time and the familiarity of it made your chest ache. He tasted the same, felt the same, smelled the same.
Like warmth. Like safety.
The kiss deepened, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head to a better angle. You sighed against his mouth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. There was no urgency here, no desperate hunger. Just sweetness. Just affection. Just two people who cared about each other, trying to hold onto something good in the middle of so much chaos.
When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting together.
“I really have missed you.” He whispered.
“I know.” You smiled, tracing the line of his jaw. “I missed you too.”
He kissed you one more time, soft and lingering, before reluctantly releasing you “You should go inside. It's late.”
“Probably.” You made no move to leave.
“Eunji.”
“I'm going, I'm going.” You laughed, climbing off his lap and reaching for the door handle. But before you opened it, you turned back to look at him. “Thank you, Jongho. For listening. For... everything.”
He smiled, that rare, genuine smile that made your heart flutter “Always.”
You slipped out of the car and walked back toward your house, feeling his gaze on you the whole way. When you reached the front door, you turned and waved, and he waved back, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the car's interior.
Then you stepped inside, closed the door, and leaned against it, your heart full and heavy all at once.
Tomorrow, Ann would make her move. Tomorrow, secrets might be exposed and friendships might shatter.
But tonight, you had this. You had Jongho's understanding, Mingi's bittersweet goodbye, Seonghwa's unwavering love, and the knowledge that you weren't alone.
Whatever came next, you would face it together.
In the car, Jongho watched the front door close, waited until he saw your bedroom light flicker on through the window. Only then did he start the engine and pull away from the curb.
His mind was racing—with everything you'd told him, with the weight of the secrets he was now carrying, with the memory of your lips against his. He thought about Ann's message, about the meeting tomorrow, about what she could possibly want.
Whatever it was, he would be ready. He would protect you. He would keep his promise. But as he drove through the dark streets, one thought echoed above all the others:
He was in way over his head. And for the first time, he didn't mind at all.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
Yeosang drummed his fingers on the desk in an anxious rhythm, his eyes locked to the wall clock instead of paying attention to what the teacher was saying.
Just five minutes, five minutes and he’ll see Ann dropping a bomb to his friends. He was ready to see her fall to the dirt again. Just like she has done since she decided to mess with you.
He looked at Mingi two rows in front of him, his shoulders all tensed. And Yeosang knew why, because Mingi knew you would be involved in whatever Ann had to tell them, and that scared him.
When the bell rang, Yeosang waited for Mingi to pick up his things, Yunho was there too, waiting for his best friend. But Yunho couldn't know where they were going, so he stood up and walked towards them with calm steps.
“Hey.” He greeted them.
“Yeo, what’s up?” Yunho smiled at him. “Want to play at my house later?”
“Sounds good.” Yeosang smiled back. “But I have some stuff to do with Min first, right man?” He looked at the younger.
Yunho frowned a little, his eyes darting between his two friends.
Mingi gulped, but nodded as he grabbed his backpack “Yeah…” He smiled at his best friend. “See you later at your house.”
The tallest narrowed his eyes, this two were acting weird as fuck. He knew they were weird, but today was the kind of weirdness that was suspicious.
“... Okay.” He murmured, still a rare feeling in his tummy. “Don’t be late.”
“Of course not.” Yeosang said, that calm smile curving his lips.
Yunho looked at them a last time before waving a little goodbye and turning away to walk out of the classroom.
Yeosang and Mingi stayed in silence for a couple of seconds, both of them making sure that Yunho was far away before speaking about what was going to happen at Ann’s house.
“So…” Mingi started. “What do you think Ann wants this time?”
Yeosang shrugged “Don’t know, but let's go and find out.”
With that said he started to walk, Mingi following him. When they stepped out of the classroom they saw two familiar boys standing there—San and Jongho. Both of them waited with crossed arms and a visible frown.
“Ready to have a talk with that crazy bitch?” San asked, mock in his voice.
Jongho smiled, his feet already moving towards them “San is driving us, let's go end Ann’s circus.”
Yesoang smiled back, thrill running down his spine. This was just starting but it was already exciting him.
—
Ann sighed with nervousness when she heard knocks on the door. She had an adrenaline rush when she decided to create that group chat and send the messages.. Now she was regretting it.
With an uncomfortable feeling on her chest, she walked to the door and with a final sigh she opened it, finding four men standing on her doorstep.
“Hey, Ann.” Yeosang was the first to greet her.
“Hi, guys. Come in.” Ann gave them a tight smile, stepping to the side.
The boys stepped inside one by one, each of them offering her a little nod as they passed her. San was the first one to sit on the couch like it was his house, Mingi followed him. Jongho stayed on his feet behind them while Yeosang decided to stay in a corner where he could watch all of them.
Ann closed the door behind her with a soft click, she faced the four men in her livingroom, hesitating where to sit.
“Let's start this.” San said, leaning comfortably on the couch in a lazy gesture. “I have stuff to do.”
Mingi shoved him slightly at his mean behaviour, San just rolled his eyes.
“Yeah.. sure.” She mumbled, and sat on the individual couch in front of them.
She stayed there in silence, feeling their stares on her, waiting for her to talk. Why is she hesitating so much? Didn't she want to tell them what were you doing? And Yeosang was there to support her.
She looked at Yeosang standing next to her, he gave her a slight nod, encouraging her to speak. She took a deep breath and turned to the boys again.
“Last week, I…” She gulped nervously before continuing. “I discovered something.”
Immediately, Jongho narrowed his eyes. Is it possible that she really knows about your page?
“What did you discover?” Mingi asked, clueless.
Ann took another quick look at Yeosang, and spilled everything in a full sentence:
“Seonghwa and Eunji recorded an intimate video and I'm sure they posted because I saw Seonghwa editing it.”
Silence.
Thick. Cold. Silence.
San and Mingi looked at each other with wide eyes. Jongho frowned. And Yeosang bit his tongue to suppress the smile forming on his lips.
Ann lowered her gaze as she cursed herself mentally, she messed up.
After a long silence, San cut it with an amused laugh “What?”
Nobody answered, Ann kept her eyes occupied looking at the floor. Mingi now biting his nails in anxiety, because how the fuck did she find out? That surprised him more than knowing that Seonghwa hyung was involved in the page too. Jongho sighed, his eyes tight shut; this was the last thing you wanted, you didn't want her to know this.
“Oh my fucking god, Ann.” San talked again, gaining the boy's attention. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
This time, Ann looked up at him and waited for the attack she knew San had for her. But it didn't come, he just stared at her with an expression that she had never seen in him: Pure anger.
“I-I…”
“You are to damn obsessed trying to fuck Eunji’s life, don’t you?” Jongho said, surprising everyone in the room with his initiative.
Ann frowned at that “What? No, I–”
“Ann, do you know that saying this kind of stuff can cause really big problems?” Mingi cut her off, in a calmer way than Jongho. “This isn't a topic to play around.”
“I know.” Ann nodded, her voice sounding more confident. “That’s why I decided to tell you before telling Yunho.”
With that, San stood up from his seat in a quick move, his shoulders tensed and wrath invaded his chest. Yunho being mentioned in that sentence blinded his thoughts, completely.
And if you’re involved, he couldn't stay in silence.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” San said between tight teeth. “You’re suggesting that someone has a porn page just because she decided to record a sex tape with her boyfriend? Do you know how stupid that sounds?”
Silence.
Ann looked at him with wide eyes, her chest hurting at his harsh words. And one more time, she was treated badly by him because of you. Again. Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them drop, she looked at Yeosang one more time, asking him for help. It was his idea after all.
But Yeosang didn't say anything, he just stared at her in shock.
Fake shock, because he internally was enjoying this a little too much.
“San.” Mingi called him, scared of his behaviour.
“No!” San turned to Mingi, making him jolt, and pointed at him. “This bitch is putting shit on my best friend and you want me to do nothing? Fuck off.”
“Hyung, calm the fuck down!” Jongho yelled, taking big steps towards him and forcing him to sit back, and murmured just for him to hear. “Don’t mess this shit even more.”
San connected his gaze with Jongho’s and took a big breath, relaxing his body in the process, and nodded at the youngest. If he was mad, he would mess things up. And that included hurting you in the process.
With the oldest completely calm now, Jongho stood to his full height and faced Ann. His features were calm, but he was shaking with anxiety inside.
“Ann.” He called her softly. “Tell us why you think that?”
She hesitated, blinking several times trying to make the tears in her eyes disappear, she swallowed the knot on her throat with an aching gulp—And took a quick look at San, now seated on the couch with his elbows on his knees, looking everywhere else but in her direction.
“Ann.” Jongho said again.
“I saw Seonghwa showing San that video.” She started, her voice low. “The video was in an editing app...”
“So you assumed that they would update it somewhere, right?” Jongho asked, still calm.
Ann nodded, and unconsciously, her eyes drifted to Yeosang again. This time, Mingi noticed it.
“Why are you looking at Yeosang so much?” He asked, confusion all over his face.
“I—”
“She talked to me first about this.” Yeosang spoke for the first time since they arrived there. “She wanted to tell Yunho, but I told her that was a bad idea.”
“So she decided to tell us?”
“Yeah.” He nodded.
San laughed in disbelief “What the fuck, man….”
The room was thick with tension, each person processing the information in their own way. Ann's eyes were still wet, her hands trembling in her lap. Mingi had stopped biting his nails and was now staring at Yeosang with a new kind of suspicion. Jongho stood like a statue, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“I was just trying to help.” Yeosang said, his voice soft, almost wounded. He looked at Ann with something that resembled concern. “She came to me first. She was scared. I thought... I thought if she talked to you all, it would be better than going straight to her family.”
Ann's head snapped up, her tears forgotten “What? No! That's not—” She stood up from her seat, her voice rising. “You told me to tell them! You said they deserved to know the truth! You're the one who—”
“Ann.” Yeosang's voice was calm, almost pitying. “I told you to think carefully before doing anything. I never said you should accuse her of something without proof.”
“You did!” She was shaking now, her composure completely shattered. “You said Seonghwa was acting weird too! You said—”
“I said that if what you saw was true, then it was serious.” Yeosang shrugged, his expression unchanged. “I never told you to spread rumors. I never told you to call everyone here and make accusations. That was your choice.”
Ann stared at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The betrayal in her eyes was almost painful to watch—if any of them actually felt sympathy for her.
San scoffed, looking between them “So you dragged us here because Yeosang gave you some vague advice? Are you serious?”
“No, I—” Ann's voice cracked. “He made me think—”
“We're not here because of what Yeosang said.” Mingi interrupted, his voice firmer than before. “We're here because you chose to believe the worst about Eunji. Again.”
Ann flinched “That's not—”
“Couples record that kind of things sometimes.” Mingi continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “It's not that unusual. People do it for themselves, for memories, for fun. It doesn't automatically mean they're posting it online for the world to see.”
Ann's jaw tightened “Then why was Seonghwa showing it to San?”
San opened his mouth to respond, but Mingi beat him to it.
“Because they're best friends? Because people share things with people they trust? There are a million reasons that don't involve a secret porn page, Ann.”
“Exactly.” San leaned forward, his eyes locked on Ann. “Hwa is my best friend. Eunji too. We've shared a lot over the years. A video between them isn't my business to judge, and it sure as hell isn't yours.”
Ann's hands curled into fists at her sides. She looked at San, at the defiance in his eyes, and something inside her snapped. The words came out before she could stop them, sharp and venomous.
“Because you're fucking her too.” Her voice was low but steady, each word hitting like a stone in still water. “You're sharing her with Seonghwa. That's why you're defending her.”
Silence.
Absolute. Devastating. Silence.
Mingi's eyes went wide, his brain short-circuiting. He turned to look at San, then back at Ann, then at Jongho, searching for some sign that he'd misheard. But the tension in the room told him everything.
Fuck. His heart was pounding. He thought he was the only one. The only one sneaking around with you behind Seonghwa's back. But San too? And Seonghwa knew it?
Yeosang's composure finally cracked, just a fraction. His eyebrows rose slightly, his lips parting in genuine surprise. He'd known about Jongho. He'd suspected something between you and San. But this was a confirmation.
His group of friends was full of fucking secrets.
Jongho closed his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose. He'd expected this—or something like it. Ann was too observant for her own good, and her obsession with you had made her dangerous.
San, however, didn't flinch. He didn't deny it. He didn't look away. Instead, a slow, almost mocking smile spread across his lips.
“So what if I am?” He tilted his head, his voice calm, almost bored. “What does it have to do with you, Ann?"
Ann's mouth fell open. She'd expected denial, outrage, something she could use. She hadn't expected... this.
“That's—” She stammered. “That's disgusting! You're both… Seonghwa is your friend, and you're—”
“Sharing?” San finished for her, his smile widening. “Yeah, we are. And frankly?” He stood up, towering over her even from across the room. “It's none of your fucking business. Or anyone else's, Ann.”
“This isn't normal!” Ann's voice was shrill now, desperate. “People should know—”
“People should know what?” San stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “That two consenting adults have an arrangement that works for them? That Seonghwa isn't the jealous type? That Eunji has more than enough love to go around?”
Ann backed away, her back hitting the wall “That's… that's not—”
“You have no right.” San's voice was soft now, but there was steel beneath it. “No fucking right to assume things about her based on a snippet of a video you weren't meant to see. No right to spread rumors about something you don't understand. No right to try and destroy her life because you're jealous that she has people who love her.”
“I'm not jealous—”
“Really?” San laughed, the sound hollow. “Then what is this, Ann? What are you hoping to achieve? That we'll all turn on her? That Yunho will hate her even more? That she'll finally be as miserable as you want her to be?”
Ann's eyes filled with tears again, but this time she couldn't stop them from falling “I just wanted you to—”
“I don't care what you wanted.” San cut her off, his voice hardening. “Listen to me carefully, because I'm only going to say this once.”
He stepped closer, close enough that Ann had to tilt her head back to look at him. His expression was cold, his eyes dark.
“If you ever try to hurt her again. If you spread these lies. If you go to Yunho or anyone else with this bullshit…” He paused, letting the threat hang in the air. “You will regret it. I will make sure of it. And I'm not the only one.”
He glanced back at Jongho and Mingi, both of whom nodded almost imperceptibly. A silent promise. A united front.
Ann's breath came in short, ragged gasps. She wanted to scream, to fight back, to expose every single one of them. But the look in San's eyes, the absolute certainty, terrified her.
“We're done here.” San stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Let's go.”
He didn't wait for a response. He turned and walked toward the door, Jongho and Mingi following without a word. The door opened, then closed, leaving Ann alone in the living room with Yeosang.
She stood there for a moment, trembling, tears streaming down her face. Then she turned to Yeosang, desperate for someone to take her side.
“Yeosang, I—”
He held up a hand, cutting her off. His expression was no longer sympathetic, no longer concerned. It was blank. Almost... amused.
“You really stepped in it this time, Ann.” He shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “I told you to be careful.”
“You told me…” Ann's voice broke. “You said they deserved to know! You said—”
“I said a lot of things.” Yeosang shrugged, moving toward the door. “But I didn't make you do anything. You chose this. You always choose this.”
Ann's legs gave out, and she sank onto the couch, sobbing. Yeosang watched her for a moment, his head tilted, something unreadable in his eyes.
Then he smiled. A real smile, wide and satisfied “This was even more fun than I thought it would be.”
He walked out the door, leaving Ann alone with the wreckage of her plans.
—
Outside, San was already in the driver's seat, the engine running. Mingi sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, his mind still reeling. Jongho climbed into the back, closing the door with a soft thud.
“Well, now what?” Jongho asked.
“She's done for now, anyway. But she won't stay still forever, she’ll find something to keep trying to fuck up Ji.”
“So you both know about the page then?” Mingi's voice was quiet, thoughtful. His mind still running.
Jongho nodded “We do, but not Yeosang.”
“Fuck.” Mingi muttered.
"We need to tell her what happened.” San said.
“She already knows Ann was planning something.” Jongho glanced at him.
“Let's tell Seonghwa too.” San murmured, giving him a knowing look. “I’ll take you home, Min.”
They needed to tell the others too, and unfortunately, Mingi wasn't part of the group.
The car fell into silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. But they had one idea in common:
Ann was wounded, but not defeated. And a cornered animal was always the most dangerous kind.
—
Back in the house, Ann sat alone in the darkening living room, her tears finally slowing to hiccups. She pulled out her phone, staring at the screen, at the group chat she'd created, at the messages that had started all of this.
She'd lost. Again.
Every time she tried to tear you down, you only seemed to rise higher. Every time she tried to expose you, more people came to your defense.
She couldn't win. She couldn't even compete.
But she couldn't stop either.
Because if she stopped, she'd have to admit the truth—that she wasn't trying to expose you for some noble reason. She wasn't protecting anyone.
She just wanted San.
She was just jealous. Desperately, painfully jealous of a girl who had the boy she wanted.
And that was a truth she couldn't face.
So she'd keep fighting. Keep scheming. Keep trying to find the one thing that would finally make you fall.
Even if it destroyed her in the process.
✮
All of you were in San’s bedroom. Hongjoong seated right in front of the big window as he smoked a cigarette, Wooyoung was leaned against the closed door, San and Jongho were seated on the small couch in the middle of the room, and you and Seonghwa were on San’s bed, Hwa leaning against the headboard while you were leaning on his chest.
The scene looked like a normal friend’s hang out, gossiping around—but this wasn't simple gossip, it was a real problem.
“What the actual fuck…” Hongjoong scoffed, taking a long drag of his cigarette.
Was the only thing the whole room heard the moment Jongho and San finished telling you all the details about what happened just an hour ago.
“Her obsession with you is insane, Sannie.” Wooyoung mocked him, sly smirk curving on his lips.
San scowled “It’s not funny, Woo.”
Wooyoung lifted his hands apologetically, but his smile stayed intact.
“She’s fucking sick.” Seonghwa said softly.
You just nodded, still processing all the information. Somehow this made you feel anxious… she didn't know about your page, but she already had suspicions. There was a little probability that she might find out about your camgirl identity. And that scared you a lot.
When did this become so big? At the beginning you were just playing around with her and—
“It’s all my fault.” You said out of nowhere interrupting their conversation.
Everyone turned to see you in confusion.
“What?” Jongho asked.
“I started all this.” You said as you move to sit properly between Seonghwa’s legs. “If I didn't play with her feelings this wouldn't be happening.”
“What are you talking about, angel?” Seonghwa asked this time, sitting properly too.
You locked eyes with Hongjoong, Wooyoung and San. They knew what you were talking about, and you noticed the moment Wooyoung let out a dramatic gasp.
“Oh my god, that's true.” He said, a disbelief laugh dropping off his throat.
“Please explain, Eunji.” Jongho insisted, a deep frown on his forehead.
“When we were friends I thought she liked Yunho, but then I noticed that she was into San..” You started explaining, but the rest of the story was pretty mean, and you knew Jongho would get mad. Therefore, you continued. “So I thought it would be fun to play with her.”
“Play in what kind of way?” Jongho narrowed his eyes, he could already feel what you were going to say next.
“I asked San to be cheesy with her, just to make her think San was into her too. Then…” You bit your lip in shame, now that you’re saying it aloud… What you did was wrong.
Hongjoong, noticing your struggle to continue, he took the initiative. He took a last drag of his cigarrate and spoke: “During the retrait Ann saw San and Ji fucking, since that day she tried to sabotage her to get San’s attention.”
You heard Seonghwa gasp in surprise, Jongho looked at you with a serious expression, and Wooyoung suppressed a laugh.
“Eunji.” Jongho started.
“I know, I know!” You cut him off, already knowing that he was about to scold you. “I was such a bitch, but we thought it was going to be fun.”
“Angel, that was kinda cruel.” Seonghwa said as he grabbed his arms around your waist. “I can imagine why you did it, but it was cruel, baby.”
“I know!” You whined dropping back on his chest. “But I didn't think she would take it that personally.”
“She is crazy, to be honest.” Wooyoung muttered. “We were just having a little fun with her.”
“Her obsession with San is incredible.” Hongjoong scoffed again. “It wasn't all your fault, pretty. She is sick on the head.”
“Facts.” San nodded.
Seonghwa sighed, his hold on your waist becoming more tight, “We need to be careful with her anyway. We don't know what could be her next move.”
Jongho hummed in agreement “Let’s try to stay away from her, and don't provoke her.” The last sentence was clearly directed at you for the way he looked at you.
You gave him a tight smile, but nodded.
“You still have to present a project with her dude.” Wooyoung reminded him.
Jongho groaned “I can deal with her for a couple of days.”
“All right, changing topics.” Hongjoong clapped and pointed at Jongho with his lighter before lighting a new cigarette. “What are you doing here?”
Jongho looked at him with a frown, fucking rude. He thought.
“Joong.” You warned him, a real smile forming on your lips.
You feel the vibrations of Seonghwa’s laugh on your back “Our jealous captain here.” He murmured against your ear, making you giggle.
“He knows.” San told him in a vague tone.
Hongjoong frowned “Knows what?”
“Everything.” Jongho added, facing Hongjoong without fear.
Immediately, Wooyoung looked at you with a surprised expression, you made a gesture with your hand expressing your excitement about the situation.
Nobody had talked to Hongjoong that way—direct and fearless of his harsh personality.
“Well, well.. This guy has some guts.” Hongjoong smirked, taking the first drag of his third cigarette. “Who told you?”
“I figured it out, and then I talked with Eunji.” Jongho shrugged.
“I hope he isn't going to be part of us, pretty.” He said to you, giving you a knowing look that said ‘I don't like him.’
Before you could say anything, Jongho spoke again:
“I don't want to be part of whatever shit you have.” He said with a pretty rude tone, not tolerating this guy talking in that way at him. “I’m just here because I care for Eunji and she trusted me with this part of her life.”
You nodded, agreeing with his words. Hongjoong arched his eyebrow at you, he wasn't mad that you told him, he was amused by Jongho’s maturity. But that didn't mean he couldn't make fun of this little guy.
“And fuck her behind our backs.” He wasn't asking, he affirmed.
You almost choked with your laugh. Wooyoung and San laughed aloud, holding his stomachs. Seonghwa giggled too while Jongho’s cheeks flushed bright red, really ashamed by those words.
Hongjoong gave him a sly smirk, knowing the effect he provoked on him. That’s what Hongjoong wanted, making him aware that he was the leader here, he was the one that led the group.
And everyone knew that. Hongjoong needed to let Jongho know that he was the one in charge here.
“Joongie hyung, you’re being so rude.” Wooyoung sang in mockery.
You laughed this time, catching the reference of that popular song. Wooyoung winked at you.
“Whatever, that is none of your business.” Jongho said after his little moment of embarrassment. “That’s only mine and Eunji’s business.”
“You’re forgetting that she has a boyfriend.” Hongjoong pointed at Seonghwa.
“Isn’t like you respect his place that much.” Jongho muttered, scoffing.
“But we have an agreement, man.” San reminded him. “So it is his business.”
Jongho stayed in silence, feeling like a bucket of cold water just dropped over his head—He didnt remember about that, that he did fuck with you behind his friend’s back. Even if you had told him many times that Hwa was okay with it, still was doing it without him knowing. And that was unfair—a betrayal.
“Hyung… I—”
“It’s okay Jongho.” Seoghwa shook his head, a kind smile on his face. “I already knew about you two, and I accepted it.”
“I told him everything the moment we started dating officially.” You added, calming him a little with your words.
“So… how does this thing work?” Jongho asked, really confused.
If Seonghwa was your boyfriend, then what role did the others have in your life? Your lovers, just fuck buddies, or workmates?
“If she already told you everything you have to know that we were already together.” Wooyoung started. “Not as a whole couple, but as a group with the same crush.”
Jongho stared at him, confused all over his features “What does that even mean?”
San chuckles softly, “We all like Eunji, and we have individual relationships with her, but we don't have labels.”
“We just let things flow.” Hongjoong clarified.
“Seonghwa is her boyfriend.” Jongho started softly, the gears in his brain working. “But you are just her fuck buddies?”
San hummed and nodded “Something like that, but we’re more that just fuck buddies, we love her in different ways.”
Jongho looked at you, asking for confirmation and you nodded offering a sweet smile. He sighed, closing his eyes. Still processing all this.
“Then why is this guy acting like he is Eunji’s boyfriend?” He pointed at Hongjoong with a frown.
Hongjoong arched his brow, his cigarette on his lips “I’m the one who leads the group activities, kid.”
“Orgies, you meant.” Jongho scoffed. The ‘joke’ hanging on the air.
“So, are you going to be part of this or not, Saint Jongho?” Wooyoung asked him.
He narrowed his eyes “I already told you that my stuff with Eunji is none of your business.”
Hongjoong chuckled, but humorlessly “I don't like this guy.”
“Hyung, don't be mean with the kid.” San said, a sly smile curving on his lips.
Hongjoong’s eyes never left Jongho’s, it was like both of them were fighting each other just to prove their own points. And none of them wanted to lose.
“I don’t care if you don’t like me.” Jongho stated. “I’m not here to be liked by anyone.”
Hongjoong chuckled, exhaling the smoke towards the ceiling, finding Jongho’s words funny “Yeah, you’re just here to fuck her and pretend that doesnt make you part of this.”
“I don't need your approval.” Jongho’s jaw clenched with force, real anger starting to flow through his veins.
Hongjoong leaned forward, elbows to his knees, and looked directly at the youngest “You’re wrong, kid.”
Jongho frowned at hearing that nickname again. He is just one year younger than him, why is he calling him kid?
“You do need my approval.” His voice was flat, his eyes darkening. “Not Seonghwa’s. Not Eunji’s. Mine.”
“You—”
“I am,” Hongjoong cut him off with harsh tone. “—the one who tells when to touch, when to kiss, when to look at her. Because when we are all together, I lead.”
Jongho narrowed his eyes “All together?”
“Orgies, you called them.” Hongjoong gave him a sharp smile.
No fucking way. Jongho thought, his eyes flying to see Seonghwa with wide eyes.
Seonghwa just gave him a slight nod, confirming Hongjoong’s words.
“Yes.” Hongjoong continued. “When we are all together I make the decisions. I decide the pace, the intensity, the order. Everything. And they know it.”
Your cheeks flushed bright red, memories of all the intimate moments you had shared with them replaying vividly in your brain. It was true.. All of it. It wasn't just because Hongjoong was a possessive freak over you, it was because he knew how the dynamic worked.
He knew how Wooyoung loved to be degraded and being told what to do. He knew how San enjoyed sharing his dominance with him—even if he had to follow his orders. He knew now how Seonghwa enjoyed to see you losing your damn mind, how he loved seeing how much you were loved and took care by the rest.
Hongjoong knew you, and he knew how much you loved everything he planned in those group activities.
And everyone in the room was aware of it.
“Well, I'm not interested in your dynamic.” Jongho said, refusing to be part of that shit.
“That’s okay.” Hongjoong’s voice dropped to a lower tone. “You can have your private moments with her if she wants and Seonghwa is okay with it.” He shrugged, almost bored with the conversation. “But just remember that when we are together you’ll follow my lead. And if you don't like it, then don't come at all.”
Jongho scoffed “You can’t—”
“I can.” Hongjoong interrupted him again, hard expression on his features.
The room fell into a tense silence, even Wooyoung stopped smirking, his eyes wide at the verbal confrontation. San was tense on the couch, ready to stand up if he needed to intervene. Seonghwa's arms had tightened around your waist, grounding you.
Both men stared at each other again, having a fight with their gazes. Then Jongho nodded, he wasn't the type to follow others, and he wouldn't follow him. But he knew he wouldn't win this debate.
“Whatever.” He murmured, his eyes still locked on Hongjoong’s. “I’m not interested in joining.”
“Are you sure?” Hongjoong raised an eyebrow in mockery.
“Yes.” Jongho said firmly, and stood up from the couch. He walked towards the door, and looked at Seonghwa, then at you. “I’m just with her.”
Your heart stuttered. This was why you liked him—this quiet confidence, this refusal to bend to anyone's will except his own and yours. He wasn't playing anyone's game.
“Seonghwa hyung.” He called him. “Only if you’re okay with it.”
Seonghwa nodded, offering him a soft smile “I trust her, and I trust you.”
Jongho nodded at his hyung “Thanks, Hwa.” Then his eyes returned to you. “Then just us. Not group activities, not filming. Just you and me.”
You smiled, a warm feeling in your chest “That would be great then.”
“Of course you would like that, pretty.” Hongjoong made fun of you, but there wasn't real mockery in his voice. “Well, but if you ever want to join us—”
“I wont.” Jongho answered quickly.
“—the offer stands.” Hongjoong finished his sentence ignoring the sudden interruption. “You’re a dom. We could have a lot of fun together.”
Jongho almost laughed, “I know I won’t.”
“Like Justin Bieber said: Never say never, baby.” Wooyoung said randomly, breaking the serious moment.
You giggled at the silly quote, and Seonghwa rolled his eyes.
Wooyoung being Wooyoung.
“We’ll see, Jongho.” It was Hongjoong’s last words.
The tension in the room suddenly disappeared. You sighed, relieved that the things didn't escalated.
Wooyoung let out a dramatic sigh, slumping against the door “Thank god we didn't end fist fighting.”
“Not today.” San muttered, knowing that this won't be the last talk his young and younger friend would have.
Jongho’s lips finally curved in a real smile, shaking his head “You all are fucking insane.”
“You too.” You muttered, and everyone laughed.
Jongho looked at you with something soft in his eyes, something that only you understood.
San clapped, ending the show and shifting to the important thing “All right, we have a bigger problem than Saint Jongho not joining Eunji’s harem.”
“Right.” Hongjoong nodded.
“That crazy bitch is not going to stop until she destroys our babygirl.” Wooyoung said bitterly. “What do we do, hyung?”
“Nothing.” Hongjoong answered. “Just try not to be all over Ji. Let's try to act like a normal group of friends.”
“That would be hard.” San scoffed, already imagining it.
“We have to try.” Hongjoong’s voice was firm. “Ann knows a lot of us. If she finds more proof, we’re fucked.”
“For now she is just a girl with a grudge.” You added.
Seonghwa hummed, agreeing, “For now, we just need to be careful.”
Everyone nodded.
Whatever came next, you wouldn't face it alone. And that, more than anything, was what gave you hope.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
The only sound that echoed in the room was the movie playing on Yunho’s TV, a movie that none of them were enjoying. Both deep in their own thoughts.
Ann was seated next to Yunho, close enough to fill the illusion of a normal couple. Yunho was holding a bowl of popcorn on his lap, his eyes never leaving the TV screen—even if he wasn't paying attention.
Yunho sighed, already tired of pretending to be okay with her presence, “I’m getting some drinks, do you want something special?” He said as he moved the bowl to Ann’s lap.
Ann hummed, thinking “Maybe just water, please.”
He nodded with a soft smile as he stood “Be right back in a minute.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Ah! Yu, can I take your phone to send me the pictures we took?”
“Sure.” He said, already walking towards the door.
Ann watched him go, her smile fading the moment he disappeared.
She wanted to do all these kinds of stuff with only one man—Choi San. But lately, being around him felt totally different from the beginning, it was like... like she was trying so hard to act, when it was his role in all this.
He was distracted, distant, always looking at his phone when he thought she wasn't watching.
It was weird.
She took Yunho’s phone that was lying on the nightstand, she pressed her finger on the scan button to unlock it.
As she hummed a random song, she scrolled through the recent photos they took. She deleted some where she looked like a mess. There was a good one—her smiling and Yunho looking at her with soft eyes. She was about to click the heart below when her thumb slipped and the photo disappeared.
“No, no, no—shit.”
She clicked to the trash folder, scrolling past the photos she had deleted, looking for the one she—A video?
Her thumb hovered over it, a confused scowl on her face. Yunho was meticulous about taking pictures or recording videos, she still remembers the first time she looked at his gallery. It was empty, zero memories. The first photo he had on his phone was one that she took on their third date.
His trash folder should be empty, but he had this video file. From almost five years ago.
The video didn't have a thumbnail, it was just dark. Her heart started to beat fast, and it was a signal that she shouldn’t watch it.
But the adrenaline to know the content of the video was stronger than her inside voice.
She pressed play… and then she realized why she shouldn't open it in the first place.
Her eyes widened in complete shock, her hand flying to cover her mouth.
What the fuck is this?
And why does Yunho have it?
She couldn't believe what her eyes were seeing, but definitely was you.
You were lying on a bed, your face half-hidden by tangled hair, your eyes closed. Unconscious, maybe, or just deeply asleep. The camera focused on your neck first—the column of your throat, the curve of your collarbone, and the marks scattered across your skin like fallen petals.
Hickeys. Bruises. Evidence of something rough, something hungry.
Ann's breath caught. She watched as the camera panned lower, past your bare shoulder, past the sheet pulled halfway down your chest, to—She saw it. The white liquid. Thick and visible.
Who would record something like this? Why would you record something like this? This was wrong, because comparing this short video with the one she saw, wasn't just a couple’s intimate video.
This looked like a way to show off.
And if Yunho had it, if Yunho had seen it and deleted it—must be what she is thinking.
You did this years ago, but at the moment was wrong. So wrong that maybe started the ridiculous hate Yunho has towards you.
You really did have a porn page. That had to be.
Ann’s mind raced with many thoughts, but not concern, not horror, not disgust, not pity—she saw it as her wildcard to finally knock you off your gold pedestal.
This was all she needed to finally win for once.
And without thinking twice, her fingers moved on autopilot: Restore, share, send to, delete.
The door cracked and she dropped Yunho’s phone back on the nightstand, her heart almost coming out of her chest. She smiled the moment the door opened and Yunho stood inside the room
“I got more snacks.” Yunho announced, his arms full of different color bags and two drinks. “Thought we could eat some sweets.”
“That’s lovely, Yu. Thanks.” She stood up to help him.
He grinned, and leaned to kiss her forehead in gratitude.
But without Yunho noticing, Ann was already planning her next move.
And she knew exactly what she was going to do.
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Stream Of Sin...
27: Just a... see you later.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 9,5k
Synopsis: Some love stories start with a rescue. Some end with a promise whispered in a courtyard. And some are just beginning to burn.
Warnings: Smut (MDNI!!) Penetrative sex, dirty talk, oral sex references, aftercare? Possesive bahavior, a little bit of angst, sexual harassment, threats of exposure, non-consensual touching, past trauma references, blackmail, emotional manipulation, heartbreak, strong language, mentions of polyamorous themes and some religious themes.
a/n: We're almost in the last stage of the series!👀Hope you enjoy this chapter, love ya'll❤️
Series masterlist
Masterlist
You inhalated deeply for the third time during the gathering. You were in a corner of the kitchen counter, glass of apple cider in one hand and your phone in another. The low music muted the voices of the other teenagers in the living room, your parents were talking with other adults while they drank expensive wine.
Just things you should do at a birthday party. Specifically, Yunho’s seventeen’s birthday party.
His closest friends were here, and even people that you have never seen before at school, well.. You wouldn't be attending that school anymore in a week.
The things between you and Yunho haven't changed since that night, you didn't talk to each other, didn't look at each other… you just existed in each other's environment, but there wasn't interaction at all.
It was weird. So weird.
One day you had a person at your side 24/7, and suddenly was gone. Leaving an emptiness feeling in your chest.
Your eyes drifted from your phone to the guests laughing in the living room, you saw how Mingi avoided you like you were a plegue—It was obvious that Yunho told him about the video, of course he did. And now he was ignoring you too. You saw Yeosang sitting with a slim guy at his side, a boy you have never seen before.
Who is he?
“Hey.”
Someone tapped your shoulder, you jumped startled turning your head, you saw the person responsible for almost having a heart attack.
“Sorry, I didn't want to scare you.” He smiled softly.
It was Yunho’s classmate, you knew him but you didn't know his name.
“No problem.” You gave him a tight smile, returning your gaze to your phone.
Rude? Yes, but you weren't in the mood to socialize.
The boy cleared his throat, trying to catch your attention. “So, is it true?” He murmured.
You stared at him, frowning.
“Do you accept cash? We can go upstairs if you want.” He spat with mockery, a nasty smile curving his lips.
“What?” You mumbled, anxiety ran through your body.
“Yeah, heard you’re leaving school to become a slut now.” He chuckled as his hand landed on your thigh. “So… are you taking me upstairs or not?”
You looked at him in terror and pushed his hand aside “Are you crazy? Leave me alone.”
You didn't let him answer, you stood up and almost ran through the living room, you needed to leave. But a hand suddenly grabbed your wrist with force, yanking you backwards.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The boy asked, the same creepy smile on his lips.
“Stop.” You muttered, pushing his hand away, but his grip was stronger than yours. “Please, let me go.”
“Not happening sweetheart.” He laughed at your pathetic attempts to push him away.
“If you don’t stop, I’ll scream.” You warned in a shaking voice.
His smile didn't falter “I don't think you want me to tell everyone about you and that cute video of yours, right?”
The words hit you like a physical blow. All the air left your lungs. He knew. He knew. And he was using it against you, here, in front of everyone.
“I—”
“You're hurting her.”
The voice came from behind you. Soft, almost gentle, but edged with something sharp. The boy's grip on your wrist loosened slightly as both of you turned to look at the newcomer.
It was the stranger. The pretty boy from the couch. He stood a few feet away, hands shoved in the pockets of his black jeans, his head tilted slightly as he observed the scene with calm, assessing eyes. Up close, he was even more striking—sharp jaw, full lips, dark hair falling across his forehead. He looked young, maybe your age, but there was something old in his gaze.
“Mind your own business.” The boy sneered, but he didn't sound as confident as before.
“I'm making it my business.” He stepped closer, inserting himself between you and your tormentor with a casual grace that belied his slim frame.
He wasn't tall or particularly muscular, he looked like a strong wind might knock him over, but there was a stillness to him, a quiet intensity that made the other boy hesitate.
“She said let her go. So do it.”
The boy's eyes darted between you and that kid, calculating. His grip on your wrist tightened for a moment—a final act of defiance—and then, with a scoff, he released you.
“Whatever. She's not worth the trouble anyway.” He shot you one last ugly look before slinking back toward the living room, disappearing into the crowd.
You stood there, frozen, your wrist throbbing, your heart hammering so loud you could hear it in your ears. The stranger watched the boy leave, his jaw tight, and only when he was gone he turned to face you fully.
“Are you okay?” His voice was soft now, all the sharpness gone. “Did he hurt you?”
You shook your head, then nodded, then shook it again—a mess of conflicting signals. Your throat was tight, your eyes burning with tears you refused to shed.
Not here. Not now.
“Hey.” He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne, something clean and faintly sweet, like vanilla and sandalwood. “Breathe. You're safe now.”
The simplicity of the words, the kindness in his voice—it broke something loose inside you. A shuddering breath escaped your lips, then you shook your head trying to compose yourself.
“I'm sorry. I don't even know you.” You whispered, offering him a tight smile.
“I'm San.” He smiled, a real smile, warm and genuine, nothing like the predatory curl of the other boy's lips. “Choi San. I'm new here. Just transferred.”
“Jeong Eunji.” You managed a weak smile in return.
His eyes widened slightly, recognition flickering across his features “Yunho's sister?”
“You know Yunho?”
You slapped yourself mentally—Of course he does. He is here for his birthday party after all.
“We’re in the school's choir together.” He shrugged, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “He practically… adopted me?”
The hesitation before nice made you laugh—a small, watery sound “That sounds like Yunho.”
San's smile softened “He's lucky. To have you as a sister, I mean.”
The words were so earnest, so unexpectedly sweet, that you felt your cheeks warm. You ducked your head, suddenly shy, and rubbed at your wrist where the boy's fingers had left red marks.
“Thank you.” You said quietly. “For stepping in. You didn't have to.”
“Yes, I did.” His voice was firm, certain. “No one should be treated like that. Especially not a sweet girl like you.”
You looked up at him, startled by his perception. His dark eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. You didn't know what to say to that. You didn't know this boy—this soft-spoken, sharp-eyed stranger with his quiet strength and his unexpected vulnerability. But something about him made you feel... seen.
Not judged. Not pitied. Just seen.
“San.” You tested his name on your tongue. It felt right. “That's a nice name.”
“It means mountain.” He grinned, and the heaviness between you lifted slightly. “Strong. Unmovable. Or so my dad says.”
“Does it suit you?”
“I don't know.” He tilted his head, considering. “Maybe I need to go to the gym.”
You laughed again, and this time it didn't sound watery. It sounded almost like your old laugh—the one from before.
“You're strange, Choi San.”
“So I've been told.” He bowed, an exaggerated, playful gesture. “But I prefer unique.”
“Unique.” You repeated, smiling. “I'll remember that.”
The song changed—something slower, softer—and San glanced toward the living room before looking back at you.
“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked. “Not... not like that.” He added quickly, his ears turning pink. “I just meant—your mom has a pretty garden. It's quieter. You look like you could use some quiet.”
You should have said no. You should have thanked him politely and retreated to your room and locked the door and never thought about this strange, kind boy again.
Instead, you nodded “Okay.”
His smile was like the sun coming out from behind clouds. He offered his hand—not grabbing, not demanding, just an open palm waiting for you to decide.
You took it. His fingers were warm around yours, his grip gentle but sure. He led you through the kitchen, past the library and the guest bathroom to the door at the end of the hall. The night air hit your face, cool and fresh, carrying the scent of roses from the garden your mother loved the most.
San released your hand and sighed, looking up at the stars. You stood beside him, close but not touching, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke.
“I'm transferring schools.” You said finally, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Next week. To a different district.”
San turned to look at you, his expression unreadable “I’ve been in that school for over a week, but rumors run fast. I don't want to assume anything but… Because of what happened, right?”
Of course he had heard about it. So you just nodded, not trusting your voice.
“I'm sorry.” He said it simply, without pity. “That's not fair.”
“Life isn't fair.” You shrugged. “I'm learning that.”
He was quiet for a moment, contemplating. Then he said softly: “For what it's worth, I think you're brave.”
“Brave?” You laughed, incredulous. “I'm running away, San.”
“Sometimes running away is the bravest thing you can do.” He turned to face you fully, his eyes earnest in the dim light. “Sometimes it's the only way to survive, and that's okay.”
You stared at him, this strange boy who seemed to see right through all your carefully constructed walls. He didn't know you. He didn't know if it was true or not, what your own brother thought of you now. And yet—he looked at you like you were something worth protecting.
“San.” You said softly.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you. For tonight. For... all of it.”
He smiled, that warm, genuine smile that made your chest ache “Anytime, Eunji. I mean it.”
You stood there in the garden, two strangers under the stars, and for the first time in weeks, you felt something other than fear.
You felt hope.
✮
“I can't believe you really told them, San! It was a secret between you and me!” You practically yelled at him the moment you saw him.
His smile dropped immediately as his hand in a mid wave, his eyes opened wide at your words.
“Wait—” He didn't even have the time to explain when your fist hit his arm. “Ouch! That hurts!”
“That was the purpose!” You punched him again, making him scream again.
“Hey!” He frowned as he grabbed your both wrists in a tight hold, but not enough to hurt you. “Calm down, let me explain.”
“You have one minute, Choi.” You muttered between your teeth, you were so mad at him right now.
“Wooyoung has been my best friend since we were kids.” He started. “I know him like the palm of my hand, and I know he is reliable. I swear to god.”
You scoff at that rolling your eyes.
“Seriously, Ji.” He insisted. “He is trustworthy, and Hongjoong too.”
You stared at him—eyes scanning any grimace of hesitation, any sign that he was lying at you, but you found nothing. You sigh, lowering your defence and hugging him instead.
Since Yunho’s birthday you became close, you didn't talk everyday but you talked when it was needed, when you needed comfort, and when he needed calmness.
“All this just freaks me out.” You murmured, closing your eyes.
“I know.” He patted your hair slowly. “But they can help you with that, give them the chance.”
You bit your lip unsure. How are they going to help you? By opening a porn page? It was sick. But the way they approached you, the way they talked at you, the way they touched you felt… surprisingly good.
“I don't know if that’s a good idea.”
“Maybe it's not.” San chuckled softly. “But what a way to have anyone under your feet.”
Tempting.
The whole idea looked so interesting in your mind, the idea of leading the narrative of that tragic situation stroked your ego, the curiosity of knowing how your life would change made your skin shiver. The thought of having anyone under your feet felt like a sick fantasy…
And you know that curiosity killed the cat.
—
You don't even remember how everything started, you just remember Wooyoung giving you a camera, then Hongjoong recording with you, and then San joined them… but you don't remember how it started.
One video led to another. And another. Then another. Until you started fucking randomly without the excuse of recording.
And that was a year ago.
You whined, eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he drove into you. The bathroom was warm, steam from the shower fogging the mirror, the sounds of the party downstairs filtering through the door—muffled laughter, clinking glasses, the low hum of conversation.
San's parents had invited the whole neighborhood for some holy week gathering. Your parents were downstairs, drinking wine and making small talk with people you barely knew.
No one was looking for you. No one was looking for him.
His body had changed in the past year. The slim, almost delicate boy you'd met had transformed into something else entirely. His shoulders were broader now, his chest more defined, his arms corded with muscle that flexed with every thrust. He'd grown into his sharp features, his jaw more angular, his presence more commanding.
But his heart was still the same. Kind. Gentle. And yours.
“Fuck, princess.” His voice was rough, strained, his forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so good. Always so fucking good for me.”
You were perched on the bathroom counter, the cool marble pressing against the backs of your thighs, your legs wrapped around his waist. He stood between them, his hips snapping against yours in a rhythm that was deep, hard, relentless.
“Sannie—” You gasped, your nails raking down his back.
“I know, baby. I know.” He captured your mouth in a kiss, hot and hungry, swallowing your moans. His tongue slid against yours, claiming, possessing, worshiping. When he pulled back, his dark eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the brown. “Look at you. So pretty like this. Taking me so well.”
You were putty in his hands. You always had been with him. From the very beginning, there was something about San that made you want to surrender, to let go, to trust him completely.
With Hongjoong, you obeyed. With Wooyoung, you played. But with San? With San, you felt.
“You're so deep.” You whimpered, your head falling back against the mirror.
“I know.” He grinned, that mischievous glint in his eyes that made your stomach flip. “You like it, don't you? Like feeling me inside you. Like knowing I'm the only one who makes you feel this way.”
“San—”
“Say it.” He slowed his pace, teasing, tormenting, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with agonizing slowness. “Tell me you're mine, princess. Even if it's just for tonight.”
“Yours.” The word fell from your lips like a prayer. “I'm yours, San. Always.”
Satisfaction flashed across his face, and he picked up the pace again, fucking you hard and deep, the way you craved. The counter rattled against the wall, the mirror fogged with your breath, and somewhere downstairs, someone laughed at a joke you couldn't hear.
None of it mattered. There was only this. Only him.
He kissed you again, softer this time, almost tender. His hand slid between your bodies, finding that sensitive spot and pressing in circles that made your vision blur.
“Come for me, baby.” He murmured against your lips. “Let go. I've got you.”
And you did. You shattered around him, crying out his name, your body trembling with the force of your release. He followed moments later, burying himself deep with a groan that vibrated through your bones.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard, sweat cooling on your skin.
“I love you.” He whispered, so quietly you almost didn't hear it.
Your heart stuttered. He'd never said that before. None of them had. It was an unspoken rule—this was about pleasure, about power, about reclaiming control. Love wasn't supposed to be part of it.
But looking into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, the fear of your response...
“Say it again.” You breathed.
He smiled, soft and real “I love you, Jeong Eunji. I think I have since the night we met.”
You kissed him, pouring every unspoken word into the gesture. When you pulled back, your eyes were wet.
“I love you.” You said. “Even though I probably shouldn't.”
“Probably not.” He laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “But since when do we do things we should?”
He pulled out gently, grabbing a towel to clean you up with that same tender care he'd shown from the beginning. You watched him, this boy who had become so much more than a friend, more than a partner, more than a secret.
“San?”
“Hmm?”
“We should probably get back before someone notices we're gone.”
He grinned, that mischievous glint returning “Probably. Or we could stay here a little longer. I'm not done with you yet.”
You laughed, swatting his chest “Insatiable.”
“For you? Always.”
He kissed you one more time, soft and sweet, and you let yourself believe, just for a moment, that this could last. That you could have this. That you could be happy.
But somewhere downstairs, reality was waiting. And you both knew that secrets this big couldn't stay buried forever.
✮
It was a late night movie at Yeosang’s house, everyone was there, sitting around a night table with snacks and drinks. Everyone was laughing with a fun scene playing on the TV screen, but San wasn't.
He was watching his phone screen, smiling at a message that Wooyoung sent in the group chat he shared with you, and Hongjoong. He was so lost in the conversation he was having with them that he didn't notice the way Yunho and Mingi looked at him.
“Who are you talking to?” Mingi asked suddenly.
The question made San shut down his phone immediately, his eyes looking up at his friends.
“Nobody.” He said casually, grabbing a fistfull of popcorn from Seonghwa’s bowl.
“Hey!” Seonghwa frowned, pulling the bowl closer to his body. “You said you didn't want snacks, stop eating my pop.”
San rolled his eyes, a silly smile on his lips “Whatever, man.”
“You’ve been on your phone for the last twenty minutes.” Yeosang remarked as he throwed a gummy worm at him.
San chuckled, grabbing the gummy and popping it in his mouth, but he said nothing.
“You’re talking with your other friends, right?” Yunho said, a neutral low tone.
Yunho wasn't asking because he was jealous or something like that. It was because he knew you were in that circle, and he didn't like that. He didn't like San being around you.
You were bad for him. For everyone.
San arched his eyebrow, and an ironic smile on his lips. He knew what his friend meant.
“Yeah, and?” He asked, the mocking tone clearly there.
Yunho just stared at him for a moment before saying: “Just be careful with Eunji.”
Silence.
The whole room felt the tension in the air. All of them were pretty aware of the hatred Yunho had towards you, some of them—Mingi and San knew why, but the rest didn't have any idea.
Seonghwa ate popcorn in silence, his boba eyes moving from San to Yunho in worry. He didn't understand why Yunho was so mean to you, not when you seem so… nice.
Yeosang stayed in silence, but his analytical eyes were on Yunho, trying to read through his body language. Why is he so obsessed with you and San?
Mingi gulped, the tone Yunho used to say those words made a shiver run down his spine. Yunho wasn't mad, he was worried about losing a friend. To lose a friend because of you.
San scoffed, almost laughing at Yunho’s face.
Yunho frowned “What I said is funny to you?”
San shook his head, bit his tongue and gave him a tight smile “Of course not, man. But don't worry too much about me, yeah?”
Yunho gave him a stiff nod and a tight smile “Okay.”
And just like that the conversation ended, but the tension stayed there for a while, everyone felt it, but nobody dared to cut it.
Not because they didn't know how, but because they were scared to upset Yunho.
Because a fight between an angry Yunho and a narcissistic San, would be practically the end of the fucking world.
And their friendship too.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
“Why is Saint Jongho looking at you like you owe him money?” Wooyoung asked as he pointed at San with his chopsticks. “He looks like he wants to kill you, honey.”
You frowned, turning your head a little to see behind you, and Wooyoung was right. Jongho was looking at San with a gaze that you have only seen once, rage all over his features, tight jaw, and stiff shoulders.
You turned to see San, who was sitting across from you with an ease that he always carried.
“What did you do, Choi?” You asked confused.
San frowned, “I didn't do shit.”
“Then why is he looking at you like he wants to kill you?” Hongjoong murmured, he wasn't interested in the topic but he was a curious boy.
“I.don’t.know.” San remarked with a sigh. “He is a weird guy, never knows what to expect from him. But I swear I didn't do anything this time.”
“Sure.” Wooyoung mumbled, not trusting San’s words.
“Jongho is a sensitive guy.” Seonghwa said calmly, cutting his steak with soft movements. “Maybe you did something and don't remember.”
“Bullshit.” San barked, leaning on his seat, he pointed at you with his fork. “You tell me why Mingi is looking at you in that way.”
“What?” You scoffed, frowned.
“Yeah… I see it.” Wooyoung nodded, his eyes on said guy.
You shrugged, giving it zero importance. But Seonghwa frowned, confused. Why is Mingi looking at you in that way? In the way he looked at you—with hearts in his eyes.
Seonghwa was the kind of man that always tried to understand every situation, and he understood that your heart was big enough to love more than one person. He was okay with it.
He understood that Hongjoong was the first man that you trust, with your feelings, your flaws, your body. And he was okay with him being the one who led them in group activities—not only in the sexual ones.
Seonghwa would be there to obey and hold your hand to calm your anxiety.
He understood that Wooyoung was the little menace that helped you overcome your trauma with the video—not in a way he would’ve expected, but it worked, and he was happy for that. He was okay with him teasing you and making you do reckless things.
Seonghwa would be there to scold him and hug you after Hongjoong gets mad with you.
He understood that San was the first one you met and became your friend, the one who gave you the strength to trust Hongjoong and Wooyoung. He was okay with him being the second most important man in your heart.
Seonghwa would be there to share your heart with him. His best friend.
He understood that you liked Jongho. He was okay with you liking him, and seeing him when everyone was busy. But did Jongho know that all of them knew about it, or that you were shared with all of them?
And now Mingi… he never thought that you would like Mingi too. He wasn't mad, or jealous—He was curious, and confused.
And he had the right to ask, so that's what he did. He leaned closer to you, his mouth brushing your ear.
“Can we talk a sec, angel?” He murmured against your ear.
You turned to see him, a tiny smile as you nodded. He took your hand in a soft grab as he helped you to stand up, he guided you through the cafeteria, to the main hallway and into the back garden of the school. There were just a couple of students there, enjoying their meal.
He led you to an empty bench under a cherry blossom tree. You sat there, Seonghwa still holding your hand. You looked at him, his expression was neutral but you could see how his jaw clenched, and how his eyes searched yours. You knew him, and you knew something was on his mind.
So you took his free hand, and smiled softly at him, indicating to him that he could talk comfortably. Closing his eyes, Seonghwa took a deep breath, getting ready to ask what he wanted for a long time.
“Can I ask you something?” He started, his voice shaking a little.
“Of course, love.” You nodded again.
He hesitated a little, but if he didn't take this opportunity now, he wouldn't be able to ask you later.
“Does Jongho know about us knowing about you two kissing in secret?” He said, adding a little teasing to make you laugh.
And it worked, you giggled. Seonghwa smiled, his previous nerves disappearing.
“Not at all, he knows about San, and I’ve told him about you being okay with whatever we do.” You hummed, remembering something else, but nothing came to mind. “He just let things flow, I guess.”
“He isn't the kind to let things flow, angel.” Seonghwa chuckled. “How’s that even possible?”
You shrugged, and gave him a knowing smile “It’s me, babe. I make the good boys worship me.”
Seonghwa giggled as he pulled you in his arms, hugging your slim form. He smashed a kiss on your template making you hum as you sneaked your arms around his waist.
“You’re right, baby.” He agreed, leaving another kiss on your head. “That’s why you’re an angel, everyone should worship you.”
You hummed, but you knew there was more than one concern on his head.
“Go ahead, ask.” You hugged him tighter, snuggling your head on his chest. “I know something is on your mind, Hwa.”
He smirked, you knew him so well “I’m just curious.”
“Curious about what?” You looked up at him through your lashes.
He smiled, rubbing the tip of his nose with yours, you giggled again. You always felt so loved with him.
“Is my angel into Mingi too?” He murmured, softly.
You blinked, almost surprised “What?”
“I’ve seen the way he sees you, angel.” He said, this time looking you in the eye. “He doesn't see you like Hongjoong or San, not even like Jongho does…. He sees you the same way I do.”
“The same way you do?” You repeated.
“With endless love.”
You froze, his words drilling in your brain… because you’ve known Mingi the longest, and you knew he was crazy for you when you were kids—even Yunho knew about it, but that was ages ago. He never crossed a line, he dated other girls, and he treated you like a friend. That made you confirm that he was over his little crush with you.
But now that Seonghwa said that aloud.. Mingi’s behavior towards you made sense.
“He had a crush with me when we were kids.”
“He has, darling.” He chuckled, he leaned to kiss you in a sudden cuteness aggression. “And I don't blame him.”
“Well.. are you mad?”
“Why would I be, angel?” He shook his head, a tiny smile curving his lips. “I’m already part of a cult with four other guys, adding one more is not a problem.”
You laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and Seonghwa's smile widened at the sight. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap.
“A cult?” You raised an eyebrow, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “Is that what we are?”
“Mmhm.” He nodded. “A very devoted cult. You're our goddess. We're just your humble worshippers.”
“You're ridiculous.” You shook your head, but you were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
“Don’t lie, angel. You love it.” He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You love us.”
The word us settled over you like a warm blanket. Not just him. Not just San or Wooyoung or Hongjoong or Jongho. Us. All of them. Together. Yours.
“I do.” You admitted quietly, looking down at where your fingers toyed with the fabric of his shirt. “Is that crazy? Loving more than one person at the same time?”
Seonghwa was quiet for a moment, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, tilting your face toward his. His eyes were soft, infinite in their tenderness.
“Angel.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done. And watching others love you too? It doesn't diminish what we have. It just means you're surrounded by people who want to keep you safe. Who wants to make you happy? How could I ever be mad about that?”
“Hwa—”
“If Mingi makes you happy.” He continued. “If he looks at you the way I think he does, the way I do... then I want him in your life. In our life.” He smiled, that soft, devastating smile that made your heart stutter. “As long as he knows the rules.”
You laughed “What rules?”
“That you're ours first.” He kissed your forehead. “That we come as a package deal.” He kissed your nose. “And that if he ever hurts you, he'll have four very angry men to answer to.” He kissed your lips, soft and sweet. “Simple things.”
“You've thought about this.”
“I've thought about a lot of things, angel.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “About you. About us. About the future. And in every version of it, you're happy. That's all I want. That's all any of us want.”
You stared at him for a long moment, this impossible, wonderful man who had somehow decided that sharing your heart was better than keeping it all for himself.
“What did I do to deserve you?” You whispered.
He grinned, that boyish grin that made him look years younger “You existed, angel. That was enough.”
He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped tight around you, and you let yourself melt into him. The cherry blossoms drifted down around you like pink snow, and somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint echo of Wooyoung's laughter.
“Hwa?” You murmured against his shirt.
“Yes, love?”
“I love you.”
His arms tightened around you “I know, angel. I love you too. More than you'll ever know.”
You closed your eyes, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek. Somewhere in the cafeteria, Jongho was glaring at San. Somewhere else, Mingi was thinking about you with hearts in his eyes. And here, in the quiet of the garden, wrapped in the arms of a boy who had somehow learned to love without possessiveness, you felt something close to peace.
So this is what it feels like to be truly seen. And loved anyway.
—
San’s phone buzzed on the table, several times in less than a minute. He frowned, leaving his chopsticks aside to grab his phone. His frown got deeper when he read the first text.
Saint Choi: You’re the biggest bastard I’ve ever met.
Not even a ‘hello’ first? Fuck, Jongho was real mad and he didnt even know why.
Saint Choi: We need to talk. Saint Choi: Now. Saint Choi: See you behind the chapel in five min.
He looked up, locking gazes with him across the cafeteria. Jongho’s whole expression was covered in madness, dark gaze, tight jaw—A shiver ran down San’s spine... Is he going to kill him behind the chapel?
With a resigned sigh, he stood up, making Woo and Joong look at him with arched brows.
“I’m going outside.” He said as he put his phone in his pocket.
“Let our baby have her cute time with Hwa, man.” Wooyoung scoffed, giving him a nasty look. “Not even this possessive man is running behind them.” He pointed at Hongjoong who gave him his middle finger.
San rolled his eyes, “I have business with Saint Jongho, dumbass.”
Woo gasped in surprise, Hongjoong smirked.
“Sounds like he’s going to beat the shit out of you.” Hongjoong said, mock all over his tone.
“Haha, you’re so funny hyung.” He mocked him back, already turning his back at him.
San heard Wooyoung’s laugh behind him, but he just rolled his eyes again and walked to the place Jongho told him.
Was he nervous? A little.
Not because he was afraid of his friend, but by the fact that he didn't have any idea why Jongho was so mad at him. The last time he saw him and talked with him was a week ago… What could he possibly have done to earn his madness?
He let out a sigh when he stepped in the chapel’s backyard, he saw Jongho already there, waiting for him.
“Okay, what the fuck did I do this time, Choi?” San asked as he approached the youngest.
Jongho just looked at him. He wanted to scream at his face—How is it possible that he acts nonchalant after showing his cock to strangers a night ago?
“So?” He stood in front of him, hands in his pockets.
Jongho took a deep breath before dropping the bomb. He was known for being direct when speaking, not caring if his words sounded rude. And right now he didn't care about San’s feelings.
“I knew you enjoyed voyeurism, but didn't know you did it in front of thousands of strangers online.”
The moment those words hit San’s ears, he knew what he was talking about… Hell, how did he find out?
“What the hell are you talking about, man?” He chuckled, trying to sound calm, but his trembling lips betrayed him.
Jongho stared at him, his analytical eyes catching every little nervous gesture—His eyes avoiding his gaze, his trembling lips, his feet digging on the ground with force. He got him, and San was aware.
“Holy JiJi last night's stream. It was you.” He said firmly.
San shook his head, scoffing “No shit, you—”
“You know I’m right, San.” Jongho cut him off. “Stop this stupid act.”
The silence that followed was all the confirmation the youngest needed. He scoffed as San sighed, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Why?” Jongho asked, a confused grimace on his face. “Dude, what the fuck? Do you need the money or why are you selling you like this?”
San laughed, incredulously. This couldn’t be happening, this is a fucking joke.
“Before answering your stupid questions, tell me how the fuck did you find out?”
“How?” Jongho scoffed. “That fucking ring you never take off, man.” He pointed at it with anger. “How can you be so stupid to not take off any object that can give clues on who you are!”
He was mad. So mad that he could punch him on the face. But why? San didn't understand why his friend was so mad at him.
“Man… why are you so concerned about it?” San was really confused.
Jongho almost laughed, his features turned suddenly serious “Why? San, we are friends! How would you react if you saw me on a damn porn page?”
Well.. that had sense.
“I know what you mean, but not what you’re thinking.” San said calmly, like this topic was nothing out of this planet.
“You’re selling porn, San.” Jongho repeated, his tone more serious.
“I’m not.” He shook his head.
“No?” Jongho chuckled without grace. “Then what the hell are you doing, hyung? Why are you doing it? Who is that girl? What—”
“Ok ok ok ok, hold the fuck up.” San cut him off, anxiety running in his veins already. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”
“Of course I am! This is crazy!”
“I know, but please ask one question at a time.”
Jongho sighed, calming himself down “Fine… Why are you doing this?”
San shrugged “I’m just helping her out with some videos. Also, having sex with her is fun.”
The youngest Choi just stared at him, processing what he heard—Having fun, he understood that. He had a lot of fun with you, but he wouldn't do such a thing for a girl. He was already breaking a lot of his values and church commandments.. He felt so guilty, but it felt so good to be with you.
“You must like this girl so much to do such a thing.” Jongho muttered, but San heard him clearly.
“Yeah, I do.” San said without thinking about it.
And there is when he fucked up.
Jongho frowned, his brain doing thousands of connections and possibilities. San didn't have friends aside from the ones Jongo knows, he didn't meet with people outside school… The only girl he could possibly know was his sister and Eunji.
… Eunji.
No way.
For a moment that felt like years, both of them stayed in silence, then Jongho opened his eyes wide and covered his mouth—No fucking way.
“You have to be kidding me.” Jongho said, amusement in his voice.
San froze. He fucked it up with just three words. He should’ve know his friend is a smart fuck and would find out if he didnt watch his mouth.
“Now the name of the page makes sense.” Jongho laughed, incredulously. “Holy Ji—”
San shot his hand up to cover Jongho’s mouth in a hurry, panic in his eyes “Shut the fuck up!”
Jongho frowned, pushing San’s hands aside with force. San's hand fell to his side, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. Jongho stood there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those dark, analytical eyes—were searching San's face for something.
Confirmation. Explanation. Truth.
“Why are you not denying it?” Jongho asked quietly.
San dragged a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands in frustration “What's the damn point, Jongho? You've already figured it out.”
“Figured it out?” Jongho's voice cracked, incredulous. “Hyung, you basically told me. Who else could it be? The only girl we both know is—”
“Stop.” San held up a hand, his voice sharp. “Just... stop.”
Jongho fell silent, but his jaw was tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He wasn't angry anymore. Not exactly. He was confused. Torn. His entire worldview was splintering, and he didn't know which piece to hold onto.
“Why didn't you tell me?” The question came out softer than he intended.
San let out a bitter laugh “Tell you? Jongho, look at yourself. You're the most devout person I know. You go to church every Sunday. You lead chapel duty. You actually believe in all that stuff.” He gestured vaguely toward the chapel behind them. “How was I supposed to tell you that I've been filming myself having sex with my best friend's girlfriend?”
Jongho flinched at the words, at the rawness of them “She's not just 'your best friend's girlfriend.' She's—”
“I know what she is.” San's voice dropped, suddenly tired. “I know.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Jongho stared at the ground, at the grass beneath his shoes, at the way his shadow stretched long and distorted in the afternoon light.
“Does Seonghwa know?” He finally asked.
“Yes.”
“So I'm the only one—”
“You're not in it, Jongho.” San cut him off, but there was no cruelty in his voice. Just exhaustion. “You're not... part of this. Of us. Of the way we love her.”
Love. The word landed like a stone in still water. Jongho looked up, meeting San's gaze.
“You love her?”
San didn't hesitate “Yeah. I do. We do. In different ways, maybe. But it's real.”
Jongho processed that, turning it over in his mind like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. He thought of you—your smile, your laugh, the way you looked at him when you thought no one was watching. The way you'd kissed him in secret, soft and urgent, like you were stealing something precious.
He thought of his values. His faith. The commandments he'd sworn to follow. And he thought of how none of it had mattered when you were in his arms.
“I'm not going to tell anyone.” He said finally.
San blinked, surprised “You're not?”
“No.” Jongho shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. “This isn't... it's not my story to tell. And honestly?” He let out a shaky breath. “I don't even know what I'd say. 'Hey, Yunho, your sister is a porn star and not only Seonghwa is sleeping with her'?” He laughed, hollow and humorless. “That doesn't end well for anyone.”
“Jongho—”
“I need to talk to her.” Jongho's voice was firm now, certain. “I need to hear it from her. Not from you. Not from some livestream.”
San studied him for a long moment, searching for any sign of judgment, of betrayal, of the pious outrage he'd been dreading. But all he saw was confusion. Hurt, even. A friend trying to make sense of a world that had suddenly stopped making sense.
“Okay.” San said softly.
Jongho nodded once, sharp and final. Then he turned, ready to walk away, ready to put distance between himself and this conversation that had upended everything he thought he knew.
“Jongho.” San's voice stopped him.
He didn't turn around, but he paused.
“For what it's worth.” San continued. “She cares about you. A lot. This doesn't change that.”
Jongho was quiet for a moment. Then, barely audible: "I know."
He walked away, his footsteps soft on the grass, leaving San alone in the shadow of the chapel. San watched him go, a strange mixture of relief and guilt settling in his chest.
The secret was out. Not all of it, maybe. But enough. And now, all he could do was wait.
✮
The school day ended in a blink of an eye.
One moment you were staring at the clock, watching the second hand crawl toward freedom, and the next, the final bell was ringing—a shrill, glorious sound that sent students flooding into the hallways like water through a broken dam.
You packed your bag slowly, taking your time, while Wooyoung and San waited by the door. Wooyoung was already complaining about something—a test he'd failed, a teacher who hated him, the usual litany of his dramatic ass, and San was nodding along with a patience that seemed almost saintly.
“Ready, honey?” Wooyoung asked, slinging an arm around your shoulder as you joined them.
You hummed, leaning into his warmth for just a moment.
The three of you walked through the crowded hallway, weaving between groups of students, the noise a familiar comfort. And there he was—Seonghwa leaning against the wall outside your classroom, bag slung over one shoulder. He smiled the moment he saw you, that soft, private smile that made your heart flutter even after all this time.
“There's my angel.” He said, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, then another to your lips, brief but warm. “Ready to go home?”
“Yep.” You sighed, threading your fingers through his. “Today felt like it would never end.”
San and Wooyoung exchanged a look, but before either of them could make a comment, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.
“Eun!”
You turned. Mingi was standing a few feet away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his tall frame somehow making him look smaller than usual. He wasn't meeting your eyes. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, and something about the way he held himself made your stomach clench.
“Hey, Min.” You smiled, though it felt uncertain on your lips. “What's up?”
He glanced at Seonghwa, then at San and Wooyoung, before finally looking at you “Can we talk? Privately?”
The air shifted. Seonghwa's hand tightened around yours for just a moment before he released it, his expression unreadable. San and Wooyoung exchanged another look—less amused now, more wary.
“Sure.” You said, though your heart had started beating faster. “Give us a sec, guys.”
Seonghwa nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple “We'll wait by the car.”
“I'll take your bag.” Wooyoung offered, already reaching for it.
He squeezed your arm once, a silent question ‘you okay?’ and you nodded, though you weren't sure if it was true. Mingi waited until they were gone, until the hallway had mostly cleared, before he spoke again.
“Follow me.”
He led you through the school, past the cafeteria, past the gym, past the rows of lockers until you reached a door that opened onto the back courtyard. It was empty this time of day—just a few benches, some dying flowers, and the fading afternoon light painting everything gold.
Mingi stopped near a bench but didn't sit. He stood with his back to you for a long moment, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.
“Min, you're scaring me.” Your voice was soft, careful.
He turned then, and the look on his face—God, the look on his face—made your heart drop into your stomach. It wasn't anger. It wasn't disgust. It was something worse.
It was sadness.
“I know..” He said quietly. “About your page.”
The world stopped. Your blood turned to ice. Your hands went cold. Your ears rang with a sound like static, and for a moment, you couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except stare at him with wide, horrified eyes.
“What—”
“I know better than you could ever tell, Ji.” Mingi's voice was flat, almost hollow. “I was watching the stream last night. I recognized you… I recognized the way you move, the sounds you make.” His cheeks flushed, but he didn't look away. “The mole on your hip.”
You wanted to die. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to go back in time and never pick up a camera, never post a single photo, never let anyone see that side of you.
“Mingi, I—” Your voice cracked. Tears burned at the back of your eyes. “Please, you can't tell anyone. Please. If Yunho finds out… if my parents—I can't. I—”
“Hey.” He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and took your hands in his. His fingers were warm, grounding, even as your whole body shook. “Hey. Breathe. I'm not going to tell anyone, baby.”
You stared at him, searching his face for the lie “You're not?”
“No.” He shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “I'm not going to pretend I understand it. Or that I'm not... confused as hell. But I'm not going to ruin your life, Eunji. That's not who I am, and you know it.”
A sob escaped you—relief and fear and something else you couldn't name all tangled together. You pulled your hands from his grip and covered your face, trying to compose yourself, trying to stop the tears that were already falling.
“I'm sorry.” You whispered.
“Don't.” His voice was firm, but gentle. He reached out and pulled your hands away from your face, holding them again. “Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong.”
“How can you say that?” You laughed, watery and broken. “I've been lying to everyone. To you. And you're just... okay with it?”
Mingi was quiet for a moment, his thumbs tracing slow circles on the back of your hands. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.
“I didn't say I was okay with it.” He met your eyes, and the sadness there made your chest ache. “But I understand it. Or I'm trying to. And for what it's worth…” He paused, swallowing hard. “It's kind of hot.”
You blinked “What?”
A real smile broke through his somber expression—small, but genuine.
“The videos. The photos. You're... God, Eunji, you're so beautiful. I've always thought so, you don't have any idea how obsessed I've been with this girl since I followed the page. And now that I know it was you all this time, and knowing that other people get to see that side of you? It makes me jealous as hell. But it's also…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind. This is already weird enough.”
You laughed, a real laugh, surprised out of you by his honesty “You're a freak.”
“So I've been told.”
The laughter faded, replaced by the weight of everything unsaid between you. Mingi released your hands and stepped back, putting distance between you that felt like a chasm.
“I can't do this anymore, Eun.” He said quietly.
Your heart stuttered “Do what?”
“This. Us. Whatever we've been doing.” He wouldn't look at you now, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “I made a promise to Yunho. That I would stay away from you. That I wouldn't... cross that line.”
“Min—”
“And I already broke it.” His voice cracked. “I broke it so many times. Every time I touched you. Every time I kissed you. Every time I let myself pretend that you could be mine.” He finally looked at you, and the pain in his eyes stole the breath from your lungs. “I can't keep lying to him. And I can't keep lying to myself.”
“You're not lying.” You whispered. “What we have—”
“What do we have, Eunji?” He shook his head, a bitter edge to his smile. “Secret meetings in empty rooms. Stolen moments when no one's watching. A handful of memories that I replay in my head when I can't sleep.” He took a shaky breath. “That's not enough for me. Not anymore. And it's not fair to Seonghwa, either.”
You wanted to argue. You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that what you had was real, that it meant something. But the words stuck in your throat, because deep down, you knew he was right.
You could give him what he wanted. What he deserved. But not when his friendship with Yunho was in the middle of it.
“So this is it?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “You're saying goodbye, for good?”
Mingi's jaw tightened. He blinked rapidly, and you realized with a jolt that his eyes were wet.
“I'm saying I need to protect him. Yunho is my best friend. He's been my brother since we were five years old. And if he found out about us… about any of this, it would destroy him.” He paused, his voice dropping to barely audible. “It would destroy me.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you didn't bother to wipe them away “So what do we do? Just... pretend none of it happened?”
“No.” Mingi shook his head. “We remember it. We keep it. But we don't... we don't do it again.”
The finality in his voice was a knife between your ribs.
“I'll still be there.” He continued. “At lunch. In the hallways. At parties. I'll still smile at you and ask about your day. But I can't…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “I can't touch you anymore. I can't hold you. I can't pretend that I don't love you when I'm looking at you.”
Love. The word hung in the air between you, heavy and impossible. Just as Seonghwa told you earlier.
“You love me?”
Mingi laughed, a broken, heartbreaking sound “Eunji, I've loved you since I was twelve years old. Since the first time Yunho brought you to the park and you smiled at me like I was someone worth knowing.” He shook his head, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I've loved you through every fight, every rumor, every time you chose someone else. And I'll probably love you until I die.”
You couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything except stand there and let his words wash over you, each one a wound and a gift all at once.
“Mingi…” Your voice broke on his name.
“Don't.” He stepped forward, close enough to touch, but he didn't reach for you. “Don't say you're sorry. Don't say you feel the same. Just... let me have this. Let me say it out loud, just once.”
You nodded, mute, tears streaming down your face.
He smiled, sad and soft and so unbearably tender “I'll still watch your videos.” He said, and the shift in tone was so sudden, so Mingi, that you almost laughed. “Someone has to make sure you're staying out of trouble.”
“And if you ever wanted to…” He hesitated, his cheeks flushing. “To dedicate one to me. I wouldn't be mad about it.”
You did laugh then, watery and surprised “Oh my god, you're ridiculous.”
“I know.” He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. “But you'll do it anyway.”
You didn't answer. You couldn't. Because you knew—knew—that you would. That you'd think of him every time you posed for a camera, every time you posted a photo, every time you wondered if he was watching.
He was. And somehow, that made it easier.
“So this is goodbye?” You asked again, needing to hear it one more time.
Mingi was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away your tears, gentle and reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of you.
“Not goodbye.” He murmured, leaning closer. “Just a... see you later.”
And then he kissed you.
It wasn't like the other times—urgent and hungry, stolen in dark corners with wandering hands. This kiss was slow. Tender. Sad. His lips moved against yours like he was trying to pour every unspoken word into the gesture, every year of longing, every moment of wanting something he couldn't have.
You kissed him back, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as you both knew this was the end. His breath hitched against your mouth. Your tears wet both your cheeks.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed.
“I'll miss you.” He whispered. “Every single day.”
You couldn't speak. Couldn't find the words. So you just held onto him, breathing the same air, memorizing the warmth of his skin, the beat of his heart against your palm.
“I love you.” You finally said, the words barely audible. “I know I can't... I know I'm not yours. But I love you, Mingi. I always have.”
He smiled, that sad, beautiful smile, and pressed one last kiss to your forehead.
“I know, baby. That's what makes it hurt so much.”
He let you go. Stepped back. Shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at you like he was trying to burn your image into his memory.
“Take care of yourself, Eun.”
“You too, Min.”
He nodded once, then turned and walked away. You watched him go, and you didn't move until long after he was gone.
The courtyard was empty. The world was quiet. And somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint echo of a car horn—Your boys, waiting for you, ready to take you home.
You wiped your eyes, took a shaky breath, and walked back toward the life you'd chosen.
But a part of you, the part that had loved Song Mingi since you were twelve years old, stayed behind in that golden afternoon light, saying goodbye to something that never really got the chance to begin.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
Ann Grace added you to the group chat: 5
S. Mingi: ?? Sannie: Are we murdering someone or...? C. Jongho: Explain. Yeosang: Ann?
Ann bit her lips, she was trembling in nervousness. She had thought so much about doing this, she didn't want to, but Yeosang’s words echoed in her head for days. Maybe he was right, it would be better to talk to them before telling Yunho.
She took a deep breath and started to type a quick message.
Ann: I have something important to tell you. Ann: Let’s meet tomorrow at my house after school. Ann: Attached a location.
Not far away, in a dark room, Yeosang smiled—a mischievous smile that covered his pretty features.
Excellent, just as he planned it.
This was going to be so fun.
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Stream Of Sin..
26: Well, fuck.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 8,8K
Synopsis: Some promises are made to be broken. Some secrets are worth the fall.
Warnings: Smut (MDNI!!) Oral sex (f receiving) unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, emotional manipulation through sex? Voyeurism, exhibitionism. Mild social anxiety, mild angst, gaslighting, jealousy and possessive dynamics. Discovery of secret identity, internal conflict, guilt, obsessive behavior, strong language, references to past violence.
a/n: Hi!! I hope you enjoy this chapter because the angst is coming again in the next chapters... and you know how much I love writting angst 😉
Series masterlist
Masterlist
It was early in the morning, it was cold even inside the cafeteria and the only thing that could keep him warm was the hot chocolate his mother sent him in his favorite spiderman flask. Lunch break was the favorite moment for every kid at school, even more if you could play in the playground with your friends.
But instead of playing, the five year old kid was staring again at the same boy at the last table of the cafeteria.
That kid was always alone during play time. The first time he thought that boy didn't want to play or it was a bad boy—because he always saw him surrounded by other kids during the first ten minutes of lunch, and then he was left alone for the rest of the break.
After weeks, he noticed something: that kid ate during the whole lunch break. How is it possible for a kid to eat for almost thirty minutes straight? He didn't want to play? Was he disabled or something?
He’s been observing him for two months, and the kid didn't change routine, it was always the same.
His curiosity was so big that he even talked to his mom about it, he remembered her words: “Maybe he needs real friends that wait for him.”
And his mom was always right.
With a little sigh and his lunch bag in hand, he did what he wanted to do since the first time he saw him—walk towards the table and sit with him, and that's what he did. He stood up the moment the other kids left him alone, and with small steps he approached him.
When he was just inches away from the table, the kid lifted his head and looked at him through his big glasses, curiosity all over his baby features.
He took a deep breath before talking, erasing any sign of nerves.
“Can I sit with you?” He said softly.
The kid stopped chewing, his cheeks round with food, but a slight smile formed on his lips as he nodded. Yunho took the seat in front of him, dropping his lunch bag on the table.
“I’m Yunho. What’s your name?”
It took him a couple of seconds to answer, not because he didn't want to tell Yunho his name, but because this was weird. Why is a kid he has never seen talking to him?
“Mingi.” He finally said.
Then a tense silence covered the table, each of them busy in their own food, the chanting and screaming of kids around was the only sound in the background.
“Why are you always eating alone?” Yunho suddenly asked, cutting the silence. “Where are your friends?”
“Where are yours?” Mingi said without the intention to sound rude, but the whole sentence sounded aggressive.
Yunho stayed in silence, his big eyes looking at the kid with surprise “Hmm.. well, they are over there.” He pointed to the slides in the playground.
“Then why aren't you with them?”
Okay, rude.
Yunho frowned, but he decided to stay calm “I have a headache, I don't feel like playing today.”
Mingi just nodded, taking another bite of his food.
“You didn't answer my question.” Yunho insisted.
“I’m eating.”
That short answer made Yunho finally explode. He was right all this time, this kid doesn't have friends because he is mean and cold. He is—
“I like to eat slow, my friends don't wait for me and go play.” Mingi explained before taking another bite. “That’s the reason I'm always eating alone.”
And Yunho was completely wrong...
The anger melted away to leave a feeling of sorrow. His mother was right, Mingi needed real friends that stayed with him.
Yunho bit his lip, unsure if he should say what he wanted to say. He was a little scared of the answer he could receive.
“Do you… do you want to be friends?”
Mingi stopped his chewing for the second time, and frowned. What was wrong with this kid? They weren't in the same class, they were practically strangers. And he wanted to be friends? Weirdo.
“If you want, sure.” He shrugged, returning his attention to the remaining food.
The answer hit Yunho like a slap to his tiny heart, he wasn't used to being treated that way. Everyone wanted to be his friend, but apparently Mingi didn't. He started grabbing his things slowly, ready to leave the table when Mingi spoke again.
“Just warning you that I don't play during school breaks. If you want to play with me, let's meet in the park after school.”
Yunho’s mood got up immediately, he smiled at Mingi and Mingi did it too.
Since that day, Yunho and Mingi shared a table and some snacks everyday, until they became inseparable.
✮
“What are you thinking about?” Yunho asked, his eyes focusing on the tall ceiling of his room. “You’ve been quiet for a while now.”
“Nothing.” Mingi mumbled, his mind still far away in his thoughts.
“Min, we’ve been friends for years. I know something’s up with you.” Yunho insisted.
Mingi shifted his position on the bed to face his friend, Yunho did the same, their eyes meeting in silence.
“Go ahead.” Yunho murmured, a small smile curving his lips.
A long sigh left the youngest before starting. The anxious thought of his best friend getting mad at him was persistent—if he was honest, he was terrified. But someday Yunho will know.
“Yunho…”
“Yes?”
“I.. I think I like Eunji.” Mingi finally said, shutting his eyes tight, not wanting to see the reaction of the boy in front of him.
The whole room dropped into a deep silence for a moment. Mingi was already dying inside, while Yunho saw him with a knowing smile.
He already knew.
He knew it since the day he presented you to them, a week ago. He saw how his friend was shyer than ever, how he stuttered when he talked to you, how he looked at you—like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
And Yunho agreed, you were his little angel after all.
He laughed, a sweet laugh that made Mingi open his eyes in confusion. Why was he laughing?
Yunho continued to laugh, the sound rich and loud. Mingi finally frowned.
“Why are you laughing?” He barked.
Yunho panted, wiping fake tears of his eyes “Oh my friend, you’re so cute.”
“What?” Mingi narrowed his eyes, ready to throw a punch.
“I knew it, bro.” Yunho said, that silly smile still on his lips.
Mingi’s eyes opened wide, and Yunho laughed at his friend's surprised face.
Yunho knew it? How? He never told him anything. Was he obvious? He hesitated a little before asking him how he knew it, Mingi saw him laughing but maybe he was mad. He was talking about his little sister after all.
“How did you find out?”
The tallest scoffed “You are too obvious, Song Mingi.”
Mingi’s cheeks flushed bright red, his hands immediately flying to cover his face in embarrassment. Yunho giggled again, finding his reaction adorable.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, his hands still covering his face.
“You’re apologizing for liking my sister?” Even the question sounded dumb for Yunho.
Mingi just nodded, too embarrassed to talk.
Yunho sighed as he sat up on the bed, he grabbed his friend's wrist to pull them off of his face. Mingi looked at him with worry, but he followed his sitting position, now they were face to face.
“Min, you don't have to be scared.” Yunho started, his voice soft and calm. “I’m not mad at you.”
“You’re not?”
“Of course not!” Yunho let out a soft giggle as he placed his hands on Mingi’s shoulders. “My sister and my best friend? That’s cute.”
Mingi’s cheeks flushed again, but this time shy at the thought of you and him together in the future.
“So, you’re okay with it?” Mingi asked shyly.
“Absoulutly!” Yunho nodded, evident joy in his features. “You could be my brother. Officially."
And then, Mingi finally laughed, his whole body easing up now that he said the truth to his friend.
“So… Can I ask her to be my girlfriend?” The youngest asked with mischief, a grin curving on his lips.
Yunho slapped his arm as he laughed “Dude, she is eleven!”
“I meant in the future!” Mingi laughed too, avoiding Yunhos’s slaps on his arms.
Both boys laughed and jokingly fighted each other, both of them enjoying the thought of becoming a family in the future, just like a cliche movie: His best friend and his sister.
That would be so nice.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
“Fuck!” Mingi shouted, throwing the control to the side in frustration.
Yunho laughed softly, the big ‘win’ words covering the side of his character on the TV screen.
“You’ve won five times already, man.” Mingi groaned. “Stop hurting my ego and let me win once.”
“Just admit that you suck.” Yunho mocked him as he restarted the game. “Stop complaining and improve.”
Mingi made a grimace, hitting Yunho’s arm in a last protest “Whatever, man.”
They continued to play some rounds, with Mingi swearing and Yunho laughing. They were just two best friends enjoying their time together, just the same way as sixteen years ago.
But someone interrupted their peaceful time, and of course it had to be you of all people.
“Oh, hello Mingi!” You greeted him with a big smile and a tiny wave.
Yunho almost rolled his eyes the moment he saw you standing there, with that fucking innocent smile and that short skirt. But he hated the way Mingi reacted the most.
“Eun! Good afternoon.” He said with visible joy, leaving aside the game and his character crashing somewhere in the background. “Are you going out? You look good.”
Yunho narrowed his eyes, is he flirting with you right now? In front of him?
“Thank you, Min.” You smiled at him again, your eyes never leaving him. “And yeah, I have a date with Hwa, he is picking me up.”
At the mention of their friend, both of them almost flinched. One with jealousy and the other with anger.
Mingi gave you a tight smile as he nodded “Right, have fun.”
Just as Mingi said that, the doorbell rang announcing Seonghwa’s arrival. They saw how your face glowed with pure joy.
“I will. Bye, Min.” You gave him a little wave before turning around and walked towards the door.
Mingi saw with hurt in his eyes how you greeted his hyung, how he could kiss you without fear, how he could show you his love. He was happy for you, you were happy beside Seonghwa, everyone in the group saw it. He was happy that his hyung could make you happy, he is a great man—but he could be a great man for you too, he would do anything and everything for your happiness.
He could be more than a good fuck for you.
When he was young he dreamed of a life with you. Loving you, caring for you. Hell, he would have loved being his best friend’s brother in law, but you didn't choose him. You chose Seonghwa.
He pretended to be okay with it, but his blood boiled with jealousy every time he saw you together.
While Mingi observed you and Seonghwa with thousands of thoughts, Yunho’s attention was on him. He saw how his friend's expression changed the moment Seonghwa’s name left your lips, how his previous happiness to see you melted to something bitter, how his smile dropped. And now, his expression turned to sadness, almost in hurt.
But why?
Why is Mingi acting like that with you?
Ann’s words came like a rush in Yunho’s mind: San, Seonghwa and Jongho… they have more than a friendship with you, they have kissed you and maybe they have done worse things that he didn't want to think about.
What if Mingi is involved too?
That question was like a nightmare—a nightmare that didn't let him sleep. So without thinking, the following words ran out of his mouth:
“You’ve always liked Eunji, right?”
Silence.
Mingi felt cold sweat drip through his spine, his eyes were still on the now closed door. He had never felt this scared in his life, not even when his mother asked him if he still had his chastity vow—the one he lost ages ago.
“W-what?” That stutter made him close his eyes tight shut. It was enough to show Yunho how nervous he was.
“You heard me, Mingi.” Yunho said, his voice cold and low.
And Mingi didn't like that tone, because that meant that Yunho was in a thin line between calm and fury.
There was another moment of silence where Yunho waited for his friend to answer, and Mingi debated if he should answer or pretend he did not comprehend the question. But he knew that Yunho wouldn't let this slide.
Mingi's throat went dry. The silence stretched between them like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap. He could feel Yunho's gaze burning into the side of his skull, heavy and accusing. His hands, still holding the forgotten controller, trembled slightly.
“I... I don't know what you're talking about, man.” Mingi forced out, his voice cracking on the last word.
He still couldn't bring himself to look at Yunho. If he looked, he'd shatter.
“Don't lie to me.” Yunho's voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade. “I've known you since we were five years old, Mingi. You think I can't tell when something's wrong with you?”
Mingi squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is bad, so fucking bad.
“You think I didn't notice the way you looked at her just now?” Yunho continued. “The way your whole face lit up when she walked in? The way it died when she mentioned Seonghwa?” A bitter laugh escaped him. “I'm not stupid.”
“Yunho, it's not—”
“It's not what?” Yunho's voice rose, cracking with a pain Mingi had never heard before. “It's not what I think? Because what I think is that my best friend has been hiding something from me. Again. Just like the others.”
The unnamed people landed like stones in Mingi's stomach, he knew who he was talking about. He finally turned to look at Yunho, and the sight nearly broke him. Yunho's eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles stood out, his whole body rigid with the effort of holding himself together.
“Ann told me something.” Yunho whispered. “She told me that Eunji is doing God knows what else behind my back, people I trusted most in this world.” He laughed again, the sound hollow and broken. “And now I'm supposed to believe you're not the same?”
Mingi opened his mouth to deny it, to lie, to protect himself and the secret he'd sworn to keep. But the words wouldn't come. Because Yunho was looking at him with those eyes—those same eyes from the cafeteria when they were five years old, full of hope and friendship and trust.
“You've always liked her.” Yunho's voice dropped, not angry now, but sad. Devastatingly sad. “When we were kids, you'd light up whenever she was around. You'd bring her snacks, share your toys, and wait for her after school. You were obsessed with her, Mingi. And I was happy for you. I thought it was cute.”
He paused, dragging a hand through his hair “But it never stopped, did it? It just... grew. And now I see the way you look at her, and it's the same look you had when we were twelve. The same look you had when you told me you wanted her to be your girlfriend someday.”
Mingi flinched. He remembered that conversation—two awkward preteens lying on Yunho's bedroom bed, Mingi confessing with burning cheeks how much he liked you. Yunho had laughed and teased him mercilessly, but he'd also promised that it would be a nice thing.
That promise felt like a lifetime ago. Before the video. Before the fracture. Before everything became so painfully complicated.
“I…” Mingi's voice failed him. He swallowed hard, trying again. “Yunho, I—”
“Just answer me, Mingi.” Yunho's eyes bored into his, pleading and demanding all at once. “Do you like her? Have you always liked her? Tell me the truth, Mingi. Please. I'm begging you.”
The plea in his voice was the final blow. Mingi's resistance crumbled. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging in defeat. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“Yeah.” The word was heavy, weighted with years of suppressed longing. “Yeah, I like her. I've liked her since the first time I saw her.”
Yunho closed his eyes, the confirmation was a physical blow.
“When you introduced her to us.” Mingi continued, the confession spilling out now, unstoppable. “That day in the park. She was just there standing behind you and I remember thinking she looked like a little doll. So pretty. So perfect.” A sad smile touched his lips. “And then you became my brother, and she became this... this impossible dream. Your little sister. Off limits. Untouchable.”
“Yet here we are.” Yunho's voice was bitter.
“I never acted on it.” Mingi's head snapped up, his eyes desperate. “I swear to you, man. I never crossed that line. I watched her date other guys, I watched her fall for Seonghwa, I watched her be happy with him, and I never said a word. I never tried anything. Because I respect you. Because I respect her. Because I knew—I know—that I could never be what she needs.”
Lie. He is lying. Lying to his best friend.
The lie tasted like ash on his tongue. The memory of that last night in Jeju, that day at his house, yesterday in the chapel bathroom, the memory of your body pressed against his, of the sounds you'd made when he was inside you—it all flashed behind his eyes, a betrayal carved into his soul.
But Yunho couldn't know. He would never know.
“She's with Seonghwa now,” Mingi pressed on, forcing conviction into his voice. “And I'm happy for them. Really. He's a good man, you know that. He makes her smile in ways I never could. And that's... that's enough for me. It has to be.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Yunho stared at him for a long, agonizing moment, searching his face for the truth. Mingi held his gaze, praying that his best friend couldn't see the cracks, couldn't hear the lies hidden beneath every word.
Finally, Yunho let out a breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. But his eyes remained wary, watchful.
“You're my best friend, you know that?” He said quietly. “You're the one person I thought would never change. The one person I could always count on to be exactly who you've always been.”
Mingi's heart clenched. Shit.
“And I don't want to lose you.” Yunho's voice cracked. “I don't want to lose you to her, Mingi. Not like I lost San. Not like I lost Seonghwa.” He leaned forward, his eyes blazing with desperate intensity. “I can't watch you change because of her. I can't watch you become someone I don't recognize. You're my best friend. Please. Please tell me I'm not going to lose you too.”
The words hit Mingi like a physical blow, each one driving deeper into the guilt already festering in his chest. Because Yunho was looking at him with such trust, such desperate hope, and Mingi knew, he knew that he'd already failed him.
He'd already crossed every line. Already broken every promise. Already became exactly what Yunho feared.
But he couldn't say that. He couldn't shatter what was left of his best friend's world.
So he did the only thing he could do. He lied. Again.
“You won't lose me, Yunho.” The words came out steady, even as his soul screamed in protest. “I'm right here. I've always been right here. And I'm not going anywhere, man.”
Yunho searched his face for another long moment, and Mingi forced himself to remain still, to project nothing but sincerity. Finally, Yunho nodded, a fragile relief flickering in his eyes.
“Promise me.” He whispered, his voice soft, almost a broken murmur.
“I promise, Yunho.”
The word was a knife in Mingi's own heart. But what choice did he have? He'd already failed his best friend in every way that mattered. The least he could do was spare him the pain of knowing.
Yunho reached out and gripped his shoulder, the gesture so familiar, so achingly reminiscent of every moment they'd shared over sixteen years of friendship.
“Thank you, Mingi. That means everything to me.”
Mingi nodded with a tight smile on his lips, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
They sat there in silence for a long moment, the unfinished game frozen on the screen, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on Mingi like a physical force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to confess. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness for every stolen moment, every secret touch, every time he'd held you and pretended it didn't mean the end of everything.
But he didn't. He sat there, frozen, and let his best friend believe a lie.
Because the truth would destroy them both.
So in that moment he decided to keep his promise, even if he already broke it. With all the hurt in his heart, he would take distance from you, stop talking to you, stop searching for you, stop wanting you. He would try to keep the promise he just made to his best friend.
Even if that destroyed him in the process.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
“Oh my god, this project is killing me!” Wooyoung yelled, collapsing in the seat next to you.
You and Minseok laughed, throwing each other knowing looks. San sighed, his patient coming to an end.
You were sitting at the same table at the cafeteria, doing the project you have to deliver next monday. You usually sit at different tables, but since you told them that Minseok is that idiot’s brother, they insisted on sharing the same table.
It was cute.
You’ve been there for almost two hours, each of you working on their respective projects—but Wooyoung and his dramatic ass interrupting every five minutes.
“Dude, we’re almost done!” San barked, throwing him a discarded paper. “I’m doing the hard work, stop complaining.”
Wooyoung made a crying noise as he nestled his head on your shoulder. You smiled, patting his head.
“I think sharing a table was a bad idea, you’re distracting us.” Minseok said, adjusting his glasses in an annoying gesture.
“Indeed.” You nodded, but the smirk curving on your lips said another thing.
“Babe!” Wooyoung whines outraged, he looked up at you with a pout that you really wanted to kiss. “Don’t be mean.”
“No, they are right.” San sighed again, before pointing at the man at your side with fury. “And is all your fucking fault!”
“Oh my god, stop.” You murmured, your head already hurting with all the noise. “Both of you. Five minutes of peace. That's all I ask.”
Wooyoung opened his mouth to protest, but San caught your eye across the table.
And suddenly, the noise faded.
It was just a glance. A fraction of a second. But something passed between you—a current, a spark, a silent acknowledgment that made your breath catch.
San's gaze softened, the irritation bleeding away to reveal something warmer beneath. His lips curved, just slightly, into a smile that was meant only for you. It wasn't his usual flashy grin, the one he deployed to charm everyone in a room.
This was smaller. Quieter. Private.
You felt heat creep up your neck. Your own lips twitched in response, a barely-there smile that mirrored his. For one suspended moment, the cafeteria, the projects, Wooyoung's whining—it all dissolved into background static. There was only him. Only the way his eyes traced your face like he was memorizing it.
Only the way your heart stuttered in response.
Then Wooyoung shifted on your shoulder, breaking the spell. San looked away first, his attention snapping back to his laptop with almost theatrical focus. But you caught the way his ears burned pink, the way his fingers hesitated over the keyboard before resuming their frantic typing.
You bit your lower lip to hide your smile, turning back to your own work.
“What was that about?” Minseok asked quietly, his eyes flicking between you and San with innocent curiosity.
“Nothing.” You said smoothly, not looking up. “Just San being dramatic.”
From across the table, you heard a soft, barely-suppressed chuckle. You didn't need to look to know he was smiling again—that same private smile, hidden behind his screen.
Wooyoung, oblivious, continued his one-man campaign of disruption “You know what would make this project better? Snacks. I need snacks. Babe, come with me to the vending machine.”
“In a minute.” You murmured, eyes fixed on your screen.
But your mind wasn't on the words in front of you. It was on the weight of a certain gaze, the memory of a certain smile, and the dangerous, delicious tension that crackled between you and Choi San every time you were in the same room.
God, you missed him so much.
Across the table, San shifted in his seat, his feet brushing yours under the table. Just barely. Just for a second. But you felt it like a brand, warm and deliberate.
You didn't move away. Neither did he.
And when you finally looked up, catching his eye again, his smile had widened just enough to be dangerous.
Yeah, maybe it is time to finally forgive him.
“Come, let's go!”
Wooyoung didn't even let you save your document when he was already dragging you through the cafeteria, you giggled but followed his step, hopping your arm with his.
“We need snacks.” He repeated, turning in a corner of the hallway.
“Woo, lunch break is in ten minutes.” You said with mockery. “You could have waited.”
“Nop.” He shook his head. “I need to talk with you. In private.”
You frowned, what he wanted to talk about? If you remember, you’ve done nothing to talk about. You two arrived at the big hall lined with many vending machines with different snacks, Wooyoung immediately walked to the chips and soda ones.
As he selected and paid for what he wanted, he laughed like you just told him the funniest joke.
“What are you laughing about?” You looked at him in confusion.
“Oh, baby.” He giggled again while picking his stuff from the machine. “You want that cookie so bad.”
“I want what?”
The question left your lips with incredulity, what is this lunatic talking about?
“Two words.” He put his fingers in front of your face with mockery. “Choi.San.”
You blinked, pretending that you didn't know what he was implying.
“San?” You repeated. “I’m still mad at him.”
Lie.
Wooyoung rolled his eyes, not believing such a thing. He knew you better than anyone “You’re such a liar, baby. I know that look on your face.”
You stared at him, already knowing what was coming. “What look?”
He stepped closer to you, leaning down to murmur against your ear “The ‘fuck me raw and hard’ look.”
You froze, a cold chill running down your spine. Wooyoung grabbed your chin with his free hand, forcing you to look him in the eye.
“I know when you want to be fucked, Ji.” He said, his voice low. “You want him to fuck you. Since that day you saw him beating the shit out of that bastard, or am I wrong, honey.”
You nodded, fuck—he knew you to well.
“Good girl, always telling the truth.” He smiled before stealing a soft kiss from your lips. “What about I give you a present?”
“A present?” You frowned.
“Yeah, you’re such a spoiled brat and I’m aware that is my fucking fault.” He smirked with that mischievousness. “Tomorrow, you and San will be at my place. I will make him go with a lie, and oh surprise! You will be there instead of me.”
“You are offering us your house to us... so we can fuck?” You scoffed.
“Yes, I’m lending you my house.” He nodded, a silly smirk on his lips. “As you fuck, I will been jerking off next door.”
You laughed, “You're a freak, Woo.”
“But you love it.” He throwed a playful wink at you.
You smiled, sliding your hands through his chest until you reached his neck. You pulled him down, your lips just millimeters away from touching.
“If I agree to this, promise that you will join after.” You murmured against his parted lips.
Wooyoung groaned softly, his free hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer to his body.
“With pleasure, darling.” He mumbled back before crashing his lips with yours in a messy kiss.
You moaned in satisfaction, and he smiled between kisses, because it was a promise already sealed.
✮
Just as Wooyoung told you yesterday, he planned a whole fuck date for you. It was nearly seven, the wheather was chilly… perfect for a hot fuck.
You opened the front door of Wooyoung’s house with the spare key he gave you at school this morning, you walked through the hallways and upstairs like it was your house. Unfortunately, he had to drive his parents to a holy retreat they were heading to, so the sinful thought of him listening to everything next door was ruined.
He told you that he had a present for you on his bed for you to wear and a settled camera if you wanted to record something, and you saw it the moment you stepped in his bedroom. A camera in a tripod stand, low purple lights—you scoff at that, typical Woo choosing San’s favorite color to put on the lights.
And then, on the bed, you saw a pretty white bag. You dropped your things on the small couch next to the door, then you walked towards the bed and sat down. You pulled the bag onto your lap to open it, the moment you did, a smile curved on your lips. Your fingers traced the fabric, a shiver running down your spine at the thought of San's reaction.
The fabric was so delicate it felt like holding a cloud. Wooyoung had outdone himself—a delicate bralette with intricate lace, matching high-waisted panties that were somehow both demure and devastating, and a sheer robe that would leave nothing to the imagination.
You took the little note attached to it.
“Sannie will love this. Enjoy your meal, baby.”
Of course you will.
Quickly, you shed your clothes and slipped into the lingerie, adjusting the pieces until they sat perfectly. The mirror on Wooyoung's closet door caught your reflection, and you paused, turning to examine yourself. The lilac made your skin glow, the lace hugged every curve, and the robe—God, the robe was practically sinful. You looked like something out of a dream.
Or a very expensive porn shoot. Either way, San was going to lose his mind.
The camera. Right. You moved to the tripod, adjusting the angle until it captured the bed perfectly—the low purple lights casting everything in a hazy, intimate glow. You pressed record, the little red light blinking to life, and felt a thrill run through you.
The thought of capturing this moment, of having it forever, of sharing it with the followers who worshipped every glimpse of your secret life, it made your pulse quicken.
Satisfied with the setup, you climbed onto the bed, arranging yourself against the pillows in what you hoped was an artfully casual pose. One leg bent, the robe falling open just enough to tease. You pulled out your phone, scrolling through social media to calm your nerves, but your eyes kept drifting to the door, ears straining for any sound.
The minutes crawled by. Your heart hammered with each passing second. Then, the front door. Opening. Closing. Footsteps on the stairs. Slow, measured, curious.
You held your breath, phone forgotten, every nerve ending suddenly alive and tingling.
The bedroom door swung open. San stood in the doorway, he was clearly expecting Wooyoung because his mouth was already open, probably ready to complain about whatever lie his friend had told to get him here.
Then his eyes landed on you. His mouth stayed open, but no sound came out. His gaze swept over you—the lilac lace, the sheer robe, the way you were posed against the pillows like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
“Surprise.” You said softly, a nervous smile playing on your lips.
San didn't move for a long, suspended moment. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—not his usual flashy grin, but something deeper, hungrier, more vulnerable.
“Wooyoung said he needed help with something.” He said, his voice rough. “He didn't mention the something was... a pretty girl.”
You shrugged, a slight smile on your lips “Woo being Woo.”
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him without looking away from you. The click of the latch was deafening in the charged silence.
“Does this mean…” He trailed off, uncertainty flickering in his dark eyes. “Are we okay?”
“Come here, Sannie.” You called softly.
It was all the invitation he needed. He crossed the room in three long strides, dropping to his knees on the bed beside you. His hands hovered over you, trembling slightly, as if he was afraid to touch, afraid you might disappear.
“I've missed you so much, princess.” He breathed, his voice cracking. "These past weeks have been hell. Knowing you were mad at me, knowing I hurt you—I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Every night I lay awake just—”
You silenced him with a kiss. It started soft, tentative, a question and an answer all at once. His lips were warm, familiar, tasting faintly of the mint gum he always chewed. You felt the tension in his shoulders begin to melt as you deepened the kiss, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.
He groaned against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. His hands finally found your waist, gripping the sheer fabric of the robe like a lifeline.
“I'm sorry.” He gasped between kisses. “I'm so sorry, baby. I never should have let her touch me. I was so fucked up, I didn't even realize it was her until—”
“I know.” You kissed him again, softer this time. “I know, babe. I'm not mad anymore.”
“You're not?” His eyes were wide, hopeful, vulnerable in a way San rarely allowed himself to be.
“No.” You traced the line of his jaw with your thumb. “I saw you that night. What you did for me. How you protected me, and watching you beat the shit out of Daehyun might have reminded me why I fell for you in the first place.”
A slow, wicked grin spread across his face “So… violence turns you on? Good to know.”
You chuckled as you slapped his arm “Shut up and kiss me, you idiot.”
He laughed, but obeyed, capturing your mouth in a kiss that quickly spiraled from tender to desperate. His hands roamed your body, learning the landscape of the lingerie, tracing the lines of lace and skin. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.
“You wore this for me, honey?” His voice was barely a whisper.
“Wooyoung picked it out. But yeah. For you.” You murmured against his lips.
“Fuck.” He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard. “I don't deserve you.”
“Probably not.” You grinned. “But you're going to make it up to me anyway, right?”
“Oh, I intend to.” His lips found your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone.
You arched into him, a soft moan escaping as his teeth grazed that sensitive spot just below your ear. His hands worked at the ties of the robe, pushing the sheer fabric aside to reveal the lilac lace beneath.
“Beautiful.” He murmured against your skin. “So fucking beautiful.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, really look at you—laid out beneath him in Wooyoung's bed, purple lights painting your skin in dreamy hues, the camera recording every moment from its tripod in the corner.
“You want to film this?” He asked, nodding toward the camera.
“You want to give them a show?”
That wicked grin again “Princess, I'll give them the best fucking show they've ever seen.”
Then his mouth was on you again, trailing lower, pushing the lace of your bralette down to bare your breasts. He took his time there, worshiping each peak with lips and tongue until you were writhing beneath him, whining for more.
“Patience, baby.” He murmured against your skin. “I've waited weeks to taste you again. Let me savor this.”
His hands hooked into the waistband of the lilac panties, sliding them slowly down your legs. You lifted your hips to help him, anticipation coiling tight in your belly. He tossed them aside, then settled between your thighs, his breath hot against your most sensitive skin.
“Look at me.” He commanded softly.
You did. Your eyes met his, dark and burning with promise.
“This is my apology. Every second of this. I'm going to make you forget your own name, princess. And when I'm done, you're going to forgive me. Completely.”
Before you could respond, his mouth was on you.
The first touch of his tongue made you gasp, your hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. He was good at this—devastatingly good. He knew exactly where to press, when to suck, how to flick his tongue in ways that made stars burst behind your eyes. He worked you slowly at first, drawing out every sensation, building the pleasure with torturous patience.
“Sannie—” You gasped, already breathless.
He hummed against you in response, the vibration sending shockwaves through your system. Your hips bucked against his mouth, seeking more, but his hands pinned you down, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
“Not yet, baby.” He murmured, his voice rough. “I'm not done apologizing.”
He doubled his efforts, his tongue and lips working in perfect harmony while one hand slid up to toy with your nipple, pinching and rolling until you were keening. The pleasure built and built, coiling tighter and tighter until you shattered with a cry, your body arching off the bed as waves of release crashed through you.
San didn't stop, working you through every pulse and tremor until you were gasping, oversensitive, begging him to stop.
He finally lifted his head, his lips and chin glistening, a satisfied smirk on his face “One down. How many more can you give me, princess?”
“You're insatiable.” You panted.
“You have no idea.”
He crawled up your body, capturing your mouth in a kiss that let you taste yourself on his lips. You moaned at the intimacy of it, pulling him closer. You could feel him through his pants—hard, aching, and desperate.
“Need you..” You whispered against his mouth. “Inside me. Now.”
He didn't need to be told twice. He sat back just long enough to shed his clothes—shirt, pants, boxers all discarded in a heap on the floor. Then he was back, skin against skin, the heat of him overwhelming.
“Turn over for me, baby. I want to see that pretty ass while I fuck you.”
You complied eagerly, rolling onto your stomach and pushing up onto your knees, presenting yourself to him exactly the way you knew he loved. Behind you, you heard his sharp intake of breath, followed by a low, reverent curse.
“Fuck, princess. Look at you.” His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back against him. You felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing, tormenting. “You want it?” His voice was strained, barely controlled. “Tell me you want it, baby.”
“I want it, Sannie. I want you. Please.”
That did it.
He pushed inside you in one slow, devastating thrust. The stretch of him was perfect—full, deep, exactly what you'd been craving for weeks. You both moaned in unison, the sound echoing in the purple-lit room. He paused for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his forehead pressing against your shoulder blade.
“Missed this.” He rasped. “Missed you. Missed the way you feel around me.”
“Then move.” You demanded.
And he did.
His first thrust was hard, knocking the breath from your lungs. The second was harder. Then he found a rhythm, deep, powerful strokes that rocked you forward with every impact. One hand gripped your hip while the other tangled in your hair, pulling gently to arch your back.
“Turn your head and look at the mirror.” He commanded. “I want you to see your face when I fuck you.”
You lifted your head, found a wooyoung’s mirror on the side of the room, you could practically see your forms perfectly. San behind you, holding your hips so tight that probably would leave marks latter, his eyes focused on you, his firm chest rising and falling—Fuck, you moaned at the sight. Then you saw your reflection, desperate—lips parted, eyes half-lidded, the picture of debauched ecstasy.
“That's it, baby. Look who makes you feel this good.”
His pace increased, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The angle was perfect—hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur, your cries turning high and breathless. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping, moans, and San's low, filthy encouragement.
“You're taking me so well, princess. This pussy was made for me, wasn't it?”
“Y-yes—”
“Say it. Say it’s mine.”
“Yours—fuck, I’m yours—”
“That's right. Say it again when you come for me.”
His hand slid around to find your clit, pressing and circling in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much, exactly enough, perfect. You felt the coil winding tighter, hotter, threatening to snap.
“San, I'm—I'm gonna—”
“Come for me, princess. Let me feel you.”
The command shattered you. You came with a scream, your body clenching around him, waves of pleasure so intense they blurred the edges of your vision. San groaned behind you, his rhythm faltering as your release triggered his own.
“Fuck—Eunji—”
He buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a guttural moan that made your oversensitive nerves spark with aftershocks. For a long moment, neither of you moved, both panting, both trembling with the force of it.
Then he pulled out slowly, collapsing beside you and pulling you into his arms. You curled against his chest, sweaty and satisfied, listening to the rapid thunder of his heartbeat gradually slow.
“I think…” You murmured against his skin. “That's the best apology I've ever received.”
He laughed, the vibration rumbling through you “I aim to please.”
You both lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow, the camera still recording in the corner. San's fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his touch gentle now, reverent.
“I really am sorry, you know.” He said quietly. “About Ann. About everything. I was so high that night, and I—”
“I know, Sannie.” You tilted your head to look at him. “I forgive you. Really.”
His eyes softened, that vulnerable vulnerability flickering there again “Promise?”
“Promise.”
He kissed you, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of moments before. When he pulled back, a mischievous glint had returned to his eyes.
“So... about that camera…”
You raised an eyebrow “What about it?”
“What about a live stream? Because I'm thinking we might need a second round. Just to make sure I’m completely forgiven, of course.”
You laughed, swatting his chest “Funny.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He said solemnly, before rolling you onto your back and diving in for another kiss.
—
The notification popped on Jongho’s phone screen. He'd been half-dozing in his bed, scrolling mindlessly through social media, when the familiar alert from his favorite creator made him sit up straight.
Holy JiJi is LIVE
A slow smile spread across his face. He'd been waiting for this all week. He reached for his earbuds, plugged them in, and settled deeper into his pillows, already feeling the familiar heat building in his gut.
The stream loaded, and there she was—Holy JiJi, his favorite obsession, the woman who haunted his dreams and his alone time more than he'd ever admit. Tonight she was with a man, as usual. Different partners every time, though she'd cycled through a few regulars lately. Jongho had his theories about who they might be in real life, but he never dwelled on it too long. The fantasy was enough.
Tonight's scene was intense. The man had JiJi bent over a bed, taking her from behind with a brutal, relentless rhythm. The camera angle was perfect, capturing the slide of skin, the arch of her back, the way her fingers clawed at the fabric beneath her.
Fuck, Jongho thought, his hand drifting down to palm himself through his sweats. She's so goddamn beautiful. She reminded him of you, its been a long time since the last time he fucked you.
He watched, transfixed, as the man drove into her again and again, each thrust making her body shudder. The sounds she made, those breathy, desperate moans went straight to his cock. He was already hard, painfully so, but he didn't want to touch himself yet. He wanted to savor this. To watch her fall apart piece by piece.
The chat was scrolling rapidly, tips pouring in.
BlessedBeTheThighs: Destroy that pussy bro! JiJiLover4Ever: She takes it so good omg KittyWoo: I loveee you’re enjoying your time guys 🥰 Anonymous_02: $100 for reverse angle pls FixOn: Fuck.
Jongho ignored it all, his focus entirely on the screen. On her. On the way her body moved, the way she responded to every thrust, the way her moans grew higher and more desperate as she approached the edge.
And then he saw it.
The man's hand—the one gripping her hip hard enough to leave bruises—had a ring on his finger. A simple bronze band, slightly worn, with a tiny inscription on the inside that caught the light for just a moment.
Jongho's blood ran cold. He knew that ring.
He'd seen it a hundred times, gleaming on San's finger during casual hangouts, during game nights, during those moments when San would absentmindedly twist it while thinking. It was a family heirloom, something his grandfather had given him before he passed.
San never took it off. Never.
Jongho's hand dropped from his lap, his erection dying as quickly as it had come. He watched the rest of the stream in a daze, his mind racing, his heart pounding with a mixture of shock and shame.
San. San was the one fucking her. On livestream. In front of thousands.
No. No. No way. It couldn't be.
But even as his mind rejected the possibility, other pieces began clicking into place with sickening precision. San had been the one to introduce them all to Holy JiJi's page, sharing the link with a casual sentence that had seemed innocent at the time.
Jongho’s heart slammed against his ribs. He stared, pulse thrumming in his ears. Not just because San was touching her like she was his. Not just because it was so public, so shameless.
Fuck.
You were telling him that his hyung, the one who always played around with him, the one who always pouted when speaks, the one who stole his food from his tray… was the same guy who had his cock out on a livestream?
He was livestreaming porn? He was in porn?
Worse… he was good at it. Confident, dirty—Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it wasn’t shameful at all. The same guy who was moaning and whispering and filming himself doing things that no one should know.
He’d seen everything.
And worse? San had sent this page to them.
Jongho wanted to vomit. He sat on the edge of his bed now, fists clenched, breathing sharp, like if he let go for even a second he might start screaming.
This wasn’t just sin. This wasn’t just wrong.
It was sickening fuck up.
Did someone know about it? Why did he send this to them in the first place? And the girl… who the fuck was she? Just some nameless, faceless slut who didn’t even have the decency to cover her identity? Or was she someone San knew? Someone who smiled at him in class and then bent over for tips after sundown?
His stomach flipped.
No, he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t become like Yunho, he wouldn't judge that way someone he didn't even know.
Jongho stared at the floor, eyes burning, and thousands of thoughts running in his mind.
What the fuck? What the fuck does he do with this information now?
—
Across town, Mingi was having a very different experience.
He'd gotten the notification at the same time as Jongho, but unlike his friend, Mingi had no restraint. He'd stripped down the moment the stream started, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with the rhythm on screen.
“God, she's so perfect.” He moaned, watching the man pound into her with relentless intensity.
He was close. So close. His breathing grew ragged, his strokes faster, his eyes fixed on the way her body moved, the way she—She moaned. A particular sound, high and breathy, that cut through the haze of his arousal like a knife.
Mingi froze…. He knew that moan.
He'd heard it just days ago, echoing off the tile walls of the chapel bathroom. He'd heard it when he was inside you, when your eyes were looking at him through the mirror, and your hand gripped his hip.
No way. Absolutely not.
But even as his mind tried to reject it, his body knew the truth. He knew the curve of your hip. He knew the way you arched when you were close. He knew the sounds you made when you were losing control.
His eyes scanned the screen desperately, looking for confirmation, looking for proof that he was wrong.
And then he saw it.
Just below her hip, visible for a split second when the man shifted her position to missionary—a small, dark mole. Shaped almost like a tiny heart.
The same fucking mole he'd kissed when he ate you out. The same mole he'd traced with his fingers while you lay beneath him, flushed and satisfied.
Holy JiJi... EunJi... Ji.
The realization hit him like a wave, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. The girl he'd been obsessed with for months—the faceless fantasy, the object of his darkest desires—was you. Jeong Eunji. His best friend's little sister. The girl he'd just confessed to Yunho he'd loved since childhood.
The girl he'd fuck, just days ago, in a church bathroom.
A laugh bubbled up from his chest—half shock, half hysterical disbelief. Then, slowly, a dark smile spread across his face.
Well, fuck.
His hand resumed its motion, slower now, deliberate. He watched the screen with new eyes, seeing every detail he'd missed before. The way your toes curled. The way your back arched. The way you reached out to grip the man's back, urging him deeper.
“That's my girl.” The possessiveness surging through him like fire.
That's his Eunji. And she's been his all along.
He stroked himself faster, watching you fall apart on screen, knowing that he'd been inside you, that he'd made you make those same sounds, that he'd had you in ways thousands of viewers could only dream of.
When you finally came—screaming, shaking, collapsing onto the bed—Mingi followed right behind, his release hot and sudden, his mind filled with nothing but you.
Afterward, he lay in the dark, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling.
He should have felt guilty. He should have felt horrified. He should have felt something other than this dark, thrilling possessiveness curling in his chest.
But all he felt was the burning need to have you again. To claim you. To make you his in every way that mattered.
And if that meant sharing you with others? If that meant watching you on screen with other men?
Well. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
For now, he had a new secret to keep. And somehow, that made everything more exciting.
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Stream Of Sin...
25: Free.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 7,1k
Synopsis: After days of emotional distress, you can finally breathe.
Warnings: Smut (MDNI!!) semi-public sex, penetrative sex, mirror use, after care (?), mentions of past sexual assault and coercion, blackmail, graphic physical assault, confrontation, restraint, psychological manipulation, jealousy, possessive dynamics, stalking, predatory behavior, betrayal, fractured friendships, emotional distress, voyeurism, strong language, consensual power dynamics.
a/n: Hello! I'm back with a new chapter, isnt as long as the previous chapters but I did my best haha. Hope you enjoy it, love ya'll ❤️
Series masterlist
Masterlist
Ann was doing what her mother hated the most, biting her nails like a gross kid. But she couldn't avoid it, her mind was a whole mess. Its been just a couple of hours since she saw that video at Jongho’s house, and she is lossing her fucking mind.
She had you in the worst concept ever, she wouldn't hesitate to tell the world what you had done… but this was past her own limits. This was pornography. A topic that if it wasn't taken with care could harm a lot of people… but what if she misunderstood it? What if she saw wrong?
She had heard about many couples recording stuff lika that just for fun, just for them. But Seonghwa was editing it, and that was weird.
God. This was consuming her sleep.
In a way to free her chest, she decided to ask the only person that she trusts a bit more than the others, she took her phone from her night table and opened the chat.
Ann: Have you noticed a weird behavior from Eunji and Seonghwa? Ann: Or is it just me?
She bit her finger in anticipation, nerves running down her spine when a notification popped on her screen.
Yeosang: What do you mean?
Ann thought what to answer next, she needed to be careful with this topic, and even more if she wasn't sure of what she saw.
Ann: I saw something today, before I went home.
She hissed as she typed the next text quickly before Yeosang could answer.
Ann: But I'm not sure if I saw right or my mind made it. Yeosang: What did you see?
The scene replayed in her brain, vivid and clear, even if she just saw some seconds of it. She could still remember the angle, the lighting, how you looked—how Seonghwa touched you.
Ann: After finishing with Jongho I went to the living room to say goodbye, but I saw Seonghwa showing San a video when all of you were playing. Yeosang: A video? Yeosang: What kind of video?
She hesitated again, she gulped nervously, her fingers trembling as she typed her next text.
Ann: It was an intimate video of him and Eunji.
It was done, she dropped her phone on the bed like it burned. Her eyes were tight shut, her heart beating so fast that she could feel it in her throat. Ann’s breath stopped the moment her phone buzzed several times.
Fuck, maybe she shouldn't have say anything. What if Yeosang thought that she was making up that story or worse, lying? With a deep breath she took her phone, not ready to read what he answered.
Yeosang: What? Are you sure? Yeosang: Ann, that's crazy. Yeosang: How do you know it was them and not a random video?
How did she know? She practically saw your faces, that's how she knows. But the doubt of seeing wrong didn't let her sleep.
Ann: I saw their faces. Ann: Eunji was wearing angel wings or something similar. Ann: I swear on God's name, I saw Seonghwa editing the video to post it. Ann: What motive could they have to edit that kind of video?
Just a couple of streets away, Yeosang bit his fist, muffing a light laugh of amusement.
At the beginning he thought Ann was making up this whole thing, he had noticed the way she’s been acting around you since she started dating his friend. He didn't miss the way she looked at you, the way she talked to you, and how she talked about you behind your back. But this was a troublesome topic if she was inventing it.
But she wasn't.
Because he knew you had recorded something with angel wings, the photos you posted a week ago was all the proof he needed. That didn't surprise him, what surprised him was knowing that Seonghwa—his good holy friend—knew about your secret identity. Fuck, he even recorded a video with you? That's another thing he would have never thought about.
Really? His hyung was okay with that side of you? It was almost imaginable, but him being obsessed with you and dating you, was enough to know that he was more than okay with it. .
Suddenly, another important question came to his mind. Who else knows about your page?
This time he laughed—really laughed. Maybe if he pushed Ann a little she could find the answers without him being involved. This whole situation could be so fun, but don't misunderstand it, he wouldn't have fun exposing you or making you feel threatened, he would have fun with Ann, playing with her mind and using what she just told him against her.
Yeosang: Ann, if what you say is true. Shouldn't you warn the others? Yeosang: They should be punished for what they are doing. Yeosang: Don't you think so?
He waited for her answer, a devilish smile forming on his lips. Already imagining what she would say.
And he was right.
Ann: Maybe I should tell San, Jongho and Mingi first. Ann: Before telling Yunho.
Yeosang’s smile widened into something genuinely pleased. Perfect. Let Ann be the bearer of scandal. Let her be the one to start chaos and watch the boys splinter.
He would be in the shadows, watching it all unfold, studying the fallout, and learning new, intimate details about you in the process. It was going to be so much fun.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
The air in Hongjoong’s living room was thick enough to choke on. You sat between Seonghwa and Hongjoong on the couch, a human shield of protection and tension. Across from you, Wooyoung and San were statues of barely-contained fury.
“You can do this, angel,” Seonghwa murmured, his lips brushing your temple. His voice was calm, but the arm around your waist was rigid steel. “You’re not alone. Not for a second.”
You nodded, the motion stiff. Your phone felt like a block of ice in your hand. With a shuddering breath, you opened the chat with the contact that terrified you.
You: We need to talk. Properly. You: The café on Main Street. 6 PM today.
You hit send and immediately thrust the phone at Hongjoong, as if physically distancing yourself from the act. You curled into Seonghwa’s chest, seeking the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and he enveloped you, his embrace a silent vow.
Hongjoong held your phone like it was evidence, his sharp eyes fixed on the screen, jaw working. The silence stretched, taut and painful. When the phone finally buzzed, you flinched.
Hongjoong’s breath left in a sharp, disgusted huff “This motherfucker…”
“What?” San demanded, leaning forward.
Wordlessly, Hongjoong handed him the phone. San’s face darkened as he read the reply aloud, his voice dripping with venom.
“‘Knew you’d come around. As you should.’” San looked up, eyes blazing. “What kind of sick, possessive fuck says that?”
“The kind we’re ending tonight,” Wooyoung said, his voice uncharacteristically flat and cold.
For the next hour, they reviewed the plan with the grim precision of a military operation. Hongjoong and San would be inside the café already, at separate tables, pretending to study. Seonghwa and Wooyoung would be in Seonghwa’s car parked half a block down, engine running, eyes glued to the entrance. You would wear a small, discreet pendant—a gift from Wooyoung—that was actually a high-quality microphone. They would hear everything.
“The moment he suggests leaving, you agree,” Hongjoong instructed, his gaze locking with yours. “But try to hesitate. Make him convince you. Give us time to move. The second you step outside with him, we’re converging. Hwa and Woo from the car, we’ll follow you, we’re not leaving you alone. Understood?”
You nodded, the plan etching itself into your mind alongside the chilling images he’d sent. It was a trap. You were the bait. And for the first time, the fear was edged with a sliver of razor-sharp anger.
—
At 5:55 PM, you stood across the street from the softly lit café, feeling like you might vomit. The pendant felt heavy against your sternum. You adjusted your jacket, took a final, shuddering breath that did nothing to calm you, and crossed the street.
Pushing the door open, the warm, aromatic air and gentle jazz music felt like an assault. Your eyes scanned the room, bypassing Hongjoong, who was hidden behind a laptop in a corner, and San, who was frowning at a textbook near the window.
And then you saw him. Daehyun sat at a small table in the back, a half-finished espresso in front of him. He looked relaxed, affluent, and utterly in control. He’d seen you the moment you walked in. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face—the smile of a man who’d won a bet he’d made with himself.
He didn’t stand up. He merely gestured to the empty chair opposite him, as if summoning you to his table. The power play was deliberate, humiliating. Every instinct screamed you to run. But you felt the imaginary presence of the four boys surrounding you, their silent strength a scaffold holding you upright. You walked toward him, your steps measured, and slid into the chair.
“Eunji.” He greeted, his voice a warm, intimate purr that made your skin crawl. “You look beautiful. Tense, but beautiful. I’m glad you decided to talk.”
You met his gaze, forcing your face into a mask of weary resignation. The game was on.
“You didn’t leave me much choice.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper, perfectly playing the scared, cornered girl he expected.
He leaned forward, his smile never fading. “Now, let’s talk about what happens next.”
"What happens next?" You repeated, lifting the menu like a shield between you and his predatory gaze. The laminated card trembled slightly in your grip. "What do you mean by that?"
Daehyun hummed, low and satisfied, a cynical smile curving his lips. The expression made your stomach lurch.
"I thought you already knew what I wanted when you sent that message, darling." The endearment dripped from his tongue like poison honey.
A nervous laugh escaped you, edged with a scoff you couldn't quite suppress "Of course I know. But I was hoping we could… talk first. Before that."
"Talk about what?" He leaned back, amused, playing along like a cat with a mouse.
You set the menu down, meeting his eyes with a carefully constructed mix of fear and curiosity.
"About the video, Daehyun. Why do you still have it? It's been years."
He looked at you, letting the silence stretch until the tension was unbearable. You felt a bead of sweat trace a slow path down your spine.
"Because you looked beautiful." He finally said, his voice a low, intimate murmur. "And I've always had a thing for you. So I kept it for myself."
"You missed me that much?" The mockery in your voice was deliberate, a small rebellion.
"Always, darling."
Darling. That word coming from him felt like fingers crawling over your skin. You pushed through the revulsion.
"I'm more curious about why you shared it back then. Especially with Yunho. What was the point?"
His smile widened, pleased by the question "I wanted to show him your true self."
You frowned, genuinely confused "My true self?"
“Yeah.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I knew you weren't that sweet innocent girl. From the moment I saw you, I knew you were different. You are different. Or am I wrong, Eunji?” His eyes glittered with cruel amusement. “I’ve heard things about you, I've heard what people from school murmur about you. And you know every single word is true.”
The words landed like stones in still water, sending ripples through your carefully constructed identity. Was he wrong, or was he playing with the narrative? Because if he put it in that way—You were innocent, a good girl who loved to serve God, who loved being around her older brother and just be the daughter your parents were proud of… but if you compared your past self with what you were now…
You were different, so different that it made you feel like a stranger now.
Had you changed completely? Or had that girl always been a performance, and this terrified, fierce, complicated woman was the real you?
"Cat got your tongue, darling?" Daehyun laughed, the sound rich with satisfaction at your silence.
You forced a smile, tight and controlled "Just thinking about how right you are."
He leaned back, basking in his perceived victory "So, shall we continue this somewhere more private, or do you have more questions?"
"Just one more." You tilted your head, injecting false sweetness into your voice. "Where are you taking me?" You let your eyes widen with theatrical excitement. "I hope it's not some five-dollar motel."
Daehyun laughed again, louder this time, genuinely amused "Of course not, darling. You deserve only the best. We're going to my apartment."
Apartment?
Your gaze flicked involuntarily to Hongjoong, who was already watching you with sharp, assessing eyes. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He understood. An apartment meant a closed door, multiple floors, limited exits.
This complicated everything.
You swallowed and looked back at Daehyun, your smile firmly in place "Okay. Shall we?"
He tossed money on the table and stood, reaching for your hand before you could move. His fingers wrapped around yours, clammy and possessive. You forced yourself not to flinch, not to pull away.
Let him think he's winning.
As he led you toward the exit, your eyes swept the café. San was already on his feet, phone pressed to his ear—probably updating the others. Hongjoong was packing his laptop with deliberate calm, eyes were wildfire.
Outside, the evening air hit your face like a blessing. You immediately saw Seonghwa's car, parked half a block down. Through the windshield, you could see his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and Wooyoung beside him, chewing frantically on his thumbnail.
Daehyun guided you to a sleek black sedan parked directly in front of Seonghwa's car. The positioning was almost mocking—close enough to touch, yet separated by glass and circumstance.
"Ladies first." He opened the passenger door with an exaggerated flourish.
You smiled and slid inside. The moment the door closed, a cold shiver ran down your spine the moment you realized that you were going to be alone with him for god-knows how long.
Fuck, you really hated this.
You just wanted to cuddle in Seonghwa’s arms while San patted your back, and listened to how Hongjoong scolded Wooyoung for some shit he did. The thoughts numb your mind that you didn't register what was happening.
His hand landed on your thigh—heavy, casual, claiming.
Your entire body went rigid. You stared at his hand, then slowly raised your eyes to the window, refusing to look at him. The drive would be short. You could endure this.
You could endure this.
The car pulled away from the curb, and you watched in the side mirror as Seonghwa's car immediately fell into line behind you. Hongjoong's car followed a moment later. They were there. You weren't alone.
The ten-minute drive was an eternity compressed into moments. His hand never moved from your thigh, a brand of ownership you couldn't escape. You stared fixedly out the window, counting streetlights, memorizing turns, praying.
When he finally parked in front of a modern high-rise, you nearly sobbed with relief. But you knew—this was only the beginning.
He exited without a word, leaving you alone in the car for a long, breathless moment. Then the door opened, and he extended his hand with mock gallantry.
"Come. Let's do things the right way this time."
You took his hand, the gesture hollow. The moment you were on the pavement, his grip tightened, and he pulled you toward the building entrance. You glanced back twice, heart hammering, and both times you saw them—Hongjoong's car pulling into a visitor spot, Seonghwa's sliding to the curb. Hongjoong gave you a sharp nod. We're here. We're coming.
"Which floor is your apartment?" You asked, your voice remarkably steady.
"Fifth floor, honey. 507" He pulled you into the elevator, and the doors slid shut, cutting you off from the sight of your protectors.
—
The moment the elevator doors closed, Hongjoong was moving.
"Go, go, go." He sprinted toward the building entrance, San on his heels.
Seonghwa's car screeched to a halt, and he and Wooyoung spilled out, doors left hanging open.
"Stairs or elevator?" Wooyoung panted, eyes wild.
"Stairs. Elevator's a trap—he could get off on any floor." Hongjoong yanked open the stairwell door, the crash echoing in the concrete chamber. "Fifth floor. Move."
They took the stairs two, three at a time, their footsteps a thunderous drumbeat of desperation. San's lungs burned. Wooyoung's legs screamed. Seonghwa, usually the calmest, pushed past them all, a man possessed by a single, terrifying thought: Get to her. Get to her now.
"He's going to hurt her," Seonghwa gasped between floors. "He's going to—"
"Then we make him regret being born." Hongjoong growled, his voice echoing off the walls.
They burst through the fifth-floor stairwell door into a long, carpeted corridor. Hongjoong's eyes swept the numbers—501, 503, 505. There. 507, at the end.
"Let's go." He commanded, and they moved like shadows, rage barely leashed.
—
The apartment was modern, cold, and impeccably clean. A display case for a man with something to prove. Daehyun guided you to a sleek leather couch, his hand never releasing yours.
"Drink?" He offered, already moving toward a polished bar cart.
"Sure." You needed to buy time. Every second was a gift.
He poured two glasses of amber liquid and returned, settling far too close, his thigh pressing against yours. He handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours with deliberate slowness.
"To second chances." He toasted, his eyes never leaving your face.
You took a tiny sip, the alcohol burning your throat. Where are they? How long does it take to climb five floors?
He set his glass down and turned to you, his hand lifting to trace the line of your jaw. You fought every instinct to recoil.
"You know." He murmured, "I've thought about this moment a lot. Having you here. Awake."
You forced a coy smile, shifting slightly, your hand coming up to rest on his shoulder.
"Is that so?" You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, your voice dropping to a whisper. "And what exactly did you imagine, Dae?"
He shivered—a visceral reaction that made you want to vomit. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer.
"Everything," He breathed. "Every filthy, beautiful thing."
You trailed your fingers up the back of his neck, into his hair, playing the part of the seduced. Your heart was screaming, but your voice was silk.
"Tell me more."
He was leaning in, his lips centimeters from yours, his eyes half-closed with anticipation—but the doorbell shattered the moment like glass.
Daehyun's eyes snapped open, irritation flashing across his features "Ignore it." He muttered, leaning in again.
The doorbell rang again. Insistent. Demanding.
You pulled back slightly, your hand still on his shoulder "Maybe you should see who it is." Your voice was sweet, reasonable. "Could be important."
He cursed under his breath, pushing off the couch with clear frustration "Don't move, sweetheart." He commanded, pointing at you.
You smiled, sinking back into the cushions as he strode to the door. The moment his hand touched the handle, you were on your feet, heart pounding.
He opened the door, and the world collapsed.
Four bodies surged through the doorway like a tide of vengeance. Hongjoong hit him first—a brutal shove that sent Daehyun stumbling backward into his own living room. San was next, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall. Seonghwa and Wooyoung flowed around them, creating a barrier between you and the chaos.
"What the—" Daehyun's shock was almost comical.
"Surprise, motherfucker." San's voice was lethally calm, his forearm pressed against Daehyun's throat.
Hongjoong stepped forward, his face a mask of cold, controlled fury "You thought you could threaten her? Touch her? Blackmail her with that video?" He laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "You made three mistakes. The first was hurting her. The second was coming back. And the third?"
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that filled the room "You thought we wouldn't find you."
Daehyun's eyes darted wildly between them, finally landing on you. You stood behind Seonghwa's protective form, no longer the scared girl from the café. Your chin was lifted, your eyes clear.
"Surprise." You echoed softly.
Seonghwa turned, pulling you into his arms, his body a wall between you and the monster "Are you okay, angel?" His voice shook. "Did he—"
"I'm fine, Hwa." You whispered against his chest. "You’re here."
"Always." He breathed into your hair. "Every time."
Behind you, the sound of Daehyun struggling was cut short by a sharp thud and a pained groan. You didn't need to look. For the first time in days, the cold fear in your chest began to thaw, replaced by something warmer—the fierce, terrible, beautiful love of the men who had just torn down heaven to reach you.
“Who the fuck are you?!” Daehyun barked, confusion and panic all over his features. “Eunji, explain!”
“Dont talk to her, you fucker.” Wooyoung barked back behind Hongjoong, arms crossed.
“Dont even look at her.” Hongjoong commanded as he grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Who the fuck are you to even be near her, huh?”
“None of your business.” He spat. “Let go. Now.”
“Its our fucking business if you're messing with our girl.” San said, his arm pressing even harder on his throat.
“Let go of me!”
“What do you want from her? Why did you bother her again?” Hongjoong asked, his dark gaze never leaving Daehyun’s face.
“Its not—”
“Said that again and I’ll beat the shit out of you. Answer.” San muttered, so low that made Daehyun's held his breath.
He hesitated for a second, he was scared. Hell, four fucking men were in his house, angry and ready to kill him if he move. But he couldn't show it, he wouldn't. He tried to look at you again, but the grip of the man in front of him didn't let him, he could feel his skin already bruising in red marks.
So he did what he does best. Lie.
“I like her.” He muttered.
“Cant hear you, bitch. What?” Wooyoung stepped closer, brows frowning in disbelief.
“I like her.” He said louder, closing his eyes shut.
There was a moment of silence, then your laugh cut through the tension of the living room. You pulled back from Seonghwa's chest just enough to look at the man pinned against his own wall, and the smile on your lips was nothing short of wicked.
Wooyoung’s particular laugh made you laugh even more, San chuckled like a manic as he changed his grip on Daehyung’s throat for a full grab with his hand, Seonghwa was smiling incredulously while he tightened his grip on your waist.
But Hongjoong wasn't laughing, not even smiling. His features were in a cold expression, his eyes, a deep pool of darkness, made Daehyun shiver. Then, that creepy smile of his slowly formed on his lips.
"Wait, wait." Wooyoung held up a hand, his face the picture of mock confusion. "Let me get this straight. You drugged her. You recorded yourself doing unspeakable things to her unconscious body. You terrorized her for years with that video. You came back and immediately started blackmailing her, threatening to ruin her life again."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a poisonous whisper "But you like her? That's your grand confession? That's the best you've got?"
Daehyun's face cycled through shades of fury and humiliation. He tried to jerk forward, but San's grip was iron "You don't understand—"
“We do.” Hongjoong's voice was soft, almost contemplative.
He hadn't moved from his position, but that devilish smile was still carved onto his lips. He looked at you, and for a moment, the darkness in his eyes softened into something like pride.
“Did you hear that, pretty? Why don't you give him an answer, let him know how you feel after his confession.”
You detached yourself fully from Seonghwa, though he kept one hand loosely on your wrist, a tether. You took a step closer, emboldened by the wall of fury surrounding you. Daehyun's eyes locked onto you, a desperate, manic light in them.
"How I feel?" You tilted your head, your smile widening. "I feel nothing." You let the words land, watching them sink in. "Why should I feel something for you? You're just a pathetic and sick man who gets off on power he can't earn. You couldn't handle a real woman, so you had to drug a girl to feel like one."
Wooyoung let out a low whistle "Damn, baby. And I thought I was ruthless."
Daehyun's face contorted "You little b—"
"Ah, ah, ah." San tightened his grip, cutting off the insult before it could fully form. "Watch your damn mouth when you talk to her."
"She's a whore!" Daehyun spat, the word tearing from his throat. "You're all fucking her, aren't you? Sharing her like the slut she—"
San's fist connected with Daehyun's stomach before the sentence could finish. The sound was sickening—a wet, heavy thud that folded Daehyun in half despite San's grip on his throat. A choked gasp escaped him, all the air driven from his lungs.
"Wrong answer." San's voice was calm, almost bored. He pulled Daehyun upright by his collar, watching him gasp for air with detached interest. "Try again."
Hongjoong stepped forward, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with deliberate slowness. He took a long drag, exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling before finally addressing Daehyun directly.
"Here's how this ends, boy." His voice was conversational, reasonable. "You're going to give me your phone. All your devices. Every cloud account, every backup, every hidden folder. You're going to delete every trace of that video, every photo, every copy you've ever made or stored. And then..." He paused, taking another drag. "You're going to apologize to her. Properly. On your knees."
Daehyun's eyes widened "You're insane. I'm not—"
San's fist connected again, this time with his ribs. The crack was audible. Daehyun cried out, a high, desperate sound.
"Do what I say," Hongjoong agreed pleasantly. "Or you can keep refusing, and San will keep... persuading you. Your choice."
Daehyun fumbled for his phone, hands shaking, and thrust it toward Hongjoong. Hongjoong took it, his movements unhurried. He scrolled, deleted, searched, deleted. Minutes passed in tense silence, broken only by Daehyun's ragged breathing and the occasional whimper.
"Cloud accounts and passwords." Hongjoong prompted.
Daehyun gave them up, one by one, his voice breaking. Hongjoong worked methodically, wiping years of violation from existence with a few taps. When he was satisfied, he pocketed the phone.
"Now." He gestured to Wooyoung. "The apology."
Wooyoung's grin was pure malice. He grabbed a fistful of Daehyun's hair and forced him down, dragging him until his knees hit the hardwood floor with a painful thud. Daehyun cried out, tears now streaming down his face, but Wooyoung held him there, his grip unrelenting.
"Go on," Wooyoung cooed, leaning down to speak directly into Daehyun's ear. " Don't be a crybaby and say it. Do it right."
Daehyun looked up at you, broken and humiliated. You stood before him, flanked by Seonghwa's steady presence, and for the first time in years, you felt no fear. Only a cold, clean satisfaction.
"I'm... I'm sorry." The words were choked, barely audible.
"Sorry for what?" Wooyoung prompted, yanking his hair harder.
"For... for what I did. For the video. For threatening you." Each word was a nail in his own coffin.
You fake pouted as you tilted your head “What? I didn't hear you.”
"Sorry!” He repeated, loudly this time. “I'm sorry. Please. Please, just tell them to let me go."
You looked at him for a long moment, this man who had haunted your nightmares for years. Reduced to this—weeping, begging, broken on his knees. You felt nothing for him. Absolutely nothing.
You scoffed "Get him out of my sight."
Hongjoong nodded, taking one last long drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the pristine coffee table, leaving a burn mark.
"Last warning, Joo Daehyun. You come near her again. You contact her. You even look in her direction. And we won't be this gentle." He smiled, that chilling, empty smile. "Understood?"
Daehyun nodded frantically, tears and snot running down his face.
"Sannie." Hongjoong's voice was casual. "Make sure he understands."
San didn't need to be told twice. His fist connected with Daehyun's face, then his stomach, then his ribs again—a flurry of precise, brutal strikes. Daehyun's screams filled the apartment.
Wooyoung stepped back, watching with open appreciation "That's it, Sannie! Show him what happens to people who mess with our girl!"
Seonghwa's arms came around you, pulling you against his chest and turning around, his tall frame covering the scene "Don't watch, angel."
But you did. You looked over his shoulder, watching Choi San. Your San, your fiery, impulsive, beautiful San, beat the monster of your past into a bloody, whimpering heap on the floor.
And God help you, you smiled. The violence should have horrified you. Instead, it felt like justice. Like every nightmare he'd given you was being punched out of existence.
Why is Choi San so fucking attractive? The thought floated through your mind, unbidden and warm. Maybe it was time. Time to let go of the last of your anger. Time to forgive him for what he did with Ann. Time to let him all the way in again.
Hongjoong watched for a long moment, then finally held up a hand "Enough."
San stepped back, breathing hard, his knuckles bloody. Daehyun lay crumpled on the floor, barely conscious, a mess of bruises and blood. Hongjoong crouched beside him, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow filled the room.
"Remember this night. Remember what happens when you try to take something that doesn't belong to you. She's not yours. She never was and never will. She's ours. And we protect what's ours." He stood, straightening his jacket. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."
He turned and walked toward the door without looking back. Seonghwa took your hand, guiding you after him. Wooyoung and San fell into step behind you, a wall of protective fury at your back.
You walked out of that apartment with your head high, the men you loved surrounding you, and the ghost of Joo Daehyun finally—finally laid to rest.
When you stepped out of that place, the night air hit your face like freedom, and your eyes closed enjoying it.
You were finally free.
Or that’s what you thought.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
It was time for lunch break, but you weren't in the cafeteria, you were in the chapel. The almost empty chapel greeted you the moment you stepped inside, the big windows casted soft light and the subtle aroma of candles made you feel at peace.
For the first time in years, you were doing something you didn't expect, something you haven't done for too long. You were praying, really praying. You were on your knees for more than suck dick and you were surprised.
Clasped hands, closed eyes, and a pleased smile on your lips. You were there, looking like your past self, thanking God for finally breaking the chains that attached you to your past and the version that was always scared. You were finally free.
Thank you for getting me out. Thank you for giving me people who fight for me. Thank you for letting me finally, finally be free.
You smiled, a soft peaceful curve on your lips.You weren't a hundred percent believer, and you most of the time made fun of religion and its rules, but you knew there was something out there. And you must thank it.
“Am I imagining it? Is Jeong Eunji praying?”
Your eyes opened, slowly turning to your left at the sudden deep voice. Mingi was kneeling next to you, in the same position you were. Clasped hands, closed eyes, but he had a mocking smirk on his lips. He was making fun of you.
You narrowed your eyes, pushing him slightly “Stop mocking me, this is serious.”
He let out a soft chuckle but didn't break his pose “Of course, I’m praying too.”
“Yeah?” You shifted to sit properly on the wooden pew, raising an eyebrow. “Then what are you praying for?”
He opened one eye, peeking at you with sinful mischief “I’m asking God to put you in my bed tonight.”
You laughed, a rich sound resonating on the chapel walls, you slapped his back “Funny. You should start a fucking circus, Song Mingi. You'll make a fortune.”
Mingi laughed as he sat at your side, his shoulder brushing yours. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You gazed up at the altar, at the suffering figure of Christ, at the flickering candles. Mingi gazed at you.
You looked different, not in the physical way that screamed you-changed-something, but there was something different in your factions, same beauty but way more calmer than before. You looked like someone who just won a battle.
“What did you pray for?” He asked softly, genuinely curious. “It's been ages since the last time I saw you doing it.”
You smiled, still looking forward “I was just saying thank you. For a miracle.”
“A miracle?” He frowned.
“Yes, a miracle.” You turned to face him, a beautiful smile on your lips. “Im finally free, Mingi.”
Mingi stayed in silence. You’re finally free? What do you mean by that?
“Free?” He repeated to himself.
You laughed, your joy very evident “Yes, Min. Free of my demons.”
Free of your demons. Felt so good to say that.
Mingi stayed in silence, processing it. The only demons you could probably have was either Yunho or the person responsible for the video. After a moment, he understood. The pieces clicked into place behind his eyes. The video. The man who made it. The fear that had haunted you for years.
“You mean… that?”
You nodded “Yes, that is finally done.”
Mingi didn't ask how. He didn't need the details. He just saw the peace in your eyes, the lightness in your shoulders, and it made his heart swell with a fierce, tender pride. He reached out, his hand large and warm, and patted your hair with a gentleness that belied his size.
“I’m really happy for you, Eun. Really.”
You leaned into the touch for just a second, a silent acceptance of his care “Thank you.”
There was another moment of silence, but it wasn't awkward or tense, it was a peaceful silence. Then Mingi spoke again, his voice dropping to that low, teasing register that made your stomach flip.
"Want to celebrate?"
You turned to him, a slow, incredulous smile spreading across your face "Celebrate? Here?"
His eyes glittered with mischief, darting briefly toward the small hallway that led to the restrooms.
"The chapel's empty. Everyone's at lunch. And I've been wanting to do something properly unholy in this place for years."
You laughed, the sound half-shocked, half-intrigued "You're insane."
"You love it." He stood, offering you his hand with an exaggerated gentleman's bow. "Come on. Quick celebration. No one will know."
You looked at his hand, then at his face, the playful challenge in his eyes, the genuine warmth beneath the mischief. The peace in your chest hummed, not with fear, but with a wild, reckless joy.
You were free. Why shouldn't you celebrate?
You took his hand and he was happy to lead you.
The bathroom was small, tiled in cool white, smelling faintly of lemon cleaner. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, stark and unforgiving. Mingi locked the door behind you, the click obscenely loud in the silence.
Then his hands were on you, warm and sure, spinning you gently to face the mirror over the sink. You met your own eyes in the glass—bright, alive, unafraid. Behind you, Mingi's reflection was all sharp angles and heated gaze.
"Look at you, Eun." He murmured against your ear, his hands sliding down your sides to grip your hips. "So beautiful. So free."
You shivered, leaning back against him "Show me how free I am."
He didn't need more encouragement. His lips found your neck, hot and insistent, while his fingers made quick work of your uniform. The skirt pooled at your feet. Your underwear followed. He turned you back to face the mirror, pressing you forward until your palms flattened against the cold porcelain of the sink.
"Watch." He commanded, his voice a low rasp. "I want you to see yourself when I make you feel good."
And you did it. His reflection was a study in controlled hunger. He positioned himself behind you, one hand splayed on your hip, the other tangling in your hair, gently tugging your head back. Your eyes met in the glass—his dark with desire, yours wide with anticipation.
When he entered you, it was slow, deliberate, a claiming rather than a conquest. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and you saw the flash of satisfaction in his mirrored gaze. Then he began to move, and the world narrowed to the rhythm of his body against yours, the slap of skin, the ragged harmony of your breathing.
Every thrust pushed you harder against the sink, the edge biting into your hips, but you didn't care. You couldn't look away from the mirror—from the way your lips parted, your eyes fluttered, your cheeks flushed with each powerful stroke. Behind you, Mingi watched too, his gaze a brand on your reflection, drinking in every expression, every tremor, every sign of your pleasure.
"That's it, baby." He breathed, his pace quickening. "Look at yourself. Look how good you take it. How beautiful you are like this."
A moan escaped you, loud in the tiled space. His hand left your hip, sliding around to find you, to press and circle until your legs trembled and your vision blurred. The pleasure built, sharp and sweet, a counterpoint to the deep, driving rhythm of his hips.
"Come for me." He demanded, his voice breaking. "Come looking at yourself, free, beautiful and mine for this moment."
The words, the sight, and the feeling, all crashed over you. Your climax tore through you, a silent scream on your lips, your reflection shattering into a thousand pieces of pure sensation. Behind you, Mingi followed with a guttural groan, his grip bruising on your hip as he buried himself deep.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of harsh breathing and the distant hum of the lights. Then, slowly, Mingi pulled away, his hands gentle now as he helped you steady yourself. He grabbed paper towels, dampened them, and cleaned you with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
When you finally met his eyes in the mirror again, both of you flushed and rumpled, a slow, shared smile spread across your faces.
"Best celebration ever." You murmured.
He laughed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder "Happy you're free, baby."
And in the quiet, holy-adjacent space, with the scent of lemon cleaner and sex in the air, you felt something you hadn't felt in years: truly, utterly, completely free.
—
“Where is Mingi?” Ann asked the moment she sat down beside Yunho. The rest of the guys were already there, but Mingi was nowhere to be seen.
Yunho squirmed a little to the other side. Lately her presence made him uncomfortable… but he didn't know why.
“He said he forgot something in the classroom.” Yeosang said, his hands already busy with chopsticks digging in his food tray. “But it's been almost ten minutes.”
Jongho decided to stay in silence—not because he felt the tension Yunho and him had since days ago, he was sure Ann told him everything—but because he saw when Mingi stood up the moment he saw you walk by yourself to the cafeteria exit.
By now he knew that Mingi was involved in the same way he was with you, that made his blood boil in jealousy, but he would be a hypocrite if he said something about it. He was in the same boat.
He knew his hyung didn't forget shit in the classroom, he followed you, and he knew why.
“He is clumsy and a little dumb.” Jongho added softly, defending his friend that was probably fucking you in an empty classroom. “He is probably turning upside down the classroom just to find his missing thing on his desk at the end.”
Yeosang and Ann laughed, because that sounded so Mingi core. then the cafeteria door opened and Mingi stepped inside, but not alone. You were by his side, smiling at him the same way he was.
Ann saw it, Yeosang saw it, Jongho saw it… And Yunho too.
Yeosang and Jongho with a knowing thought, one more analytical than the other. Ann with a light frown and a big interrogative sign over her head.
But Yunho saw more than he should. He saw the way Mingi held the door for you, saw the way he smiled at you, the way he looked at you. And then his mind spined with thousand thoughts, anxiety ran through his veins, because he was seeing the way his best friend acted around you.
His best friend.
Yunho’s eyes unconsciously drifted to San and Seonghwa on the table near the corner. Both men were laughing like nothing was happening between them, like they didn't notice that something changed in their friendship of years.
His best friend.
Then his eyes snapped on Jongho, a bitter taste on his tongue made him gulp in discomfort. He noticed the way Jongho avoided his eyes, the way he didn't speak to him directly. Confirming Ann’s words.
His.Best.Friend.
He looked at Mingi again, he was still talking with you while walking to your table, something that should look natural after being near you for such a long time, after being his best friend since kids, that should look normal. His best friend and his sister getting along.
But it didn't look normal, and that made him squirm in his seat.
Mingi is his best friend, he isn't like San, he isn't like Seonghwa, he isn't like Jongho. He is his best friend, right?
… Right?
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All rights reserved to ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.
Hello my pretty readers! How is everyone doing?
Its been a while since the last time I gave life signs or posted something, and let me apologize for that.
I haven't been feeling that well lately, and I didn't have motivation to write. I avoided so much opening my drive document or even think about writting. I'm so sorry for letting all of you without new SOS chapters for weeks and even not being able to post the request you sent.
Thankfully, since Wednesday I've been feeling better, and my motivation to write it's coming again.
So I'm pretty sure next week I'll be posting chapter 25 of SOS, I know you've been waiting with anticipation, so I won't disappoint you and I'll come back with an amazing chapter!
Once again, I'm sorry and thank you so much for all your love and support 💗
Remember that I love you.
— Bunny-Hwa♡
Stream Of Sin..
24: Are You Scared of the Devil?
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 8,2k
Synopsis: After Seonghwa provides a tender escape, a night among friends turns into a nightmare, revealing an old enemy's return and forging a deadly pact of protection.
Warnings: Smut (MDNI!!) Oral sex (f receiving) fingering, passionate kissing, unprotected sex. Sexual harassment, blackmail, and references to past sexual assault. Psychological distress, panic attack, dissociation, anxiety, trembling, and nausea triggered by trauma. Obsessive behavior, possessive and jealous behavior. Strong language.
a/n: Happy Saturday! Guys, I had a terrible week at work... idk why but that motivated me to write this whole chapter haha. Hope you enjoy, love ya'll! ❤️❤️
Series masterlist
Masterlist
The knock at the front door, sharp and insistent, jolted you from your frozen state on the floor. For one heart-stopping second, your mind screamed Daehyun. But the rhythm was all wrong—too familiar, too patient. You scrambled up with trembling knees and peered through the peephole.
Seonghwa.
A sob of relief threatened to escape. You fumbled with the locks and yanked the door open.
He stood there, a silhouette against the fading evening light, holding two plastic bags full of convenience store snacks and drinks. His gentle smile faltered the moment he saw your face.
“Hey, angel.” He said, his voice softening.
“Hi, Hwa.” Your own voice sounded thin, reedy.
He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, setting the bags down to cup your face in his warm hands. His thumbs swept on your cheeks, gently.
His gaze was searching, deep “You okay?”
“Yeah..” You said, forcing a smile and turning away before he could see the lie in your eyes.
You headed towards the living room, needing to put space between you and the door, between you and the memory of what just happened.
“Just a long day. Thanks for coming over.”
Seonghwa followed, saying nothing. But you could feel his eyes on your back, could sense the quiet concern radiating from him. He didn’t press. He never did. He simply gathered the bags and followed you upstairs to your room.
The familiar sanctuary of your space, usually a comfort, felt different. The shadows in the corner seemed darker. Seonghwa, sensing your need for normalcy, got to work. He dimmed your bedside lamp, and began unpacking the snacks onto your bedside table—your favorite chips, two cans of cold cherry soda, chocolate.
“Pick a movie.” He said, kicking off his shoes and settling against your headboard, opening his arms.
You crawled into the space he made, curling into his side. He pulled the comforter over you both, his arm a solid, reassuring weight around your shoulders. You chose something mindless and colorful, a comedy you’d both seen before. The familiar dialogue and his steady heartbeat under your ear began to work their magic, slowly thawing the ice in your veins.
But Seonghwa knew you. He felt the residual tension in the way you held yourself, the slight tremor in your hand when you reached for the soda. The movie played, but his attention was on you. On the tight line of your jaw, the distant look in your eyes even as you laughed at a joke.
About halfway through the film, his hand, which had been stroking your arm, stilled. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. Then another on your cheekbone. You hummed, leaning into the affection.
“Hwa?” You murmured, a small, tired laugh escaping you as his lips traveled to the sensitive spot just below your ear. “What are you doing? The movie’s getting good.”
He didn’t answer with words. He shifted, turning you gently in his arms so you were facing him. In the dim light, his eyes were dark pools of tender intensity. He cradled your face, his thumb tracing your lower lip.
“Your mind is too loud, angel. I know it.” He whispered, his voice a low, velvet rumble that vibrated straight through you. “It’s been too loud for days. Let me… let me quiet it for you. Let me make you feel good. Just feel.”
His kiss then was not the soft peck from before. It was deep, purposeful, a slow, sensual claiming of your mouth that made your toes curl. It was a kiss that promised oblivion, a temporary erasure of every fear, every thought. A soft whimper escaped you, and you surrendered to it, your hands coming up to tangle in his soft hair.
He kissed you until you were pliant and breathless, until the only thing you could think about was the heat of his mouth and the expert way his tongue moved against yours. Only then did he begin his descent. He kissed a blazing trail down your jaw, along the column of your throat, worshiping every inch of skin he uncovered as he deftly unbuttoned your blouse.
“Seonghwa…” You breathed, arching into his touch.
“Shhh..” He soothed against your collarbone. “Just feel, baby. Just feel me loving you.”
He took his time, his hands and mouth mapping your body with a reverence that stole the air from your lungs. He pushed your pants and underwear down your legs, his gaze hot and adoring as he looked his fill. When he settled between your thighs, he looked up at you, his expression one of pure, devastating devotion.
“You are so perfect.” He murmured, the words a warm breath against your most sensitive skin. “My perfect angel. Let me take care of you.”
And then his mouth was on you. It was not hurried. It was an act of worship, slow, filthy, and impossibly skilled. His tongue laved and circled, his lips sucked gently, his fingers, slick with your arousal, slid inside you with a curling motion that made you cry out, your back bowing off the bed.
He worked you with a single-minded focus, his sole purpose to unravel you completely. He enjoyed every gasp, every moan, his free hand pinning your hip to the bed as you writhed.
“Hwa… oh god, Hwa, please…” You begged, mindless, clutching at the sheets, then at his hair.
He hummed against you, the vibration tipping you closer to the edge. He added a second finger, crooking them just right, his tongue maintaining a relentless, perfect rhythm. The coil in your belly tightened unbearably, every nerve ending screaming for release.
“Come for me, angel.” He coaxed, his voice ragged with his own desire. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
The world shattered into a supernova of pure, blinding pleasure. You cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound as the waves crashed over you, your body convulsing under his devoted mouth. He gentled his touch, guiding you through it until you were a trembling, boneless heap against the mattress, breath coming in ragged sobs.
He moved up your body, kissing your stomach, your chest, your throat, before finally capturing your lips again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He was fully clothed, hard and straining against his pants, but he made no move to seek his own pleasure. He simply held you, stroking your hair as you floated back down.
“I love you.” He whispered into your sweat-dampened skin, kissing your shoulder. “So much. You are everything.”
You were floating in a hazy, satiated bliss, the horrors of the earlier evening pushed to a distant corner of your mind. You turned in his arms, seeking his mouth again, your hands fumbling with the button of his jeans.
“Your turn, babe.” You slurred, still dazed.
He chuckled, a low, pleased sound, and kissed you deeply “I just wanted you to feel good, angel.”
“I do.” You promised, your hand sliding into his pants, wrapping around him. He hissed, his hips jerking. “Now let me make you feel good.”
He surrendered to your touch with a ragged sigh, his forehead dropping to yours “If you’re sure.” He breathed, the words more a plea than a question.
You were sure. In the quiet, intimate space he’d carved out of the chaos, you needed this connection, this proof of life and love that was real and gentle. You pushed his jeans and boxers down his hips, your movements slow and deliberate. He helped you, kicking them off the rest of the way before lying back against your pillows, his eyes never leaving yours.
You straddled his hips, taking your time, leaning down to kiss him as you guided him inside you. He entered with a slow, deep glide that made you both gasp into each other’s mouths. For a long moment, you didn’t move, just stayed connected, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, feeling the impossible rightness of it.
“I love you.” You whispered, the words feeling more true and solid than anything else in your world.
A shudder ran through him. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I love you, Ji. More than anything.”
Then you began to move. It wasn’t frantic or desperate; it was a slow, rolling rhythm, a deep and steady joining. His hands slid down to grip your hips, not to control, but to anchor, to feel every shift and sway. You moved together in a quiet, perfect synchronicity, the only sounds the soft rustle of sheets, the headboard gently tapping the wall, and your mingled, breathy sighs.
He pulled you down for a kiss, deep and languid, his tongue moving in time with the slow rock of your bodies. You kissed for what felt like an eternity, breaking apart only to gasp for air before finding each other again. His lips traced your jaw, your throat, murmuring sweet, filthy, reverent things against your skin.
“You feel… God, you feel like heaven.” He groaned, his hips lifting to meet your downward slide, burying himself deeper.
You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, your movements becoming a little more urgent, a little less controlled as the pleasure built again, warmer and slower this time, a deep, spreading heat.
“Look at me, angel.” He pleaded softly. You lifted your head, meeting his dark, earnest gaze. His expression was utterly open, filled with so much adoration it almost hurt. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”
It was the final anchor. The last thread of tension, fear, and memory snapped. Your climax washed over you not as a crashing wave, but as a warm, all-encompassing tide, pulling a soft, broken cry from your lips. He followed you over the edge moments later, his own release wracking his body, his arms locking around you to hold you impossibly close as he chanted your name against your shoulder like a prayer.
You collapsed onto him, a mess of tangled limbs and sweaty skin, hearts hammering against each other. He held you there, his hands smoothing over your back in long, soothing strokes, his lips pressed to your hair. The distant comedy still played on the screen, forgotten, casting shifting colors over your still forms.
You drifted like that for a long time, wrapped in the safe, warm cocoon of him. Eventually, he shifted, carefully pulling out and disentangling himself just enough to reach for the tissues on your nightstand. He cleaned you both with a tender, practical care that made your heart ache, before gathering you back into his arms, pulling the comforter over you.
You lay curled into his side, your head on his chest, his heartbeat the most soothing sound in the universe. His fingers traced idle patterns on your bare shoulder.
“Jongho’s having people over tomorrow.” He murmured into the quiet, his voice husky with sleep and satisfaction. “Just the guys. And you, of course. Mingi, Yeosang, San… me. No Yunho.”
You knew what that meant. It would be a video game marathon, junk food, the easy, competitive camaraderie of your boys. A bubble of normalcy. A distraction.
“Sounds fun.” You said softly, nuzzling closer. The thought of being surrounded by that particular brand of chaotic, loving safety was a balm.
“It will be.” He kissed the top of your head. “It’ll be good. To just… be. No drama. Just us.”
“Just us.” You echoed the words, a promise to yourself as much as to him.
For a few hours tomorrow, you could pretend the wolf at the door didn’t exist. You could just be Eunji, with her boys.
Seonghwa’s breathing evened out, his arms a protective weight around you. In the sanctuary of his love and the promise of tomorrow’s simple joys, you finally let sleep pull you under, for the first time all day feeling truly, deeply safe.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
The sleek black sedan was an island of quiet in Jongho’s driveway, the engine a soft purr that had just fallen silent. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of Seonghwa’s cologne and the electric promise of the evening ahead.
“Ready to have fun, angel?” Seonghwa asked, his voice a low murmur. His hand slid from the gearshift to your bare thigh, his thumb tracing a slow, idle circle on your skin.
You glanced at the warmly lit house, then back at him, a wry smile touching your lips “If by ‘fun’ you mean listening to Mingi and Jongho argue over Mario Kart while you and Yeosang debate the theological implications of Ezekiel, then I’m not sure that’s my definition of fun.”
You shifted in the leather seat, the movement deliberate. The short hem of your skirt rode up, and you opened your legs just enough to give him a better view of the pale skin of your inner thighs, the delicate lace edge of your silk panties peeking out.
“But… I’ll tolerate it. Because I know you’ll make it worth my time later. Right?”
Seonghwa’s gaze darkened, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. His fingers crept higher, brushing the hem of your underwear.
“Of course I will, baby.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “But first, we suffer through a few rounds with the others.”
“Deal.” You whispered, closing the distance to capture his lips in a quick, biting kiss. Before he could deepen it, you pulled away, pushing the car door open. “Let’s go then, pretty boy.”
His laughter followed you out—a rich, warm sound. He joined you on the pavement, and you immediately reached for his hand. His fingers interlaced with yours, a perfect, possessive fit.
“Let’s have some actual fun.” You said, squeezing his hand.
“Let’s go.” He agreed, raising his other hand to knock on Jongho’s front door.
You leaned your head against his shoulder as you waited, the solid bulk of him a comfort. The door swung open, but the face that greeted you wasn’t Jongho’s stoic expression or Mingi’s wide grin.
It was Ann. A beat of stunned silence hung in the air.
“Oh! Hi!” She chirped, her voice a pitch too high, her smile so wide it looked painful. “Come in, come in! Everyone’s already here.”
You and Seonghwa shared a confused look. What is she doing here? The unspoken question was laced with a sudden, cold dread. Is Yunho here too?
You stepped inside, your eyes scanning the living room. Mingi was on the floor wrestling with a game controller, Yeosang was lounging on the couch with a book, and San was peering into the snack bowl. No Yunho. The relief was immediate, but the confusion remained.
“Hey, you made it.” Mingi said, not looking up from the screen.
“Yeah, sorry we’re late.” Seonghwa said, his voice carefully neutral.
“No worries. Have a seat.” Yeosang offered, his eyes lifting from his page to sweep over you, a flicker of something intense and unreadable in his gaze before he looked back down.
“Where’s Jongho?” You asked, your tone casual as you shrugged off your jacket.
Ann answered, clasping her hands in front of her “He’s just upstairs grabbing something. We were finishing up our project.”
So that’s it, you thought. A perfectly innocent, academic reason. It didn’t make her presence any more pleasant.
“Well, now that you two are done.” San drawled, not bothering to mask his annoyance. “You can head out. We’ve got plans.”
“San,” Yeosang chided lightly, though there was no real heat behind it.
Ann’s smile tightened “No, he’s right! I should get going. I just wanted to say goodbye to everyone—”
“Ann, wait.” Jongho’s voice came from the top of the stairs. He descended slowly, a textbook in hand. “We need to check the citations on the last two pages before you go. It’ll just take a minute.” His eyes swept over his friends in the living room. “They showed up early anyway. They can wait.”
“Hey, you said seven o’clock, man!” San protested.
“It’s six thirty, you dumbass.” Jongho shot back, his tone flat. “Start the game without me. I’ll join when we’re finished.”
He jerked his head toward the kitchen table, which was visible just behind the living room sofa, littered with papers and laptops. Ann nodded, her posture meek, and followed him to the kitchen.
You settled onto the couch between Seonghwa and the armrest, accepting a controller from Mingi. The familiar, mindless chaos of a multiplayer game began, a comfortable distraction. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw San shift closer to Seonghwa on the other side of the couch, their heads dipping together in quiet conversation.
“So,” San murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of digital explosions from the TV. “The photos from the other week. The ones with the wings. They’re insane, Hwa. You did an amazing job.”
Seonghwa smiled, a private, proud thing “She makes it easy. The lighting was perfect.”
“Just photos?” San pressed a sly edge to his whisper. “Or… more?”
Seonghwa glanced around. Mingi was shouting at Yeosang, who was beating him soundly. You were focused on the screen, a small frown of concentration on your face. Jongho and Ann had their heads bent over the laptop, speaking in low tones.
Seeing the coast was clear, Seonghwa pulled his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it, navigated quickly to a video editing app, and tilted the screen toward San.
“A little of both.” He confessed quietly. “We filmed something. I’m still editing it.”
He hit play on a short clip. The footage was tight, artistic—a shot of a bare shoulder, the curve of a spine, Seonghwa’s hands spanning a waist. It was sensual but anonymous, the faces carefully out of frame. It was the edited, “safe” version.
Then, with a clumsy thumb-slip or an unfinished cut, the video jumped. The next clip was raw, unedited. The camera angle widened. For two breathtaking, horrifying seconds, the screen clearly showed your face, eyes closed in pleasure, and Seonghwa’s profile as he kissed your neck, his expression one of rapturous devotion. It was unmistakably, intimately you.
Seonghwa cursed under his breath and fumbled to stop the video, locking his phone screen “Shit. Not done with that part yet. The face blur filter isn’t on that clip.”
San whistled low, a grin spreading across his face “Damn, Hwa. That’s… next level. For the page?”
“Maybe.” Seonghwa said, a faint blush on his cheeks as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. “If she agrees. It’s her call.”
They didn’t notice the figure standing frozen in the shadowed archway between the kitchen and the living room.
Ann had finished with Jongho. She’d gathered her things, offered a quiet “thank you,” and moved to say a quick goodbye to the group. She’d seen San and Seonghwa with their heads together, looking at a phone. Curiosity, that petty, venomous creature, had made her steps silent.
She had seen it all.
The first, anonymous clip had shocked her—the sheer intimacy of it, the professional quality. But it was the second, the raw and unedited two seconds, that stopped the very blood in her veins.
Their faces. That was… that was them. Having sex. Recording it.
Her brain short-circuited. Seonghwa, polite, devout, gentle Seonghwa, was not only doing that, but he was filming it. And he was… editing it? Blurring faces? Why? To share it? To… to post it?
The concepts collided in her mind with force. Pornography. Sin. Seonghwa. Eunji. Editing software. Page. A porn page?
The sudden thought snapped together with terrifying, scandalous clarity.
A visceral heat flooded her face, followed by an icy chill. Her stomach lurched. She felt simultaneously repulsed and electrified, her innocence shattering like glass on stone. She took a stumbling step back, her bag slipping from her nerveless fingers and thumping softly to the carpet.
No one noticed. Mingi whooped at the game. Yeosang laughed. Jongho was shutting down the laptop.
Ann just retrieved her bag. She didn’t say goodbye. She simply turned, wrenched the front door open, and fled into the cool evening air, the image of your intertwined faces burned permanently behind her eyes, a secret more powerful and damning than she had ever dreamed of uncovering.
“Alright!” Jongho announced, clapping his hands together as he strode back into the living room. The energy shifted, the tension from Ann’s sudden departure dispersing into a low hum of anticipation. “Now we can start the real game.”
“Ann’s gone?” San was the first to ask, his voice carrying a note of relief he didn’t try to hide.
“Yeah,” Jongho confirmed with a curt nod, already sinking into the plush couch between you and Mingi. He claimed the space with a natural ease that felt protective.
“She didn’t even say goodbye,” Yeosang noted from his armchair, his tone light but his brow slightly furrowed. “That’s a bit rude.”
Mingi, already focused on the game, scrolled through the character select screen “Who’s next?”
“Me!” Seonghwa’s voice was a soft chime of excitement. He’d been watching intently, offering quiet commentary.
You leaned over, pressing your controller into his hands “Take my turn, babe. I’m ceding my throne.”
“You sure, angel?” He looked up at you, his eyes warm. “I was enjoying watching you dominate.”
“I’m sure. I’ve grown tired of beating their asses.” You shot a teasing, imperious look at Mingi and Yeosang, who groaned in mock offense.
You migrated to the smaller, empty loveseat perpendicular to the main couch, seeking a moment of quiet. The competitive shouts and game sound effects faded into background noise as you pulled out your phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media to quiet your own thoughts.
You didn’t notice his approach until the cushion dipped beside you, and a voice, softer than the room’s chaos, cut through your focus.
“Sorry, what did you say?” You said, looking up with a start, quickly locking your phone screen.
Yeosang gave a small, serene smile “I just said you look better than you did a few days ago.”
The words landed with a peculiar weight. You blinked, a frown creasing your brow.
“What do you mean?”
“You seemed… down. After your birthday.” He tilted his head, his gaze inquisitive but unnervingly calm. “I was worried. Is everything okay?”
That icy chill traced your spine again, sharper this time. You weren’t friends. You didn't have classes together, but your circles only tangentially touched through Seonghwa and San. How would he have noticed the subtle shifts in your mood from across the cafeteria, from a different classroom?
The only answer was deliberate, sustained observation.
“I… yeah, everything’s fine.” You murmured, forcing a casual tone that felt brittle. “Just school stress. You know how it is.”
“Are you sure?” He pressed, his voice a gentle, persistent tide. “We might not know each other well, but you can talk to me. I’m a good listener.”
No, I can’t, your mind screamed. This isn’t concern. This is data collection. The smile you gave him was tight, all lips and no eyes.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Yeosang.”
You stood abruptly, the need for a familiar anchor overwhelming. You crossed the short distance to the main couch, where Seonghwa was now fully engaged in a race, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. He sensed your presence and glanced up, his expression immediately softening. Without a word, he shifted, holding the controller in one hand and using the other to create a space for you on his lap.
You settled against him, your back to San, who let out an exaggerated, wounded sigh.
“Wow, just push me right off the edge, why don’t you?” San grumbled, but the sly smirk playing on his lips betrayed his amusement.
You twisted slightly to see Mingi on Seonghwa’s other side “Hey, Mingi.”
“Hey there, beautiful.” Mingi replied, his eyes never leaving the screen as he navigated a tricky corner.
The casual endearment, so effortlessly delivered, sent a visible jolt through Seonghwa. His arm around your waist tightened almost imperceptibly, his thumb pressing a firm point into your hip. His gaze flicked from the game to the back of Mingi’s head for a split second, a silent, possessive question hanging in the air.
Beautiful? Since when?
You nestled deeper into Seonghwa, seeking comfort in his familiar scent and solid warmth, trying to shake off the chill Yeosang’s words had left. For a few minutes, you lost yourself in the rhythm of the game—the colorful blur on the screen, Jongho’s strategic muttering, San’s triumphant whoops, the steady rise and fall of Seonghwa’s chest beneath you.
Then, your phone, forgotten in your hand, vibrated with a specific, ominous insistence.
A new message. From the contact saved as: D
Your blood ran cold. You hadn’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon. The preview showed no text, just a video file and several image attachments.
Don’t open it. Delete it. Throw the phone. Every sane instinct screamed at you. But a darker, self-destructive curiosity, the same one that makes you press on a bruise, won out. With trembling fingers, you opened the message.
The video loaded. It was longer than the cruel snippet that had circulated years ago. This was the full, unedited horror.
You saw your own limp hand, moved by his. You saw things you had only inferred from nightmares—the violation documented in sickening, high-definition detail. The photos that followed were worse. Stills of that night, frozen moments of profane intimacy you were never conscious of.
Close-ups. Possessive, grinning selfies with your unconscious form.
A wave of nausea, violent and immediate, rose so fast you tasted bile. The room, once full of friendly noise, telescoped into a silent, airless tunnel. The colors of the game bled into a meaningless smear. The weight of Seonghwa’s arms, once comforting, now felt like a cage trapping you with the evidence of your own defilement.
You couldn’t breathe. You shot to your feet so suddenly you almost knocked the controller from Seonghwa’s hands.
“I—I need air.” You choked out, the words raw and strangled. You didn’t look at anyone. You couldn’t.
“Angel?” Seonghwa’s voice was laced with instant concern, his game character crashing and forgotten on-screen.
But you were already moving, stumbling toward the hallway, a hand clamped over your mouth. The confused calls of your name from San, Jongho, Mingi—even a quiet, attentive silence from Yeosang—faded behind you as you fled to the garden, the ghostly images from your phone burning behind your eyelids, a silent scream trapped in your chest.
You sank to your knees on the cold grass, the world tilting on its axis. Your hands trembled violently as you fumbled with the cigarette box, the crinkle of the plastic deafening in the silent yard.
You needed the burn, the chemical calm, anything to staunch the panic threatening to shred your sanity. After three failed flicks of the lighter, the flame finally caught. You dragged the smoke deep into your lungs, holding it until your vision spotted, then exhaled a grey plume into the twilight.
What the fuck. Literally, what the actual fuck?
You thought you were over what happened that day, you thought you were brave enough to deal with whatever damn game he wanted you to play. The arrogance of it made you want to laugh, or scream. You were so wrong. This shit was making you feel like a fucking child hidding from the monsters under the bed.
You were scared. So fucking scared.
“Angel, are you okay?”
Seonghwa’s voice was soft behind you, but you still flinched. You took another frantic drag, the ember burning bright.
“Love.” He was beside you now, kneeling in the grass, his presence a solid warmth you felt too fragile to lean into. “What happened?”
You shook your head, closing your eyes briefly “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” He repeated. The word was a low crack in his usually gentle tone. He reached out, his fingers hovering near your arm before settling on the grass between you. “You ran out of there like you saw a ghost. You’re shaking so hard you can barely hold that cigarette. Look at me and tell me it’s nothing again.”
He didn't want to sound rude, but he was worried. He’s been worried since that night you ran to his arms, shaking the same way you’re doing right now.
“It's nothing, Hwa.” You couldn’t meet his eyes. If you did, you’d shatter.
“Bullshit.” The rare curse was a whip-crack in the quiet. His hand came up, not to hurt, but to anchor, his fingers gently tilting your chin until you had no choice but to look at him.
And he saw it all. The sheen of unshed tears making your eyes glassy. The frantic pulse beating at the base of your throat. The raw, animal fear you couldn’t hide. His gaze dropped to your phone, discarded in the grass beside your knee as if it were a live wire.
His movements were swift. He snatched it up before you could react.
“Seonghwa—”
“Don’t.” He cut you off, his voice chillingly calm. His gaze locked with yours, a silent command that stilled your reaching hand.
He knew your passcode. His thumb moved, the screen lit up, and his eyes scanned the open message thread. All the color drained from his face. His gentle features hardened into a mask of disbelief, then revulsion, then a fury so cold it stole the air from your lungs.
“What the fuck is this?” He breathed, the word barely audible.
You stubbed the cigarette out on the patio stone, grinding it to nothing “It’s Daehyun. Joo Daehyun. The one from the video.”
The name hung between you, toxic and familiar. Seonghwa’s knuckles whitened around your phone.
“He’s… sending you this? Why?” His voice trembled with the effort to control it.
“He’s trying to blackmail me with that.”
The pieces crashed together in Seonghwa’s mind—your distance, your nightmares, the way you’d clung to him that night.
“This is why you’ve been acting like this all week? Why didn't you tell me, why didn't you tell any of us?”
“Because I don't want it to make it bigger!” The confession burst out of you, desperate and sharp. “Telling someone would make it a problem that I'd have to solve… And I didn't want you to worry.”
“Eunji.” His anger melted, replaced by a pain so profound it etched lines around his eyes. He pulled you into his arms, and this time you didn’t resist, collapsing against his chest. “I am your boyfriend. My job, my privilege, is to help you carry the bad things. All of us. You don’t get to shield us by walking through hell alone. Do you understand that?”
You stayed in silence, biting your lip as you avoided his gaze. He sighed, not angry at you but a little hurt that you didn’t tell him sooner.
“Baby, you can trust us with anything, it doesn't matter if it is something good or bad. We’ll be here always, and you know it, right?”
You nodded against his chest.
His hold tightened, his voice dropping to a low, vicious murmur near your ear “This motherfucker must pay for what he did.”
“Hwa, no.” You looked at him with pleading eyes. “I don't want him to get mad and share that video.. I can't pass through the same shit again, not again. He’ll—” Your voice broke on the last word.
“He’ll what?” Seonghwa interrupted, his eyes blazing. “He already has. He’s terrorizing you with the worst moment of your life. I won’t let him make you feel small or scared ever again. We are not letting this go. We are ending it.”
The finality in his voice was a cliff edge. Arguing was pointless. He was right. Running had only given Daehyun more power. A numb acceptance settled over you, colder than the fear.
You closed your eyes, nuzzling against his chest again. You couldn't argue with him, because he was right. You couldn't keep running from him, you needed to face him.
“I’m calling Hongjoong.” Seonghwa stated, his tone leaving no room for debate. He pulled out his own phone, his movements precise and furious. “We need to talk. Now.”
You just sighed defeated, you could already imagine how mad Hongjoong would be. You heard the low, tense rumble of his voice as he spoke to Hongjoong, but the words were lost in the white-noise roar filling your head.
Your world had narrowed to the phantom weight of the phone in his hand and the chilling certainty that the carefully constructed peace of the last few years was over.
“We’re going inside. We’ll get San and we’re leaving.”
You nodded again as you followed his steps. Back in the warm, game-lit living room, the contrast was jarring. Four pairs of eyes snapped to you, filled with varying degrees of confusion and concern.
“Are you okay, Eun?” Mingi asked, his controller forgotten.
You nodded, offering him a soft smile.
“We’re leaving.” Seonghwa announced, his voice allowing no questions.
“What, why?” Jongho stood, his protective instincts immediately on high alert.
“Hongjoong called, he needs help with something.” He lied.” San, you're coming with us.”
It wasn’t a request. San, sensing the seismic shift in the atmosphere, simply nodded and stood, his playful energy completely gone.
“Guys, are you sure everything is okay? You're acting weird.” Mingi insisted, his eyes never leaving your trembling form.
Yeosang observed quietly, his watchful eyes missing nothing.
“Yeah, don't worry. See you at school on Monday." Seonghwa said, herding you and San toward the door with an urgency that brooked no further delay.
You managed a ghost of a wave, your voice trapped in your throat. The car ride was a silent, pressure-filled capsule. Seonghwa’s grip on the steering wheel was vice-like, his jaw clenched. The moment he pulled out of the driveway, San couldn’t hold back.
“Okay, what the hell is happening? Did someone die?”
“Not yet,” Seonghwa said, the words icy and stark. “We’re going to Hongjoong’s. Wooyoung will be there. I’ll explain everything when we’re all together.”
The ominous lack of explanation did nothing to calm San’s nerves. If anything, the dread in the car grew thicker, a tangible third passenger feeding on the silence and Seonghwa’s uncharacteristic, terrifying rage.
The ride was a vacuum-sealed capsule of silent dread. Seonghwa drove with a lethal focus, his knuckles pale on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road as if it were an enemy to be conquered. The usual soft hum of the radio was absent, leaving only the oppressive growl of the engine and the whistle of the night wind.
In the backseat, San’s phone screen cast a frantic blue glow on his face as he fired off texts to Wooyoung, asking if he knew what was going on, but he didn't get any answer to his questions.
In the front seat, you felt detached from your own body, a spectator looking out the passenger window. The world blurred into streaks of streetlight and shadow. The only proof you were still inside your skin was the faint, relentless tremor in your hands, which you clasped together tightly in your lap to still.
Your mind was a whirlpool, but not around Daehyun. His threat was a cold, dark stone at the center, but the churning waters were all about the men now speeding toward a confrontation.
How would they look at you when Seonghwa laid the ugly truth bare? Would you see anger in Hongjoong's sharp eyes? Disappointment in Wooyoung's usually playful gaze? Would San’s fiery loyalty turn into a blaze of destructive rage?
You knew their tempers. You’d seen the controlled ice of Hongjoong’s wrath, the volatile spark of Wooyoung’s, the simmering, protective heat of San’s. But this… this was the one thing guaranteed to detonate them all simultaneously.
They weren’t just going to be mad for you. They were going to be mad at the world, at the past, at the man who dared—and the thought of being the focal point of that hurricane of fury made you feel small and terribly fragile.
You were so lost in the storm inside your head that you didn’t register the car slowing, turning, stopping. The engine cut off, and the sudden silence was somehow louder.
“Ji?”
San’s voice, uncharacteristically soft, penetrated the fog. You blinked, the world snapping back into sharp, unwelcome focus. He was standing outside, holding your car door open, his tall frame silhouetted by the porch light of Hongjoong’s house. His expression was pure, undiluted worry.
Fuck. You didn’t want to be the cause of that look on his face. You gave a weak, almost imperceptible nod and let him help you out, your legs feeling unsteady on the solid ground.
As you and San started toward the front walk, a sound like a gunshot cracked through the quiet street, a loud slam rumbled behind you.
You both flinched. It was Seonghwa’s car door. He hadn’t just closed it; he’d put the entire force of his silent, boiling fury into it, a violent period at the end of the tense car ride. He didn’t look at you as he strode past, his footsteps heavy on the pavement, leading the way to the door like a soldier marching toward a long-awaited war.
The message was clear: we’ll end this now.
The door swung open before he could knock. Hongjoong stood in the entryway, his sharp eyes sweeping over your pale face, San’s worried frown, and finally landing on Seonghwa. Behind him, Wooyoung hovered, his usual playful energy completely absent, replaced by a tense, coiled stillness. Seeing Seonghwa like this—jaw clenched, eyes dark with a cold fury they'd never witnessed—was deeply unnerving.
They knew the gentle boyfriend, the patient student, the good boy in mass, and the romantic guy. This version was completely different, a man vibrating with a barely-leashed rage, was a terrifying stranger.
"Get in," Hongjoong said, his voice low. No greeting. Just necessity.
The living room was dim, lit by a single floor lamp. The usual casual mess was absent, as if the room itself was holding its breath. You moved automatically to the couch, and Seonghwa sat beside you, his thigh pressing against yours. Not a possessive gesture this time, but an anchor line. You felt untethered, like you might float away or simply dissolve into the awful, shameful images on your phone.
San perched on the arm of a chair, running a hand through his hair. Wooyoung remained standing, arms crossed, eyes darting between you and Seonghwa. Hongjoong took the seat opposite, his gaze fixed on you.
"Talk." He said, the command was quiet but absolute. "What’s going on?"
Seonghwa took a deep, controlled breath, his hand finding yours on the couch and squeezing. It was a grounding pressure. He could feel the fine tremors running through you.
“Someone is blackmailing her.” Seonghwa began, his voice dangerously calm.
“What? Is again that fucking bitch? Because if—” Wooyoung said immediately.
“Not this time.” Seonghwa cut him off, with a firm tone.
“Then who?” San asked.
“His name is Daehyun.” Seonghwa continued, looking at Hongjoong and Wooyoung. “Is someone you know very well.”
Hongjoong frowned, the words not clocking to him “Who are you talking about?”
“The person responsible for the video.” You said in a murmur, your voice cracking at the last word.
You didn't have to explain more, you didn't have to mention what video. They already knew, and you knew it by the way Hongjoong looked directly at you and how Wooyoung passed his fingers through his hair.
“He’s back.” It wasn't a question. “What the fuck does he want? What is he trying to do?”
“This isn't about what he's about to do." Seonghwa said, his voice dangerously calm, each word measured and precise. "It's about what he did years ago, and what he's using to terrorize her now."
He told them. Carefully, deliberately, he laid out the facts without the visceral horror of the video details, focusing on the threat. He explained Daehyun's return, the forced contact, the blackmail. He watched their faces, trying to gauge the explosion point.
Hongjoong's expression didn't change, but a deep cold settled in his eyes, a glacial fury. Wooyoung, however, lost all color. He'd met you in the aftermath of the video's first release. He'd seen the husk you became, the way Yunho's betrayal had almost broken you for good. To hear that the source of that original agony was back, and wielding it like a weapon…
"No," Wooyoung breathed, the word a broken sound. He shook his head, as if he could reject the reality. "That fucking… no. He can't. He can't touch her again."
San was vibrating with a quiet, building rage "The video… that was him?" The pieces clicked violently into place. Mingi's hushed story about Yunho's brutal fight with you, the rumors he'd heard but never connected to a face… it all crystallized into a target. "The one who… who drugged you? That's this Daehyun, Yunho’s classmate?"
You managed a small, stiff nod, your eyes on the floor.
Hongjoong finally spoke, his voice a razor in the quiet "Why are we just hearing about this now? I thought he was abroad.”
You found your voice, though it was thin and frayed "He was. Now he's back. And he's… he's Minseok's older brother."
The silence that followed was the most profound yet. It wasn't calm; it was the split-second of absolute stillness before a detonation.
"What?" The word tore from San, laced with pure disbelief.
"The little church mouse's brother?" Wooyoung’s laugh was hollow, hysterical. "You've been going to his house? Working with him, and you said nothing to us?"
Hongjoong stood up slowly, a predator uncoiling. All traces of the cold were gone, burned away by a white-hot, incandescent rage. The careful control he was known for evaporated.
"He's been in the same house with you. He knows where you live. He's been touching you." The last part wasn't a question; it was a realization that seemed to physically wound him.
Seonghwa’s grip on your hand tightened almost to the point of pain as he watched the explosion he’d been trying to carefully manage erupt in front of him. Hongjoong began pacing, a caged tiger. Wooyoung looked like he wanted to put his fist through a wall. San had his head in his hands, fingers gripping his hair.
They weren't mad at you. There was no blame in their fury, only a terrifying, protective rage on your behalf. But that rage was now directed at a face, a name, and a horrifyingly close proximity.
The enemy wasn't a shadowy figure from the past anymore. He was the brother of the boy who sat next to you in class, whose house you'd just left. The violation felt immediate, personal, and infinitely more dangerous.
The room was no longer holding its breath. It was filling with a storm, and you were at the eye of it, anchored only by Seonghwa’s hand, watching as the men you loved transformed into avengers you hardly recognized.
“We need to end this shit now.” Wooyoung was the first to speak after a moment of silence. “We cant leave this fucking asshole do whatever the fuck he wants.”
“Guys, no—” You started, anxiety running through your veins.
“Not this time, Eunji.” Hongjoong cut your words, a hard look in his eyes. “We can't let this slip again.”
You closed your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips. This is why you didn't want to tell them in the first place. You knew they would want to solve it, you knew they would want to protect you. This was your fight, you had to end things with Daehyun by yourself…
But you were scared. Scared of the possibility that the life you builded after the video changed because of it, again.
A video that you’re not to blame for existing.
“What’s the plan?” San asked Hongjoong, already in for anything.
Hongjoong scanned all of them with an analytical gaze, his mind working with possibilities and strategies to end Daehyun's threat but without harming you in the process. He sighed before sitting back next to Wooyoung.
“Tell him that you would talk with him. Face to face.”
You looked at him in horror. What did he just say?
“What?!” Wooyoung asked, looking at him like he just said the craziest thing.
“Are out of your fucking mind?” San’s tone was deadly cold.
“Let him finish.” Seonghwa commanded, his voice a low rumble of restraint. His arm around your shoulders tightened, a human barricade.
“I know how it sounds, but it's a good idea.” Hongjoong continued, his eyes locked on you, not them. “Lets make him see you in a public space, we will be there, looking from a distance—”
“And then what?” San interrupted, not liking the idea of putting you in such situation with that man. “Leave him do whatever he wants with Eunji? Abusing her verbally and possibly harassing her again? That fucker doesnt know the word respect, Hongjoong.”
Hongjoong, not hyung. He was damn mad.
The image San painted made you flinch, a full-body shudder you couldn’t suppress. Seonghwa felt it and pulled you completely into his side, tucking your head under his chin, wrapping you in the scent and solidity of him.
“I know, but—”
“Hyung, I don't think that's a good idea.” Wooyoung said softly, his head already creating possible scenarios. “Let's not involve her again with him.”
Silence.
There was silence for a couple of minutes, each of them thinking of what was the best to do, but everything just ended involving you. And they hated that. But maybe you needed to take the risk and just end this shit forever. So with a last sigh, your voice cut through the silence.
“Let's do it.”
Four heads swiveled to you. You extricated yourself slightly from Seonghwa’s hold, meeting Hongjoong’s gaze.
“What?” Seonghwa’s voice was raw beside you.
“Yeah, maybe that way will be easier to approach him. But we’ll do it my way.”
“What do you mean?” Hongjoong narrowed his eyes, already suspecting something that they wouldn't approve of.
“I’ll meet him in a public place, I will play my role and I'm pretty sure that he would suggest going somewhere private.”
“No.” San said. “Absolubtly not.”
“And.” You pressed on, your gaze sweeping over each of them. “I’ll go with him.”
A chorus of furious denials erupted, but you held up a hand, your eyes blazing now with a fragile, fierce determination.
“I can handle the rest but..” You looked at Hongjoong, then Wooyoung, then San, finally Seonghwa. “You promise me that you would knock down the fucking door of whatever place he takes me the moment it closes. No waiting, no signal. Don't leave me alone with him.”
The plea in your voice wasn’t just fear; it was a desperate bargain. You were offering up your temporary terror for a chance at permanent peace. You were trusting them with your safety in the lion’s den.
The room was silent again, but this time it was charged with a grim, awful understanding. They hated it. They loathed every step of this plan. San looked sick. Wooyoung’s hands were fists. Seonghwa’s breathing was shallow and controlled, a visible battle against his own protective instincts.
Hongjoong was the first to nod, his expression granite “Not even a second.” It was a vow.
One by one, through clenched jaws and pained eyes, the others gave their own stiff, reluctant nods. They didn’t agree. They surrendered—to your will, to the horrific necessity, and to the terrifying, absolute trust you were placing in them to be your avenging angels in the very heart of hell.
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All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.
Stream Of Sin..
23: A Wolf at the Door.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 10,3k
Synopsis: As ancient threats and fresh betrayals collide, the lines between protector and predator blur under the watchful eyes of saints.
Warnings: Angst, sexual harassment, coercion, graphic sexual remarks and threats of past assault, forced physical contact. Depictions of sexual fantasy and obsessive fixations. Blackmail, threats, emotional and psychological manipulation, gaslighting, public humiliation, verbal abuse, derogatory and misogynistic language, public shaming. Anxiety, paranoia, and mild violence/self-defense.
a/n: Sorry for the late update! I was so busy with work that it took me two weeks to write this, so I hope you enjoy it. Love ya'll ❤️
Series masterlist
Masterlist
Yeosang leaned against his chair with a low groan, his hands flew to his hair in a hard grip that made his scalp hurt.
He just received a notification from your page, you had posted new content. To be more specific, some breathtaking photos. Photos were you showed your beautiful body covered in silk lingerie and cute wings attached to your back.
You didn’t show your face, but fuck. They were stunning—You were stunning. You always were.
He let out another groan full of frustration, his cock pulsing hard against his pants made the whole situation worse because, how is it possible that a pretty thing like you already had a man who worshiped you whenever and wherever you wanted?
He needed you so bad. Fuck. He wanted you so bad.
He asked God every night how much he wanted to be with you, all the things he would give up for you. He didn't ask for much; just you, a room and ten damn minutes.
The present he gave you on your birthday was just a small demonstration of his fascination… maybe a little weird for others but for him, it was perfect. A gift full of promise. Of longing.
He could get even harder just thinking about you wearing the lacy set he chose for you. Damn. He was here thinking about you when you were probably with his hyung.
He didn't hate Seonghwa, of course not. He was his friend. But he admits that he was a little jealous of him.. even jealous of Jongho.
Now that he thought about it. How did Jongho manage to get close to you like that? He could have expected from San, even from Mingi… Well, Mingi more likely after he saw you kissing him at Yunho's birthday party.
But Jongho? Never crossed his mind.
Since he discovered that you were his Holy JiJi, he couldn't stop thinking about the men you record with. He's noticed that they are different people, they even have their own fanbase on your page… Who were they? Did Seonghwa know? Yunho?
Hell, he had a lot of questions and he could answer them just by asking you, but he didn't want to reveal his identity, or yours either. The fact that he knew who you were added more suspense to his dirtiest fantasies.
His eyes moved to the screen of his laptop again, scanning your pretty form in the photo, he hissed in discomfort as he rubbed softly his aching cock, but he couldn't touch himself, he would not do it.
Not because he was the good prude boy everyone trusted on, but because now that he knows Holy JiJi's real identity, he wanted to wait until he could have you.
The only thought of that made him bite his lower lip in ecstasy. He could wait a whole life if he’ll have you at the end.
And he was willing to wait.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
“Are you feeling okay, Eunji?” Minseok asked, his tone light but with a flick of worry.
You two were in the library since first period, Sister Beatrice letting the class to work on their projects until lunch break before returning to the normal class curriculum.
And you've been feeling off since yesterday, numb with the thought of that bastard back in town.
You haven't told anyone, and you didn’t plan to. Not because you didn't trust them, but because you didn't want to be involved with Daehyun again. You'll be fine if you avoid him, there's nothing to be worried about.
Or that was what you wanted to believe.
You looked at him, offering a soft smile “Of course, just a bit overwhelmed with all this stuff.”
Minseok ate that lie immediately, he nodded as he laughed softly “Projects like these are always hard.”
You didn’t answer, you just gave him a tight smile before returning your task finding articles online.
After a couple of minutes, the focused work that you were doing was interrupted by a voice you knew too well.
“You look tense, honey. Let's take a break.”
You sighed, your stare focused on the screen of your iPad “No, thank you.”
Wooyoung grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief “Oh, come on! Even Minseok looks like he needs a break.” He pointed at the boy who looked at him confused. “Don't you, holy spirit?”
“Woo.” You warned him.
But he was Jung Wooyoung, he didn't care about warnings. So without giving you a chance to react, he grabbed your arm and pulled you up in a quick movement that almost made you trip on your feet.
“Yah!” You yelped, frowning, and already giving Minseok an apologetic look as you followed Wooyoung’s steps. “Jung Wooyoung!”
Wooyoung didn’t stop until he’d pulled you to the end of the last bookshelf in the library, to that place that no one visited. The one with outdated encyclopedias and forgotten yearbooks. Sunlight struggled through the high, grimy windows, casting long, dramatic shadows.
He didn’t let go, steering you until your back met the solid wood of a towering, empty bookshelf in a secluded corner. He caged you in with his arms, his playful grin softening into something more searching.
“Okay, talk.” He said, his voice losing its teasing edge. “You’ve been off since this morning. And don’t give me that ‘overwhelmed’ crap you fed the Holy Spirit back there. I know your overwhelmed face. This is different. This is… numb.”
You tried to look away, but he caught your chin gently, forcing your gaze back to his. The concern in his dark eyes was almost worse than the teasing. It threatened to crack the icy control you were clinging to.
“It’s nothing, Woo. Really. Just… family stuff.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.
“Family stuff that makes your eyes go all flat and scary?” He brushed a thumb under your eye, as if he could wipe away the shadows. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m not just here for the fun parts.” He pouted, but it was a sincere pout. “I’m your friend, too. Your best friend.”
Your heart squeezed. You did know. But the words about Daehyun felt like poison on your tongue, too ugly to speak into existence here, in Wooyoung’s space. Speaking it would make it real in a new, terrifying way.
So you deflected. You leaned into his touch, offering a small, genuine smile.
“I know. And you’re an annoying, dramatic best friend. I’m just… tired of it all. That’s all.”
He searched your face for a long moment, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He wasn’t fully convinced, but he let it drop, shifting gears with a seamless grace only he possessed.
“Fine. Keep your secrets.” He sighed, feigning exasperation. “But if you’re tired, I know just the thing to wake you up.” His voice dropped to a purr as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a ghost of a kiss. “I’ve been dying, you know. Watching you play the good little student with Minseok all week. It’s torture. I miss you.”
“It’s been three days.” You murmured against his mouth, but you were already melting into him, your hands coming up to curl in the fabric of his blazer.
His presence, his familiar scent, his overwhelming Wooyoung-ness was a balm, chasing back the cold dread for a precious moment.
“Three days too long.” He insisted, capturing your lips properly this time.
The kiss started soft, a reassurance, but quickly deepened into something hungrier, more possessive. His tongue swept into your mouth, and you met him with equal fervor, a silent communication of need and comfort that words could never achieve.
After a few breathless minutes, he broke the kiss, trailing his lips down your jaw to your neck, nipping lightly.
“Those photos you posted…” He breathed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Holy fuck, Eunji. I haven’t been able to think straight since I saw them. Made me want to ditch duties, find you, and worship you for hours. Like, right here. Right now.” His hips pressed against yours, leaving no doubt about his own state of arousal.
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound strange and freeing in the dusty quiet “Wooyoung, it’s the middle of the day. In school.”
“So?” He grinned, wicked and unrepentant. “No one comes here. It’s been… What, four days since Saturday? That’s basically a lifetime.” He kissed you again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. “I need you, baby. Badly.”
For a few more stolen minutes, you let yourself get lost in him. In the heat of his mouth, the clever slide of his hands, the way he could make the world shrink to just this dark corner and the two of you. It was a potent distraction, a temporary erasure of everything else.
But reality, stubborn and cold, began to seep back in. The fight with Yunho. Daehyun back in town. The project. Minseok waiting, probably worried. The fact that you couldn’t hide here forever.
You gently pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss with a final, soft peck “We have to go back.” You whispered, resting your forehead against his. “Sister Beatrice will send a search party. And Minseok… I can’t just abandon him.”
Wooyoung groaned, resting his head on your shoulder in defeat “Ugh. Fine. But this isn’t over.” He pulled back, fixing your hair and your uniform with a practiced, possessive care. “Tonight. My house. My parents are away. You’re mine.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a promise, one you felt in your bones. But you were sure that you wouldn't show up. Not right now. Not today.
“Yeah.” You lied, your voice steadier than it had been all day. “Tonight.”
He gave you one last, searing kiss, then grabbed your hand, pulling you back towards the main library. As you stepped out of the dark corner and into the bright, sterile light of the library hallway, the world rushed back in. But for now, the cold numbness had receded, because you knew that you weren't alone.
—
The lunchroom din was a distant, muffled roar. Yunho stared at the untouched tray of food in front of him, his fork pushing a piece of carrot around in a slow, mindless circle. The voices of his friends—were they still his friends?—blended into a meaningless hum around him.
Ann was nestled against his side, chatting brightly with Yeosang about some upcoming test. She’d been extra attentive, extra sweet since last night. Her hand was a warm, possessive weight on his arm. It felt like a brand.
Across the table, San was laughing at something Mingi said, his smile easy, his posture relaxed. Too relaxed. Yunho’s gaze tracked over to Jongho, who was eating methodically, his eyes fixed on his own tray, avoiding everyone’s gaze. Especially his.
Campus whore.
The words he’d hurled at you echoed in his skull, not with the righteous heat of last night, but with a slow, sickening chill. They felt ugly and foreign in his own mind. He’d said them. He’d looked at his sister—his little sister, who’d clung to him after nightmares, who he’d sworn to protect—and he’d called her that.
He’d stayed in your room long after you’d left, the ghost of your cold, defiant smile hanging in the air. The silence had been deafening. It had given the rage time to cool and curdle into something else: a deep, gnawing doubt.
What if Ann is lying?
The thought was a treacherous worm, eating away at the foundation of his certainty. He’d believed her so completely. The story had fit a pattern he’d already been fearing. Your sudden integration into his circle, the way his friends seemed drawn to your orbit.
It made a horrible, convenient sense.
But now, in the harsh fluorescent light of the cafeteria, the edges of that story felt… sharp. Manufactured. Ann had delivered it with trembling lips and tear-bright eyes, a perfect performance of reluctant betrayal. But had it been too perfect?
He stole a glance at her profile. Sweet, devout Ann.
His eyes flicked to San again. His friend. The one who always chased a good time, who was all fire and impulse. Could he see San being with you? Unfortunately, yes. The chemistry between you two during the years had been palpable, a spark even Yunho had been forced to acknowledge.
But did that make it true? Or was it just easy to believe because San was… San?
And Jongho. Choi Jongho.
That was the one that truly didn’t fit. Steady, stoic, fiercely loyal Jongho. The one who valued honor and discretion above all. The idea of him sneaking around, kissing you behind his back… it felt like a fundamental break in the universe.
Jongho wouldn’t. Unless… Unless the pull toward you was something stronger than loyalty to a friend. The thought made Yunho feel violently ill.
He looked at Seonghwa’s empty seat. Seonghwa, who was probably in the library or with you. The most painful defection of all. The one that had first signaled something was deeply wrong in his world.
What is wrong with them? What is wrong with you?
The question spiraled. Was it them? Or was it him? Had he pushed them all toward you with his own stubbornness, his own refusal to bridge the chasm he himself had created?
He’d expected this from no one. He’d been blindsided. But the weapon he’d chosen… the vile, hateful words… they were his alone. He’d become the thing he hated: the judgmental voice in the hallways, the person who looked at his sister and saw a label instead of a person.
“Hey, you okay? You’ve been quiet.”
Mingi’s voice cut through his spiral. Ann’s grip on his arm tightened slightly.
“Hmm? Yeah. Fine. Just tired,” Yunho mumbled, forcing a weak smile that felt like a crack in his facade.
He caught Jongho looking at him then, just for a fleeting second. There was no guilt in Jongho’s eyes. No defiance. Just a deep, weary concern that was somehow worse. It was the look of someone watching a train wreck in slow motion, powerless to stop it.
What if it’s not true?
The doubt grew. What if he’d let Ann’s jealousy and his own insecurities paint a target on your back? Again. What if he’d just repeated the worst mistake of his life, based on the words of a girl who’d been around just for a little while?
He’d told you, you were exactly what everyone said you were. But standing by Ann right now, surrounded by friends who felt like strangers, choking on his own regret, Yunho was struck by a terrifying thought:
What if he was exactly what everyone said he was? The brother who failed. The friend who couldn’t see the truth. The guy who always, always believed the worst.
The salad turned to ash in his mouth. He had no appetite. He had no peace. All he had was a cold, growing dread in the pit of his stomach, and the haunting image of your ice-calm face as you walked away from him, leaving him standing alone in the wreckage of everything you once were.
✮
For the first time since you started dating Seonghwa, you were standing outside his classroom. Usually, he was the one picking you up from your classroom to walk out together, but today you needed to be the one moving toward something, or rather, away from everything else.
You wanted to go out with him today, you needed some fresh air, something to clear your mind after what happened yesterday.
You leaned against the wall, arms crossed as you looked around. The hallway bustled with the chaotic energy of dismissal, but you felt insulated, wrapped in a layer of static. You needed noise that wasn’t the echo of Yunho’s accusations or the phantom sensation of Daehyun’s predatory gaze. You needed the quiet, focused sanctuary of Seonghwa’s presence.
But this hallway was a minefield. This was Yunho’s classroom, too. Your eyes darted anxiously, scanning the stream of students for a familiar, hated profile. You couldn’t see him. Not now.
“Angel?”
You almost sight with relief the moment you heard Seonghwa's voice. You turned, and the tightness in your chest loosened a fraction at the sight of him. Seonghwa emerged, his expression shifting from mild surprise to soft concern as he took in your stance, the faint tension around your eyes. A smile, small but genuine, touched your lips.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, closing the distance. His hands found your waist, drawing you into the circle of his arms with a practiced ease that felt like home “I was about to go get you.”
“Wanted to pick you up today.” You said, sliding your arms around his neck, seeking his solid warmth. “You’re my passenger princess, remember?”
Seonghwa chuckled, a soft vibration against you. He leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip of your nose “Love being your passenger princess, baby. But today I can't."
“Why not?” The pout was almost instant. You’d been clinging to the idea of an escape with him.
He sighed, a weary sound you felt more than heard “Today is my turn to do chapel duty.”
“Oh no…” The disappointment was a tangible weight. You buried your face briefly in his shoulder before tilting your head up. “Wanted to have a coffee date with you.”
Seonghwa groaned, letting his forehead rest against yours in a mock-tantrum “Fuck, I really want that date with you, angel.”
“So sad you’re stuck with me, pretty boy.”
The new voice, dry and laced with amusement, came from behind Seonghwa. You peeked from his shoulder to see Hongjoong leaning against the classroom doorframe, his typical sly smirk playing on his lips. A different kind of warmth, spicier and more familiar, flickered inside you.
“Babe, you too?” You asked him with a new pout.
“Yeah.” Hongjoong confirmed, pushing off the frame to step closer. “First time we’re going to something together since he joined our holy group.”
You sagged slightly against Seonghwa “Well, I guess I need to find someone else to hang out with, then.”
Seonghwa was about to say something, but Hongjoong was faster. His eyes, sharp and knowing, held yours.
“I’m pretty sure Wooyoung wants to spend time with you right now, pretty.”
The offer was a kindness, a life raft. But the energy it required to engage with his vibrant, demanding affection suddenly felt beyond you. The thought of pretending, of performing normalcy for even his beloved chaos, made your soul feel tired.
“Yeah… maybe.” You said, the words lacking conviction. You stretched up to give Seonghwa a soft, lingering kiss, pouring a silent apology into it. “Good luck with the dust doves.” You turned and gave Hongjoong a quicker peck, a ghost of your usual fire. “Don’t let him work too hard, Joong.”
“Never.” Hongjoong murmured, his smirk softening into something more perceptive as he watched you.
You forced a final smile and turned away, the echoes of their presence fading as you merged back into the hallway crowd.
The impulse to seek solace had been neatly, cruelly, thwarted. The static in your head returned, louder now, underscored by a deep, hollow numbness. The confrontation with Yunho, the terrifying reappearance of Daehyun, it all congealed into a heavy sludge in your veins.
You didn't want coffee anymore. You didn't want chatter. You didn't even want the comforting, complicated embrace of your other relationships.
You just wanted to stop.
The drive home was silent. The house was empty. You climbed the stairs to your room, the steps feeling steeper than usual. Closing the door behind you, you engaged the lock with a soft, definitive click.
The world was shut out.
You didn’t change out of your uniform. You didn’t put on music. You simply let your bag slide from your shoulder to the floor and then let yourself fall onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.
The numbness was a relief, at first. It was better than the fear, better than the rage, better than the crushing weight of betrayal. But it was a barren landscape. You felt anchorless, untethered from the girl who schemed and loved and fought with such fierce determination. That girl felt like a story you’d read about someone else.
Daehyun’s face floated behind your eyelids. The smug recognition. The promised “talk soon.” It wasn’t just a threat from the past; it was a virus reintroduced to your present, threatening to corrupt every new thing you’d built.
And Yunho… he had handed him the ammunition.
You pulled the comforter over yourself, not for warmth, but for the sensation of a boundary, however flimsy, between you and everything else. You didn’t cry. The tears were frozen somewhere deep inside the numbness. You just lay there, listening to the frantic, silent racing of your own heart in the too-quiet room, feeling the walls of your sanctuary feeling less like protection and more like the first layer of a very deep, very cold tomb.
✮
The atmosphere in the chapel was different when it wasn't a punishment. Quieter, more methodical. The late afternoon sun slanted through the stained glass, painting the dust motes in saints' robes of red and blue.
Yunho worked in stern silence near the baptismal font, polishing the brass with a focus that was almost violent. He hadn't chosen this duty; it had been an administrative swap, a cruel twist of fate that placed him in the same sacred space as the two people who now felt like walking indictments.
Seonghwa and San were across the nave, carefully rearranging hymnbooks in the pews. They worked close together, their communication a series of quiet looks and subtle gestures born of long familiarity.
A familiarity that now made Yunho's stomach clench.
Hongjoong and Wooyoung were near the altar, tasked with checking the candle supplies. Wooyoung, ever observant, nudged Hongjoong with his elbow, his voice a bare whisper.
"Hey. Do you feel that?"
Hongjoong didn't look up from the box of votive candles "The holy spirit?"
"The holy tension, more like." Wooyoung muttered, his eyes flicking between Yunho's rigid back and the two boys across the way. "Golden boy number one over there is radiating enough bad vibes to sour the holy water. And he hasn't said a word to Hwa or Sannie since we got here. Aren't they best friends or some shit like that?"
Hongjoong finally glanced over. He saw the way Yunho deliberately kept his back turned, the way his shoulders were hunched up near his ears. He saw San try to catch Yunho's eye with a hesitant, questioning look, only for Yunho to turn sharply away as if burned.
"Yeah," Hongjoong said softly, a grim understanding settling in. "I see it."
The breaking point came when a first-year student, nervous and juggling a pile of worn leather Bibles, stumbled near Yunho's station. The books tumbled from his arms with a series of heavy thumps.
San, who was closest, immediately moved to help.
"Whoa, easy there!" He said, his voice warm and reassuring as he knelt to gather the books.
He stacked them neatly and looked up at Yunho, who had frozen, watching the interaction with a hard, unreadable expression.
"Hey, man. You got that other pile? We can redistribute them to the—"
"Don't." Yunho's voice cut through the chapel quiet, sharp and cold as shattered marble.
San froze on his knees, looking up in confusion "What?"
"I said don't." Yunho didn't move to help. He just stared down at San, his eyes dark with a mixture of betrayal and disgust. "I'll handle it. You just… focus on your own task."
The words were innocuous on the surface, but the delivery was pure ice. It wasn't about the Bibles. It was a dismissal, a rejection of San's very presence.
San slowly stood, the helpful smile wiped from his face, replaced by a wary stiffness. He didn't say anything else, just handed the stack to the flustered first-year and walked back to Seonghwa, his jaw tight.
Seonghwa had watched the entire exchange, his hands still on a hymnbook. His gentle eyes were wide with dawning, painful comprehension. He met San's glance, and a silent conversation passed between them.
He knows.
Across the chapel, Wooyoung let out a low, almost inaudible whistle "Damn. That was… personal."
"He isn't just mad." Hongjoong murmured, his gaze analytical. "Betrayed. He looks at them like they stole something from him."
Seonghwa, ever the peacemaker, the one who felt conflict like a physical wound, decided to try. He finished his row and walked calmly toward the baptismal font, picking up a clean rag.
"Yunho." He said, his voice low and gentle, meant only for them. "The brass looks good. Do you need another cloth? I have some extra polish if—"
"Just drop it, Seonghwa."
Yunho didn't even look at him. He continued scrubbing a spotless area of the font, his knuckles white around the cloth.
"Yunho—"
"Don't." Yunho interrupted again, finally turning his head.
The look he gave Seonghwa wasn't just angry; it was profoundly hurt. It was the look of someone who had trusted a fortress to guard his most vulnerable flank, only to find the gates wide open for the enemy.
"Don't say another word. You don't get to use that calm, reasonable voice with me. Not anymore. Just… stay away from me."
The finality in his tone was devastating. Seonghwa recoiled as if struck. He had braced for anger, but the raw, personal hurt was worse. He simply nodded, once, a sharp, pained motion, and retreated.
Wooyoung exchanged another look with Hongjoong. The playful glint was gone from his eyes, replaced by something harder.
"Ann." He whispered, the name a curse.
Hongjoong gave a single, grim nod. The puzzle pieces snapped together with terrible clarity. Yunho's cold fury now directed with surgical precision at San and Seonghwa… Ann had finally played her card. She had told him. And Yunho, in his hurt and his pride, had chosen to believe her.
The chapel duty continued in a thick, suffocating silence. The sacred space was now divided by an invisible, bitter wall.
On one side, Yunho, polishing his rage into a cold, hard shield. On the other, San and Seonghwa, moving through their tasks with a heavy, shared weight, feeling the foundation of a years-long friendship crack and crumble beneath their feet, under the judgmental gaze of saints who offered no absolution.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
You looked at your dad, searching for help but he just shrugged as he looked at his wife. She had the last word in this. After all, it was a gathering with her church friends, not his.
“Why not? We can be in dad's studio or even in my room.” You added, giving your mother possible solutions to this problem called ‘avoiding Minseok's place and brother.’
“Eunji, no.” She said in a definitive tone. “This dinner is very important, you can invite him another day, or you can go to his place after you stay a little with the guest.”
“Mom—”
“I already gave you options.” She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. The quiet steel in it was immovable. “Choose one.”
You sighed defeated as you grabbed your phone to send Minseok a quick message saying that you would be at his place later.
“Fine, I'll go to his place.” The words were a low murmur but your mom heard it. “We have a lot of stuff to do to let it for another day.”
“Perfect.” The victory in her voice was a bland, domestic note. She clapped her hands once, a signal that the discussion was done. “Now, go and put on something decent, the guest will expect to see a young lady in this house.”
You just rolled your eyes, but your mind was already running with possible scenarios where Joo Daehyun was the protagonist.
—
The dinner was an exercise in polite agony. You smiled, you nodded, you answered questions about your studies with monosyllabic grace until the guests lost interest. The moment you were released, you fled to your car. You didn't bother to change your clothes, not if you were going to face the devil.
You were wearing tailored dress pants and a soft, pretty jacket your mother had approved. Not too far from your style, but more ‘decent’ like your mother said earlier.
The drive over was soundtracked by your own ragged sighs, each one a failed attempt to expel the coiled anxiety. As you stood in front of the main door, the hundredth sigh fell from your lips, an easier way to control your mind than smoking it away. Fuck, a joint would be helpful right now. But you were here to do school work, a high state wouldn't be good right now even if your body screamed for it.
You needed every sense on high alert.
You knocked twice, the sound too loud in the quiet street. The door opened almost immediately, a smiling Minseok greeted you, and seeing him welcoming you made you sigh in relief.
“Good afternoon, Eunji.” He said softly, stepping aside. “Your message surprised me a little.”
“Yeah, sorry for that.” You apologized, stepping quickly over the threshold, your eyes scanning with paranoia. “My mom ruined our plans.”
He chuckled softly, closing the door behind him “No no, it's okay. I was just reviewing my notes anyway.”
You followed him upstairs, your tension easing incrementally with each step that took you farther from the common areas. His room was exactly as you’d imagined. Neat, organized, shelves lined with books and a few tasteful models. It smelled like clean linen and old paper.
A safe harbor.
“Make yourself comfortable.” He said, gesturing to a small, clear space on his desk before taking his own chair.
But the desk felt too formal, too much like the stressful day you were trying to outrun. Without overthinking it, you kicked off your shoes, placed your laptop carefully to the side, and let yourself fall back onto his bed with a soft groan. You stretched out, staring at the ceiling for a moment before propping yourself up on your elbows to open your laptop.
The reaction from Minseok was instantaneous and priceless. A soft, choked sound escaped him. His eyes went wide, his ears tinged a brilliant, transparent pink. He quickly swiveled his chair to face his desk, clearing his throat as if he’d swallowed wrong.
The girl he quietly admired was not just in his room, but on his bed. The sheer, innocent intimacy of it short-circuited his careful composure.
“Is… is the bed okay?” He stammered, unable to look at you directly.
“It’s perfect.” You sighed, the genuine comfort finally seeping into your bones. “My back was killing me from sitting at that dinner table. Do you mind?”
“N-No! Not at all! Please, be comfortable!” He said, the words rushing out. He fumbled with his phone. “Um, would you like some music? Just something soft in the background?”
“That would be great.”
A moment later, the gentle strains of an acoustic indie playlist filled the room, dissolving the last of the awkwardness. He ventured a glance back at you, saw you focused on your screen, a calm concentration on your face, and his panic melted into a shy, fond warmth.
A little while later, he returned from a quick trip downstairs with a tray: two glasses of lemonade, a bowl of sliced fruit, and a plate of hoddeok still warm from the pan.
“A snack.” He said softly, setting it on the nightstand within your reach.
“You’re a lifesaver, Minseok.” You said, offering him a real, grateful smile. The first one all day that wasn’t a performance.
Time began to slip away in a comfortable, productive rhythm. You asked him to clarify an article section; he read a beautifully written paragraph from his draft aloud for your opinion. You shared facts you’d found, debating their relevance with a playful earnestness that made him laugh—a real, unguarded sound. The music played, the lemonade grew cool, and the peaceful cocoon of his room, with its soft lamplight and shared purpose, wove a spell around you.
For the first time since you’d seen him, your shoulders fully relaxed. The hyper-vigilance faded into a gentle, focused hum. You were just Eunji, working on a project with her kind, smart friend Minseok. The world outside, with its Anns and Yunhos and lurking demons, ceased to exist.
You forgot, completely and utterly, that you were in the wolf’s den. You only felt, for a precious stretch of time, safe.
—
Your phone buzzed again, for the fifth time in a minute, and you already knew who it was without looking at it.
“Minseok, can I use your bathroom?” You asked him softly, already getting up off the bed and scooping up your phone.
“Of course.” He stood politely, ready to guide you.
You scanned the room, hoping to spot an en-suite door. You didn’t want to walk through this house alone.
“You don't have one here.” You asked, anxiety threading your voice.
A soft, self-deprecating smile touched his lips “My parents aren't as wealthy as yours to give me an en-suite bathroom, your majesty.” He nudged your shoulder playfully.
“Hey, don't say that!” You retorted, nudging him back, the brief exchange easing your nerves slightly.
“Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”
He led the way, and in a gesture of pure, unconscious chivalry, his hand reached back and took yours—a soft, steadying grasp to guide you through the dim hallway. You were too preoccupied with your buzzing phone to notice, and he was too focused on not stumbling over his own feet. But from the shadowed recess at the far end of the hall, a pair of watching eyes noted the joined hands with cold interest.
“Here.” Minseok said, releasing your hand as you reached the bathroom door. He offered that gentle smile again, the one that somehow reminded you of Seonghwa’s kindness. “I’ll wait in my room.”
You nodded, slipping inside and closing the door with a soft but definitive click. The moment you were alone, you sagged against the cool tile wall, the day’s false calm evaporating. You opened the chat lighting up your screen with the name of the only person that was nagging for days.
Sannie: Hi, princess. Sannie: What are you doing tonight? Wanna hang out? Sannie: My treat, baby! Sannie: Princess? Sannie: Please let me apologize properly, babe. It's been days!
You scoffed, a sound of exhausted frustration, and hit the call button. He picked up after two rings.
“Princess, hi!” His voice was all relief and tentative hope.
“What do you want now?” You sighed, the weariness in your tone real, even as a traitorous smile touched your lips at the sound of his voice.
“You calling me is a sign of forgiveness, right?”
The tone of his voice made you roll your eyes.
“No.” Lie. “I’m busy working and you’re practically blowing up my phone. If you have something to say, just say it.”
The sigh in the other line showed you how frustrated San was with this whole situation. Good. He deserved it.
“Babe, I just want to talk with you. Properly apologize for what happened that day. Please.” He begged. The raw plea in his voice, so unlike San’s usual bravado, tugged at you.
You let the silence stretch, letting him hang in it. Truthfully, the sharp edge of your anger had dulled—replaced by a deeper ache of hurt. And after the brutal “punishment” Hongjoong had administered, part of you felt the scales had tipped.
“Okay.” You sighed, the word a soft concession. “I’ll tell you when, right now I'm busy.”
“Thank you!” He yelped in excitement. “Thank you so much, princess. I promise I’ll make it up to you!”
“All right.” You cut in, and hung up before his gratitude could weave any more spells around your resolve.
You stayed in the bathroom a few minutes longer, using the solitude to center yourself. You answered a sweet check-in text from Seonghwa, a more cryptic ‘You good?’ from Hongjoong, and sent a laughing emoji in reply to a ridiculous video from Wooyoung. The glow from the high window had faded to deep blue. You’d been working on that damn project for hours.
Sending a final heart emoji to Seonghwa, you locked your phone, flicked off the light, and reached for the doorknob.
The door was wrenched open from the outside before you could turn it. A powerful force shoved you back into the dark bathroom. A hand—large, unyielding—clamped over your mouth, stifling your gasp.
“Shhh.”
A voice hissed, low and intimately familiar. It slithered into your ears and down your spine, freezing your blood.
“Let’s have a little talk, yeah?”
You didn’t need to see him. Your body knew. The scent of his cologne, the imposing height, the terrifying stillness of his hold—Joo Daehyun.
Here. With you. Alone.
He felt you go rigid, the fight leaching out of you under the shock. A soft, satisfied chuckle ghosted past your ear. He released your mouth and flicked the light switch on.
You blinked against the sudden glare, your vision swimming before sharpening on him. He leaned against the closed door, blocking your only exit, his gaze a slow, violating sweep from your head to your toes. A smile played on his lips—not warm, but acquisitive.
“Look at you, Eunji.” He murmured, the words sticky with false admiration. “Even more beautiful up close.”
He reached out, fingers aiming to brush your cheek. You jerked your head back, slapping his hand away with a sharpness that surprised even you.
“Do you need something? I have work to do.”
He laughed, the sound hollow “Are you and my little brother more than study buddies?”
“What?”
“I saw him holding your hand. Quite tender.”
“He’s my friend. And I have a boyfriend.” You injected every ounce of frost you could muster into the word.
His smile didn’t falter; it tightened.
“Boyfriend?” The word sounded foreign and distasteful in his mouth. He took a step closer, shrinking the tiled room. “That’s a shame. I was hoping you’d… matured past needing just one.”
Revulsion coiled in your stomach. You lifted your chin “If you don’t have anything important to say, let me out.”
“Important?” He closed the final distance, his body now a wall in front of you. One hand came up, not to strike, but to trace a possessive line down the side of your neck. You stood statue-still, every muscle screaming. “I think our history is important. Don’t you remember it? I certainly do. Every detail.”
His breath was hot against your temple.
“I remember how pliant you were. So quiet. It was… sweet. But a little boring.” His fingers tangled in a strand of your hair, tugging it gently. “I’ve often thought about a repeat performance. This time, though… I’d want you awake. I’d want to see those pretty eyes of yours aware. Seeing me.”
Nausea, sharp and acrid, rose in your throat. The room seemed to tilt. This was no longer just a threat; it was a vivid, psychopathic fantasy he was painting for you.
The fear was paralyzing, but beneath it, a hotter, fiercer emotion ignited—a rage born of every self-defense lesson from Hongjoong, every sharp-tongued retort cultivated beside Wooyoung. You were not the drugged, helpless girl from his past.
“You’re fucking sick.” You spat, your voice a low, venomous tremor. “And you’re a coward. You only get off on it when someone can’t fight back.”
His eyes darkened, but to your horror, your defiance didn’t cow him—it excited him. A flicker of something manic lit his gaze.
“There’s that fire. I knew it was in there. It makes it so much better.”
That was your cue. This had to end now. As his other hand snaked toward your waist, you acted. You brought your knee up hard and fast, not aiming for his groin—he’d expect that—but stomping down sharply on his instep with the heel of your shoe. At the same time, you shoved both palms hard against his chest, putting your full weight into it.
He grunted in surprise, more from the audacity than the pain, stumbling back a step against the door. It was all the opening you needed. You yanked the door open and burst into the hallway, not running, but walking with a speed that was just short of a sprint, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
You didn’t look back. You beelined for Minseok’s room, slipping inside and closing the door softly behind you, leaning against it as if to barricade it with your body.
Minseok looked up from his desk, his smile fading as he took in your face. You were pale, your breathing just a touch too controlled.
“Eunji? Is everything okay?”
You forced a laugh, thin and brittle “Yeah, sorry. That was Seonghwa on the phone, he had some family… thing. An emergency. I have to go right away.”
“Oh! Of course.” He said, immediately concerned and standing up. “Is he okay? Do you need a ride?”
“No, no, I’m fine. I’ll drive. I’m so sorry to cut this short.” You were already gathering your things with frantic efficiency, your movements slightly jerky. “We got so much done, thank you. I’ll… text you later.”
You were out of his room and down the stairs before he could properly respond, your polite mask firmly in place until you crossed the threshold of the front door. The moment the cool night air hit your face, the facade shattered. A violent shudder wracked your body.
You didn’t run to your car. You fled. And the only thought in your mind, the only safe harbor in the suddenly terrifying night, was the desperate need to be in Seonghwa’s arms.
—
The cool night air did nothing to calm the frantic pulse thrumming beneath your skin. The drive to Seonghwa’s house was a blur of streetlights and white-knuckled focus. You didn’t think. You just navigated on instinct, your body operating on the single, primal directive:
Find Seonghwa. Find safety.
You stood on his doorstep, the bravado you’d mustered to escape Minseok’s house completely gone, leaving you feeling hollow and shaky. You rang the bell before you could second-guess showing up unannounced.
The door opened, revealing Seonghwa in soft lounge pants and a simple t-shirt, his hair slightly mussed as if he’d been reading. His face shifted from mild curiosity to gentle surprise, and then, as his eyes scanned yours, to deep, quiet concern.
“Angel?” He said, his voice a soft welcome. He didn’t ask why you were there. He simply opened the door wider.
You didn’t answer with words. You stepped forward, crossed the threshold, and walked directly into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and burying your face against the soft cotton. You inhaled the familiar, clean scent of him—fabric softener and his sweet cologne—and finally, the first fragile thread of safety began to weave itself back around you.
Seonghwa’s arms came around you without hesitation, one hand cradling the back of your head. He held you firmly, letting you anchor yourself against him. He felt the fine tremor running through you, the way you clutched at his shirt.
“Hey, baby.” He murmured into your hair, his voice a low, soothing vibration. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
After a long moment, you managed to speak, your voice muffled against his chest “Missed you. Just… need cuddles tonight. Is that okay?”
He pulled back just enough to look down at you. His gaze was soft but perceptive, seeing the shadows behind your eyes, the tension in your jaw you couldn’t quite release. He didn’t press. He never did.
“Always.” He promised, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “You never have to ask.”
He kept an arm around your shoulders as he guided you inside. His parents were in the living room, watching something on the TV. You offered a small, polite bow and a strained but genuine smile.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Park. Sorry for intruding so late.”
Seonghwa’s mother, ever kind, waved a dismissive hand “Nonsense, Eunji. You’re always welcome. You look tired, sweetheart. Hwa, take care of her.”
“I will, Mom.”
With a final grateful nod, you let Seonghwa lead you upstairs to his room. It was pristine as always, soft lamplight casting a warm glow over the neat shelves and made bed. It was a space of order and calm, the antithesis of the chaotic terror you’d just escaped. He closed the door softly behind you.
Without a word, he went to his dresser, pulled out one of his own soft, worn sweatshirts, and handed it to you.
“Here. Get comfortable.”
You changed in his connected bathroom, the oversized fabric swallowing you, smelling overwhelmingly of him. When you emerged, he had already turned down the comforter on his bed. The soft glow of his bedside lamp was the only light.
You climbed in first, and he followed, immediately opening his arms. You slotted yourself against him, your head on his chest, your leg hooked over his. He pulled the comforter over both of you, creating a warm, dark cocoon. His arms encircled you, one hand resting securely on your back, the other lifting to gently, rhythmically stroke your hair.
He didn’t press. He didn’t fill the silence with empty questions. He just held you, his heartbeat a steady, reassuring drum under your ear. With every slow pass of his hand through your hair, every soft kiss he placed on your forehead, the jagged edges of the fear began to soften.
The memory of Daehyun’s touch was overwritten by Seonghwa’s gentle, protective warmth. The oppressive silence of Minseok’s hallway was replaced by the safe, quiet rhythm of Seonghwa’s breathing.
“You’re safe here, angel.” He murmured into your hair, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “However bad it was… you’re safe now. Just sleep. I’ve got you.”
And you believed him. The tension finally bled from your shoulders. The frantic pace of your thoughts slowed, lulled by the certainty of his embrace. You nuzzled closer, a soft sigh escaping you—the first truly relaxed breath you’d taken since you’d stepped into that bathroom.
As your breathing evened out, drifting toward sleep, Seonghwa kept his vigil. His gentle pats never ceased. But his eyes, soft as they were while watching you, held a protective sharpness. Once he was sure you were asleep, he carefully extracted his arm and reached for his phone on the nightstand. His movements were slow so as not to disturb you.
His thumbs moved quietly over the screen, searching Hongjoong’s chat.
Hwa: Eunji is with me. Something happened tonight. Hwa: She’s okay, but she’s shaken. Didn’t tell me what.
He sent the message and placed the phone back on silent, and immediately gathered you back into his arms, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your temple.
Tomorrow, he would ask. Tomorrow, he would need to know what monster had dared to scare you so deeply that you’d run to him wordlessly. Tomorrow, the gentle protector would need to become something else.
But for tonight, his only duty was to be your harbor. And as he felt you finally sink into a deep sleep, safe in the circle of his arms, he held on a little tighter, determined to keep every shadow at bay until the dawn.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
The cafeteria noise was a dull roar, a familiar white noise that usually felt like camouflage. Today, it felt like a wall you were hiding behind. You pushed a piece of meat around your tray, your appetite nonexistent.
The energy at your table was tense, a silent storm brewing beneath the surface of casual conversation. It had been since you’d sat down.
Wooyoung kept shooting you worried glances he tried to mask with exaggerated bites of food. San’s usual boisterousness was subdued, his leg bouncing anxiously under the table. Seonghwa sat beside you, a solid, quiet presence, his arm resting on the back of your chair in a way that was both possessive and protective. Hongjoong sat across from you, his sharp eyes missing nothing as he slowly ate his rice.
It was San who finally broke, unable to bear the quiet.
“So.” He started, his voice uncharacteristically tentative. “Hwa got a text from Joong last night. Said you showed up pretty shaken up.”
All eyes turned to you.
Wooyoung leaned forward “Yeah, babe. What happened? Did… did something happen with Yunho?” His voice dropped on the name, a shared understanding of that particular threat passing between the group.
You saw your opening, a half-truth that was solid enough to stand on. You let your shoulders slump a little, injecting just the right amount of weary frustration into your sigh.
“That little bitch finally did it.” You said, your voice carefully calibrated to sound weary and annoyed, rather than terrified. “She told Yunho. About San and me in Jeju. About… Wooyoung.”
You glanced at Seonghwa, whose jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. You deliberately omitted Jongho—that was a landmine for another day.
“She painted her little masterpiece for him. He confronted me the other night. Called me… some pretty creative names. Said he finally sees the truth.”
San slammed his spoon down, the clatter making you flinch “That fucking—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I knew he’d been weird. He won’t even look at me.”
“Or me,” Seonghwa added quietly, the hurt still fresh in his eyes. “The other day in chapel duty… it was like we were strangers. Worse than strangers.”
“Yeah, we saw,” Wooyoung muttered, his lips pressed into a thin line. “He looked at you two like you’d spit in the holy water. So that’s why.” His gaze softened as it landed on you. “That’s what had you so shaken last night, pretty? Him yelling at you?”
You leaned into Seonghwa’s side, a gesture that sold the story “Yeah. It just… brought up a lot of old stuff. Felt like the video incident all over again, him believing the worst. It messed with my head.” You shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “I’m okay now. Just needed to reset.”
It was a good lie. It had truth woven through it—the confrontation with Yunho had happened, it had hurt—and it explained your need for escape and comfort. You saw the understanding dawning on their faces, the anger on your behalf redirecting toward Yunho and Ann.
San reached across the table, his hand covering yours “Princess, I’m so sorry. That’s my fault. If I’d just—”
“It’s not your fault.” You cut him off, squeezing his fingers briefly before pulling your hand back. “It’s hers. And it’s his, for believing her so easily. Again.”
The table stewed in a communal, simmering anger. It was the perfect cover. They were focused on the enemy they knew—Ann and Yunho’s betrayal. They weren’t looking for a new, more ancient threat lurking in the shadows of a well-kept house.
But then your eyes met Hongjoong’s. He hadn’t said much. He was just watching you, his head tilted slightly, his dark eyes missing nothing. He’d accepted the story with a nod, his anger at the situation apparent in the tight line of his shoulders.
Yet, his gaze held a question you couldn’t answer. He knew the texture of your hurt, the flavor of your fear. He’d seen you after the video, after fights with Yunho, after bad nights.
This… this had been different. The tremor Seonghwa had felt, the sheer flight to his house—it didn’t quite map onto the aftermath of a yelling match with your brother, however brutal.
He believed your story, but he didn’t believe it was the whole story.
He held your gaze for a beat too long, and in that silence, a silent conversation passed between you.
There’s more.
He finally broke the stare, turning to Seonghwa “He really told you to stay away from him?”
Seonghwa nodded, the pain raw on his face “Word for word.”
“Damn.” Hongjoong breathed, the word heavy. “Okay. So we know where we stand.” His leadership kicked in, practical and cold. “We keep our distance for now. We don’t engage. We protect our own.” His eyes swept the table, landing finally on you. “Ann’s made her move, but she’s not done. She’ll want to see the fallout.”
The others agreed, their focus firmly locked on the battlefield you’d just outlined for them. You nodded along, relief and guilt twisting together in your gut.
You had successfully redirected the storm.
But as you looked down at your untouched lunch, the phantom sensation of Daehyun’s fingers in your hair made your skin crawl. You had contained one fire by stoking another.
And you were painfully aware that Hongjoong, from his quiet end of the table, was already smelling the smoke of the blaze you were trying so desperately to hide.
—
The final bell had been a sweet release. You walked hand-in-hand with Seonghwa down the bustling hallway, your fingers laced through his, already debating whether to get bubble tea or just crash at his place and watch a movie.
It was Friday. The weekend was a promised land of freedom.
“Eunji, wait!”
The voice, polite yet insistent, sliced through the noise. You both turned to see Minseok hurrying toward you, a stack of books balanced precariously in his arms, a gentle, hopeful smile on his face.
“Hi!” He said, a little breathless as he stopped before you. He offered Seonghwa a respectful nod. “Seonghwa.”
“Hey,” Seonghwa returned, his tone neutral but his posture shifting almost imperceptibly, his shoulder brushing yours.
“What’s up, Minseok?” You asked, feeling the first faint trickle of unease.
“I was wondering if we could meet to work on the project today.” He said, his eyes earnest. “If we push through, we could have the whole weekend free. We’re so close to finishing.”
You glanced at Seonghwa, a silent plea in your eyes. Not today. Please. You’d had enough of tension, enough of walking on eggshells. You needed the uncomplicated sanctuary of him.
“We already had plans for today, Minseok.” Seonghwa said, his voice the epitome of soft-spoken reason, but his hand around yours tightened just a fraction.
“Oh.” The disappointment on Minseok’s face was instant and profound.
It wasn’t just about the project. It was the loss of time with you. He looked down at his books, shoulders slumping.
You felt a pang of guilt. He was kind. He was a good partner. And you were letting your own paranoia poison a simple academic arrangement. You sighed, squeezing Seonghwa’s hand in a silent apology before turning back to Minseok.
“Okay.” You relented. “But let’s make it early. Come to my house and we’ll power through it in a few hours and be done before seven.”
The transformation was immediate. His face brightened, the smile returning, wider and more genuine.
“Really? That would be perfect! Thank you. And sorry for messing with your plans.” He added, though the gleam in his eyes suggested he wasn’t sorry at all. Any chance to be near you was a win.
“It’s fine.” Seonghwa said, the words polite but clipped. “Just send her a message to confirm the time.”
“I will! I’ll text you later, Eunji. See you later!” With a final, buoyant wave, Minseok melted back into the stream of students.
The moment he was gone, Seonghwa let out a slow, controlled breath. He slid his hand from yours and instead wrapped his arm firmly around your shoulders, pulling you tightly into his side. It was a claiming gesture, quiet but absolute, a silent message sent to the retreating figure. You leaned into him, smiling up at his profile, soothed by the possessiveness. It felt like safety.
“My house?” He murmured into your hair as you started walking again.
“Mine. My parents will be out. It’ll be quieter.” You said, already mentally preparing the study room, blissfully unaware of the invitation you were about to extend.
✮
With your parents gone, the house was quiet. Minseok was, as always, a perfect gentleman and an excellent study partner. The work was easy, the conversation flowed naturally, and for a few hours, the specter of his brother didn’t loom. You almost managed to forget.
As the clock neared noon, you both stood, stretching.
“I think that’s it.” You said, closing your laptop with a sense of finality. “We’re almost done, just some more details and that's it.”
“We make a good team.” Minseok said, smiling as he packed his bag. “Thanks for hosting me. My brother should be here any minute to pick me up.”
The words were an ice bath. His brother. Here. Outside your house?
You kept the smile plastered on your face “No problem. Let me walk you out.”
You were halfway down the stairs to the front door when Minseok patted his pockets and groaned.
“Ah, my flash drive. I left it on the desk upstairs. I’ll just run and grab it.”
“I’ll get it.” You offered quickly, wanting to speed his exit.
“No, no, you already did so much. I’ll be right back.” He dashed back up the stairs before you could argue.
Alone in the foyer, you wrapped your arms around yourself. You could see a sleek, black sedan idling at the curb through the glass panel of the door. Your heart began a slow, heavy thud.
God, just let Minseok come down. Just let him leave.
The front door clicked open. Joo Daehyun stepped inside as if he owned the place, closing the door softly behind him. He was dressed casually, but everything about him was calculated—the sharp cut of his jacket, the cold appraisal in his eyes as they swept over your home, then landed on you.
“Cozy.” He remarked, his voice a smooth, unpleasant purr.
You took an involuntary step back “Minseok just went upstairs. He’ll be right down.”
Daehyun ignored that. He took a step forward, closing the distance. You retreated, your back hitting the cool wall. He placed a hand flat on the wall beside your head, caging you in.
“I have to admit.” He said, his gaze tracing the line of your throat. “Seeing your address pop up on my phone… It felt like fate was giving me a gift. A very pretty, long-overdue gift.”
“Get away from me.” You hissed, trying to sidestep him. His other hand shot out, fingers wrapping like a vice around your upper arm. The grip was punishing.
“Still playing hard to get?” He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “I like that fire. I’ve been watching it in that video for years, you know. Watching you, so quiet and still. But I always wondered what you’d be like awake. Fighting back. It’s so much more… stimulating.”
Revulsion, pure and paralyzing, washed over you “You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re mine.” He stated, as if it were a simple fact. “You always have been. Since that night. You think a few years and a boyfriend changed that?”
His thumb stroked a cruel line over the inside of your captured arm.
“I still have it, Eunji. The video. Every second. Clear as day. Imagine what I could do with it now. Send it to your pious mother? Post it online for your new friends to see? Your brother already thinks you’re a whore—this would just be the visual proof.”
The threat landed with the force of a physical blow. The air left your lungs. The one piece of your past you could never outrun, the one thing that could destroy everything you’d built—it was in his hands, a button he could press at any time. Your defiance crumbled, replaced by a terror so deep it turned your bones to water.
He saw it. Saw the fear eclipse the fire in your eyes, and it made his own gleam with triumph.
“That’s better. Now you understand, sweetheart.” His gaze dropped to the phone you were clutching like a lifeline in your free hand. “Give me that.”
“No—”
He wrenched it from your grasp with ease, his grip on your arm never loosening. He held your thumb to the sensor to unlock it, then pulled up your contacts. With a few quick taps, he called his own number. His pocket buzzed. He ended the call, saved his number in your phone under a single, chilling letter: D
“There.” He said, handing the phone back to you as if bestowing a favor. “Now we can talk directly. No more middlemen. I’ll be in touch, Eunji. We have a lot to… discuss.”
He finally released your arm, and you stumbled, your legs weak. From upstairs, you could hear Minseok’s footsteps coming back down.
Daehyun’s mask of polite civility snapped back into place just as his brother rounded the corner.
“There you are, man. Ready to go?”
“Yeah, got it!” Minseok said, holding up the flash drive. He looked at you, and his smile faltered. “Eunji? Are you okay? You’re pale.”
You forced your lips into something resembling a smile “I’m fine. Just a headache coming on. Have a good weekend, Minseok.”
“Feel better, Eun. Thanks again!” He waved, completely oblivious, and followed his brother out the door.
The moment it closed, you slid down the wall until you were sitting on the cold floor, your phone feeling like a live grenade in your hand. The notification glowed on the screen:
New Contact Saved: D
You were no longer just scared. You were trapped. And the threat now had your direct line.
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Stream Of Sin...
22: The Nightmare Is Back Home.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 8,6k
Synopsis: Seems like you've carefully built a world threatened from all sides: by a vengeful rival's blackmail, a brother's renewed condemnation, and the sudden, terrifying return of the man who started it all.
Warnings: Smut (MDNI!!) Oral sex, unprotected sex, erotic photography, recording, mutual corruption. Psychological manipulation, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, victim-blaming, slut-shaming, and re-traumatization of past events. Sexual trauma, panic, and dissociation. Blackmail, possessive and obsessive relationships. Religious imagery, blasphemy. Emotional distress, anxiety, fear, rage, and emotional numbness.
a/n: Please enjoy this chapter because this Monday i'm starting work again and maybe i wont be able to post next week, but i'll try!! Love ya'll so much ☺️❤️
Series masterlist
Masterlist
The soft click of the camera shutter was the only sound in the room, a rhythmic counterpoint to the quiet hum of the heater. Late afternoon light, gold and heavy, streamed through the slats of the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets and the figure lying upon them.
Seonghwa adjusted the lens, his movements precise, his expression one of utterly focused reverence. Behind the camera, he was in his element; calm, analytical, in complete control.
And his subject was a vision. You.
You lay propped against a mountain of white pillows, a study in deliberate contradiction. The lingerie was delicate lace and white silk, a second skin that revealed far more than it concealed. However, was the pair of elaborate, feathered angel wings strapped to your back. They were stunning, ethereal, and utterly ironic against the backdrop of a messy bedroom and your decidedly unholy attire.
Holy JiJi. The username was a private joke that had become a brand. The angel who promised salvation but delivered sin.
"Tilt your chin down just a fraction," Seonghwa murmured, his voice a soft command. "Look at the lens through your lashes. Don't smile. Look… haunted. Like you've seen heaven and can't find your way back."
You obeyed, letting your expression soften into something distant, wistful, yet your eyes held a knowing glint that the camera would catch. The duality. The innocent vessel, the knowing temptress.
"Perfect." He breathed, lowering the camera for a moment, just to look at you with his own eyes. The raw image without the filter was even more potent. "You're breathtaking, angel. Truly."
A slow, genuine smile broke through your practiced pose "You're just saying that because you're my photographer."
"I'm saying it because it's a fact." He raised the camera again. "Now, roll onto your stomach. Hook one ankle over the other. Let the wings frame you."
You moved, the sheets whispering. The pose was more provocative, the line of your back dipping into the lace-clad curve of your ass. You rested your cheek on your folded arms, looking back over your shoulder at the lens, at him.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound was hypnotic. Each capture felt like he was stealing a piece of you, preserving a secret only he was privy to. He knew what these photos meant. They were currency. Power. A testament to your shared secret. He was complicit in every pixel.
He moved closer, crouching by the bed for a lower angle "Now, give me your hand. Palm up, towards me. Like you're reaching for something… or offering something."
You extended your arm, your fingers relaxed. The contrast of the delicate, sinful lingerie, the pure white wings, and the vulnerable, reaching hand was poetic. He focused on the shot, the macro lens capturing the fine details.
But as he looked through the viewfinder, his focus shifted from the composition to the subject. To the faint, rosy mark just peeking above the lace of your bra—a love bite from Wooyoung that hadn't quite faded. To the slight, satisfied weariness in your eyes that hadn't been there before the party. To the sheer, overwhelming you-ness of you.
The camera slowly lowered. He just stared.
"Satisfied?" You asked, your voice a soft tease.
"No." He said, the word coming out rougher than intended. He set the camera carefully on the nightstand. "I'm not a machine, love. I can't just look at you like this and only see a photoshoot."
You rolled onto your side, the wings shifting with a soft rustle "What do you see?"
He closed the distance between the floor and the bed in one smooth motion, kneeling on the mattress beside you. His fingers, usually so steady, trembled slightly as they traced the strap of the lingerie, then the line where the fake feathers met your real, warm skin.
"I see my girlfriend." He whispered, his eyes darkening. "The most beautiful, complicated, dangerous person I know. Dressed as an angel for thousands of strangers, but here, in this room, with me…" His thumb brushed your lower lip. "You're just mine."
The possessiveness in his tone, so different from Hongjoong's cold command or San's desperate fire, sent a different kind of thrill through you. It was devout. Worshipful.
"You're the only one who gets to see both." You reminded him, arching into his touch.
"That's the problem." He breathed, leaning down until his forehead touched yours. "It makes me greedy. It makes me want to ruin the perfect shot. To touch what I'm supposed to be only capturing."
A slow, wicked smile spread across your lips "Who said you can't do both?"
His breath hitched. That was all the permission he needed.
He reached for the camera again, but this time, he didn't bring it to his eye. He turned it around, fumbling with the settings until the small screen flipped out. He held it up, angling it to capture both of you in the frame—your winged form on the bed, his fully-clothed body leaning over you, his face a mask of intense desire.
"Look at us." He commanded softly, his free hand sliding up your thigh, pushing the lace aside. "Look at how I look at you."
You turned your head toward the screen. The image was intimate, illicit. The "sinful angel" and her devout guardian, caught in a moment of shared, secret transgression. It was a different kind of content. For an audience of one.
Click.
The sound echoed in the quiet room. Then he dropped the camera onto the pillows, its purpose served.
"Now," Seonghwa murmured, his lips finding the sensitive spot below your ear, his hands finally, finally touching without the barrier of a lens. "Let me show you what this angel really inspires in me."
His worshipful touches were turning desperate, his breaths coming faster against your skin. But just as you thought he would lose himself completely, Seonghwa pulled back, his eyes blazing with a new, startling idea.
“Record it.” He breathed, the words hot against your lips.
You blinked, the haze of desire parting slightly “Record… what?”
“This.” His hand swept down the length of your body, over the lace, the feathers. “Us. Make a video for your page.”
A jolt, equal parts shock and white-hot arousal, shot through you. You searched his face.
“Seonghwa… you don’t have to do that. That’s not why you’re here. You’re—“
“I know, baby.” He interrupted, his voice low but firm, his thumbs stroking your hips. “I’m the boyfriend who knows your secret. The one you trust with this. And I don’t want to just be the man behind the camera anymore.” He leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “I want to be the man in the film. I want everyone who worships Holy JiJi to see that she has a devoted sinner of her own. Even if they never see my face.”
The possessiveness in his words was a different flavor than Hongjoong’s or San’s. It wasn’t about control; it was about sacred, secret union. He wanted to claim you in the most hidden, public way possible.
“Hwa… no.” You whispered, your hands coming up to frame his face. “That’s… that’s too much. You’re not part of that world. You’re my…” You searched for the word. “You’re my real life, Seonghwa. My pure boy.”
The term felt inadequate but true. He was the church-going son, the good student, the boyfriend your parents approved of. Not a co-star in illicit content.
A slow, devastatingly beautiful smile touched his lips. He captured your wrists, pressing a kiss to each palm.
“I stopped being pure the moment I chose you, angel. And I don’t want to be just your real life. I want to be in all of it. Every secret. Every sin.” He leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours. “I want to be the one they’re all jealous of. I want them to see how you come apart for me.”
The raw possessiveness in his words, the deliberate corruption of his own image for you, was the most potent aphrodisiac you’d ever felt. The last of your resistance crumbled.
“The wings stay on, I look pretty in them.” You whispered, a challenge and a surrender.
His smile turned wolfish “The wings, the heels, everything.”
He reached for the camera again, this time switching it to video mode. He propped it carefully on the dresser, angling it to capture the bed from the side, a cinematic, anonymous view.
“Don’t worry about our faces.” He said, his tone shifting into that calm, analytical one he used behind the lens. “I’ll edit it later. Blur what needs blurring. This is just for us. For our performance.”
He turned back to you, and the shift was immediate. The photographer was gone, replaced by a man about to claim what was his, on camera. He crawled back onto the bed, his gaze hot and deliberate.
“Let’s give them a show, angel.”
He started with his mouth. Pushing you gently onto your back, he didn’t remove the lingerie. Instead, he simply moved the delicate fabric aside, exposing you to his mouth and the camera’s unblinking lens. He looked up at you, his eyes locking with yours as his tongue swept a long, slow stripe through your folds that had you arching off the bed, the feathered wings fluttering helplessly against the pillows.
“So perfect.” He mumbled against you, the words vibrating through your core. “Tastes like heaven.”
He worked you with a devotion that was both tender and ruthlessly effective, his eyes locked on the camera’s blinking red light, ensuring the angle was right, that every shudder, every gasp was captured.
When you were trembling on the edge, he finally pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a shockingly vulgar gesture from him that made you whimper. He shed his own clothes with swift efficiency, never breaking eye contact with you or the lens.
Then he lay back, pulling you on top of him.
“Ride me.” He breathed, his hands settling on your hips. “Let them see how beautiful you look taking what you want.”
You sank onto him, a slow, exquisite descent that made both of you groan. The lingerie was pushed aside, the wings a dramatic, absurd frame around your joined bodies. He helped you move, his strong hands guiding your rhythm, lifting you and pulling you back down, each thrust deeper, more claiming than the last.
“Look at you, angel.” He panted, his voice rough with awe and effort. His eyes were glued to where your bodies joined, then flicked to your face, hazy with pleasure. “My sinful angel. All mine. Every gasp, every moan… it’s for me. They get to watch, but they don’t get this.”
You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, the change in angle drawing a sharp cry from both of you. The camera captured it all—the desperate clutch of his hands on your lace-clad hips, the soft movement of the wings, the obscene and beautiful sounds of skin against skin, his choked praises, your broken moans.
“That’s it.” He panted, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. “So perfect. Taking me so well.” He captured your mouth in a deep, messy kiss, swallowing your cries. “They’ll watch this.” He growled between kisses, his hips snapping up to meet your downward plunge. “And they’ll dream of you. But they’ll never know it’s me making you feel like this. They’ll never know it’s my name you’re screaming.”
His words, so possessive, so secretive, pushed you higher. The knowledge of the recording, of his willing participation, of his utter corruption in your name, was the most potent aphrodisiac you’d ever known.
“Seonghwa… I’m close…”
“Look at the camera.” He commanded again, his voice guttural. “Look at it and come for me. Let it see.”
You turned your head, your hazy, pleasure-drunk gaze locking onto the lens as the coil inside you snapped. You came with a silent, shuddering cry, your inner muscles clenching around him rhythmically.
The sight of you unspooling, the wings trembling behind you, was his undoing. With a final, deep thrust and a raw shout of your name against your shoulder, he followed you over the edge, spilling inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
You collapsed against him, a sweaty, trembling, winged mess. He held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his face buried in your neck.
The camera’s little red light continued to blink, a silent sentinel that had captured it all.
After long moments, your breathing began to slow. Seonghwa stirred, pressing a soft, sated kiss to your shoulder.
“I’ll edit it later.” He murmured, his voice drowsy and satisfied. “Maybe I’ll add a halo filter.” A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “For authenticity.”
You laughed, a breathless, happy sound, and snuggled closer. Your pure boy was thoroughly, delightfully corrupted. And he had the video to prove it.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
A new week of school had started. You stepped out of your brand new car, the early morning briz ruffling your hair softly. Today you decided to drive instead of Seonghwa picking you up like usual, you wanted to show off your car.
Your walk to the school gate was slow, you were ten minutes late but you didn't care, you took your time.
“You’re late Miss Jeong.” The voice of sister beatrise called you the moment you opened the door.
“Sorry, Sister. Not happening again.” You said softly, already stepping in, not waiting for permission.
Sister Beatrice just sighed and continued with her lecture as you took your seat next to Minseok.
“Hi.” You murmured with a small, casual smile as you arranged your things.
He looked at you—really looked—his gaze lingering on the effortless drape of your uniform shirt, the artful disarray of your hair, the confident ease in your posture.
“Hi.” He breathed, his voice softer than intended. “You look… particularly beautiful today.”
You tilted your head with a little frown, you didn't do anything different today, just your usual hairstyle and makeup. But the genuine, unguarded admiration in his eyes was a pleasant little ego boost.
“Thanks.” You muttered, turning your attention to the front, though you could still feel the warmth of his stare like a physical touch.
“This project is important, guys. You will have two weeks.” Sister Beatrise warned, her stern gaze sweeping the room. “It requires diligence, insight, and presentation. You will work in pairs. Partners are your choice, but your topic is not. I will assign them randomly.”
The class stirred. You made to stand, your mind already calculating who would be least troublesome, when a hesitant touch on your wrist stopped you.
Minseok leaned in, his voice a low, nervous rush “Would you… consider being my partner?”
You turned, taking in his earnest expression, the hopeful flush on his cheeks. It was almost endearing. A smile touched your lips, but before you could answer, another voice cut in, sharp with urgency.
“Princess. Work with me and Woo.”
Choi San.
You didn’t need to turn around. You’d been expertly ignoring his texts, his calls, his very presence since Saturday night. Hongjoong’s punishment had been a spectacle, but your personal coldness was a deeper, quieter sentence.
You looked back at Minseok, your smile widening into something beatific and deliberate. “I’d love to work with you, Minseok.” You spoke clearly, your voice carrying.
“Eunji, please,” San’s voice was a strained whisper from behind you, laced with a raw plea you chose not to hear.
Ignoring him completely, you took Minseok’s hand, feeling him startle at the contact, and led him to Sister Beatrice’s desk to formalize your pair. Behind you, San let out a muffled curse, raking a hand through his hair in frustration before slumping back next to a grinning Wooyoung.
“So,” Wooyoung sing-songed, not bothering to hide his amusement. “The silent treatment continues, huh? Well deserved.”
“Not now, Wooyoung.” San ground out, his eyes fixed on your back as you spoke to the Sister.
“Maybe you should try apologizing with flowers. Or on your knees. Again.” Wooyoung’s smirk was wicked.
“I said, shut up.” San snapped, the guilt and frustration boiling over. “I’ll fix it.”
Across the room, Ann had been a statue of quiet fury. The memory of the garden, the kiss she’d initiated, the devastating moment San had breathed your name, played on a toxic loop in her mind. She’d had a taste of what she wanted, and it had been poisoned by you.
She was tired of it.
Ignoring the hushed calls from Juliet and Jane, she stood and walked with deliberate purpose to the last desk in the row, where Jongho sat in brooding isolation.
“Let’s be partners.” She said, her voice sweet but her eyes holding a calculated glint.
Jongho looked up slowly, his gaze narrowing into a scrutinizing slit “Why?”
Is she collecting Yunho’s friends too, just like you?
“We’re friends.” She stated, as if it were the simplest truth in the world, sliding into the empty seat beside him. “And it’s been a while since we worked on something together.”
His suspicion was a palpable thing, but after a tense moment, he gave a single, curt nod.
Fine. Let her try.
Sister Beatrice began calling pairs to the front to draw their topics from a basket. The air hummed with a new kind of tension.
You and Minseok drew: "The Sociology of Subcultures: Identity and Belonging."
Minseok’s eyes lit up with academic interest “Fascinating. We could explore online communities, or perhaps social groups…”
San and Wooyoung drew a topic on modern art history, which Wooyoung immediately declared “boring as fuck.”
Then, Sister Beatrice called, “Ann and Jongho, come here.”
Ann walked forward, her posture perfect. She reached into the basket and unfolded the small slip of paper.
“‘The Performance of Identity: Public Persona vs. Private Self in the Digital Age.’” She read, already frowning at the topic. Boring.
As the class dissolved into partner discussions, you focused on Minseok, discussing research sources and meetings at the library. But your senses were hyper-aware. You could feel San’s desperate, remorseful gaze burning into the side of your face. And you knew that the show would begin soon.
At lunch, you made your point vividly clear. You walked into the cafeteria and beelined for the table where Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and a subdued Wooyoung sat. You slid in next to Seonghwa, who immediately wrapped an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple.
You didn’t even glance at the table where San was sitting alone, picking at his food, his eyes following your every move with a wounded dog’s loyalty.
Hongjoong observed the scene over the rim of his water bottle, a faint, approving smirk on his lips. “Enjoying the view, pretty?” He murmured, knowing full well you were.
You took a delicate bite of your food “Immensely.”
Wooyoung, despite his earlier teasing, leaned in with a gossip’s glee “He looks miserable. It’s kind of great. Serves him right for being a dumbass.”
Seonghwa sighed, the moral center of the group slightly pained by the schism, but even he couldn’t deny the poetic justice. “He will apologize properly. When you’re ready.”
You were ready to bask in it all day. But San, it seemed, was done waiting. His pride, shattered by the punishment and your indifference, was now overridden by a more desperate need. He stood up, picked up his tray, and walked directly to your table.
He didn’t ask. He just sat in the empty seat opposite you, his tray clattering slightly. The table fell silent. He looked at you, his usual arrogance stripped bare, leaving only raw sincerity.
“I was an idiot. A high, careless, fucking idiot. My head was so clouded I saw what I wanted to see, and I’m so sorry I let that… person… make you doubt what you are to me. You’re my princess. That’s it. There’s no one else, there never could be.” His voice dropped, rough with emotion. “Ignore me for a month if you want. I’ll be here every day, reminding you I’m sorry, until you believe me.”
Hongjoong watched, his sharp eyes missing nothing, quietly enjoying the theater of it. Seonghwa gave a small, conceding nod. Wooyoung pretended to wipe a fake tear.
You held San’s gaze for a long, charged moment, letting him sweat. Letting the absolute power of his devotion soothe the last sting of your anger. A slow, unforgiving, but interested smile finally graced your lips.
“We’ll see, Sannie.” You said softly, turning back to your food, dismissing him… but leaving the door unmistakably, tantalizingly, cracked open.
The punishment was over. The groveling had begun. And you were going to savor every single second of it.
✮
The last ten minutes of the school day stretched like a torture device. The air was thick with a shared, silent dread. Backpacks were zipped with excruciating slowness, eyes remained glued to desks—anything to avoid catching Sister Beatrice’s stern gaze.
It was Chapel Duty Selection Day, a weekly Russian roulette where losing meant an hour of dusting pews and scrubbing marble under the judgmental eyes of stained-glass saints.
“Before you are dismissed,” Sister Beatrice’s voice cut through the tense quiet. “This week’s chapel maintenance roster. You will assist the first-year students and instruct them. Joo Minseok. Jeong Eunji. Han Suho. Choi Jongho. And Ann Grace.”
A soft, collective exhale of relief came from those not named, followed by a ripple of pity.
You've got to be kidding me.
The curse was silent but violent in your mind. Not only were you stuck with the most boring chore imaginable, but you were on a team with that bitch.
And it was a Monday. Fucking. Monday.
The universe was clearly in a mocking mood.
“Good luck, babygirl!” Wooyoung whispered with a theatrical shudder as he passed your desk, his step suspiciously light and giddy as he made his escape.
This fucking brat.
Beside you, even Minseok—the human embodiment of devotion—let out a soft, weary sigh.
“The sooner we begin, the sooner we may leave.” He said, attempting to sound cheerful.
It didn’t work.
With a final, dramatic sigh, you grabbed your bag and stood. You and Minseok walked toward the classroom door, and the moment you stepped into the hallway, a familiar, calming presence materialized.
Seonghwa was leaning against the lockers, scrolling through his phone. He looked up, and a soft smile immediately graced his lips.
“Hey, angel—” The smile faltered as he took in your full-body pout, the slump of your shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
You didn’t answer with words. You just walked into him, burying your face against his chest in a wordless, tragic plea for sympathy.
Seonghwa’s arms came around you, one hand automatically soothing up and down your back. His confused gaze lifted over your head to Minseok, who stood a respectful few feet away, looking caught between concern and discomfort.
“We were selected for chapel duty.” Minseok explained, his tone flat.
A beat of silence. Then, a soft, unmistakable chuckle vibrated through Seonghwa’s chest. He tried to stifle it, but it escaped—a warm, amused sound.
“Oh, my poor baby.” He murmured, his voice laced with affectionate mockery as he patted your head. “Trapped with the holy dust doves.”
You whined, a genuine sound of protest, and slapped his back lightly “Don’t make fun of me, Hwa!”
He laughed again, properly this time, his embrace tightening “Sorry, sorry.”
He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his eyes sparkling. He found your dramatics utterly, devastatingly cute. But his gaze also flickered to Minseok, ensuring the other boy was watching.
He leaned down and captured your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. A kiss that was part apology, part affection, and a very clear, silent brand of ownership for the benefit of the audience.
When he pulled away, he kept his forehead against yours “San ditched early and now I need a ride home. I'm too lazy to walk.” He said, his tone light.
"Am I your driver now?" You asked with a frown that made him laugh again.
“That's right, baby. I’ll wait for you in the library, get some work done. Give me your bag.”
He plucked the strap from your shoulder and slung it over his own free one, the casual act of service as natural as breathing.
You nodded, mollified. You loved this. Being fussed over, being claimed, having your burdens shouldered without asking. You stretched up to press one more quick, grateful kiss to his lips.
“Okay. Don’t work too hard, pretty boy.”
“Only thinking of you, angel.” He promised, with a final, pointed smile at Minseok before turning to walk away, your bag a clear flag on his shoulder.
As you fell into step beside Minseok, heading toward the chapel, the silence was heavy with what had just been witnessed.
After a moment, Minseok cleared his throat, his eyes fixed straight ahead “Park Seonghwa… is he your boyfriend?”
You glanced at him. The question was innocent, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.
“Yes.” You said simply, your voice soft but firm. “He is.”
It was the truth. A truth. It just wasn’t the whole truth—the truth that included Hongjoong’s commanding ownership, Wooyoung’s playful devotion, San’s fiery loyalty, and the complicated, simmering something with Jongho and Mingi.
But that was your secret to keep.
You saw the brief flash of disappointment in Minseok’s eyes before he schooled his features back into polite neutrality. A tiny, almost imperceptible sag in his shoulders. But then he nodded, accepting it.
The crush might have been gently crushed, but his desire to be near you didn’t waver. He enjoyed your company, your wit, your surprising insights, the strange, magnetic pull you had that was about more than just attraction.
He liked you. And for now, that was enough to keep him walking by your side into the quiet, judgmental gloom of the chapel.
—
The chapel was vast, cool, and smelled of old hymnals and lemon polish. Sunlight streamed through the high windows in dusty, sacred shafts. You were paired with Minseok and a trio of wide-eyed, nervous first-year boys.
To your surprise, it wasn’t terrible. Minseok was in his element, explaining the history of the altar cloth with genuine passion, his shyness melting away into gentle authority. You, playing the cool senior, showed the kids how to properly wring a mop without flooding the aisles, making them laugh with a dry, witty remark.
There was an easy camaraderie between you and Minseok—a friendly, intellectual buzz. You enjoyed his company, his quiet sincerity a calm contrast to the chaotic energy of your usual boys. You could see the fond, admiring way he looked at you, but it felt harmless. Sweet, even.
Across the nave, Jongho was demonstrating the precise art of polishing brass candle holders to another group of students. His movements were efficient, his instructions short and clear. But his attention was divided. His gaze kept flicking to you, checking on you, yes, but also tracking the proximity between you and Minseok.
He saw the way Minseok leaned in to hear you laugh, the way his eyes lingered on your profile. A familiar, possessive heat coiled in Jongho’s gut, a low thrum of jealousy he tried to swallow down.
Ann was watching too. From her station near the confessionals, rag in hand, her expression was ice. Every smile you shared with Minseok, every moment of easy connection, was a fresh insult.
How? How did you do it? You already corrupted and owned the devoted Seonghwa, and now you were weaving some spell around the most pious boy in school, turning his respectful admiration into something starry-eyed and soft.
It was an infestation. You were a disease.
A plan, cold and sharp, crystallized in her mind. She needed intelligence. She needed a weakness. And there was one person here who had access to both you and your inner circle, someone with his own secrets to hide.
She waited until the first-years were engrossed in their tasks, then drifted over to where Jongho was now working alone, refilling the holy water stoup.
“They look cozy, don’t they?” She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, nodding toward you and Minseok.
Jongho didn’t look up, continuing his task with deliberate focus “What do you want, Ann?”
“Information.” She stepped closer, her sweet mask firmly in place. “About her. About her… habits. Who she sees, what she does when she’s not playing the good student here.”
Jongho finally turned, his eyes flat and disbelieving “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. You’re close to her. You’ve been close to her.” She let the insinuation hang, her gaze sharpening. “I know about the kiss, Jongho. The one you shared when she’d just started dating Seonghwa. I wonder what Yunho, or Seonghwa himself, would think about that loyalty?”
She expected fear, hesitation, bargaining. Instead, Jongho’s lips twitched. Then, a low, humorless chuckle escaped him. It was a dry, rusty sound that held absolutely no mirth.
Ann blinked, wrong-footed “What’s so funny?”
Jongho leaned back against the stone pillar, crossing his arms, his expression one of pure, disdainful amusement.
“You’re trying to blackmail me… with that?” He shook his head, his gaze slicing toward the garden doors before returning to her. “That’s rich. Tell me, Ann, how did San taste? When you threw yourself at him in the garden on Saturday? Was he everything you dreamed of?”
All the color drained from Ann’s face. Her composure cracked, revealing the raw panic beneath. He saw.
“Y-You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I saw,” Jongho said, his voice dropping to a lethal calm. “You kissed him. And for a second, he was too out of it to know it wasn’t Eunji. You must have felt so powerful. Until he rejected you, right?”
Ann recoiled as if slapped, the humiliating memory a physical wound. Her fear, however, quickly mutated into a sharper, more desperate rage. The stakes had just been raised.
“Fine.” She hissed, stepping into his space, her voice a venomous whisper. “You want to play it that way? If you don’t help me, I won’t just tell Yunho about your little slip-up. I’ll tell him everything. I’ll tell him San is with her. That they’re all sharing her. And I’ll make sure he knows you’re part of it—that you’re all protecting her, lying to him, making a fool of him.”
Her eyes gleamed with a frantic light “Who do you think he’ll believe? His devoted girlfriend, or the friend who’s been fucking around with his sister behind his back?”
This, finally, struck a nerve. Not fear for himself, or even for San. But the image of Yunho’s unbridled, misdirected fury landing solely on you—the one person who’d already suffered his wrath unjustly before—made Jongho’s blood run cold. His smirk vanished.
Seeing his hesitation, Ann pressed her advantage, her voice trembling now with a manic conviction.
“You think I’m not brave enough? You think I’ll just stay scared forever, watching her take everything?” She shook her head, a terrifying resolve hardening her features. “I’m done. Help me, or I burn it all down. Starting with her. So you better find out why Yunho doesn't stand her, I want to know it all.”
She held his gaze, no longer the sweet church mouse, but something far more dangerous: a cornered animal with nothing left to lose, holding a match over the entire carefully constructed world you all lived in.
The gentle sounds of cleaning around them faded into a distant hum. In the sacred quiet of the chapel, a new and far more profane war had just been declared.
✮
The knock was firm, insistent, out of rhythm with the quiet evening. You pulled the door open, and the sight of Jongho on your doorstep, his expression a storm cloud of tension, made you blink in surprise.
“Jongho?” You looked at him confused. “What are you doing here?”
“Is Yunho here?”
The question was a rushed, clipped demand. He didn’t wait for an answer, brushing past you into the foyer, his movements sharp with a nervous energy you rarely saw in him.
You closed the door slowly, turning to face him with a deepening frown “No, he is at Mingi’s. What’s—”
“Your parents?” He cut you off, scanning the dim living room like he was assessing a battlefield.
“My dad’s at a business dinner and my mom’s working late. Why are you being so nosy?”
He finally stopped his frantic scan, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders “Let's talk.”
He sank onto the nearest couch, the picture of rigid unease. When you hesitated by the doorway, he gestured impatiently to the space beside him.
“It’s important, Eunji.”
You weren't scared of being alone with him, of course not. But this kind of behaviour was so weird, especially coming from Choi Jongho.
You moved to sit beside him, your body angled toward his “Okay.. what’s going on?”
Jongho let out a long, ragged breath, dragging a hand through his hair “I don’t know what kind of sick obsession Ann has with you, or what the hell she’s trying to pull, but she’s lost her fucking mind.”
“Whoa, slow down.” You held up a hand, your mind racing to catch up. “Start from the beginning. What about Ann?”
He turned to look at you, his dark eyes stark with a protectiveness that bordered on fury “During chapel duty today. Ann asked me to help her.”
A cold trickle of understanding dripped down your spine “Help her with what?”
“With you. She wants information. Personal shit.”
“What kind of personal shit?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper “She wants to know about you and Yunho. She wants the story, the real reason he hates you. She thinks it’s her key to destroy you.”
A short, incredulous laugh escaped you. You ran your hands through your hair, the motion restless.
“So, are you gonna help her?”
The absurdity was almost funny. Almost.
Jongho’s head snapped up “Of course not!”
The vehemence in his voice was absolute. He reached out, capturing your restless hands and pressing them flat against the solid wall of his chest, as if trying to transfer his conviction directly into your skin.
“I would never betray you like that, Eunji. Never.”
“But she threatened you.” You stated, the pieces clicking into a sinister picture. “Didn’t she?”
His silence was your answer. It was a heavy, guilty thing that filled the space between you.
“Jongho…” You breathed, your anger now mixing with concern for him.
He looked away, jaw tight “She… knows about the kiss. The one when you started to date Seonghwa. She tried to use it. I threw the garden kiss back in her face. Told her I saw her all over San.”
A flicker of grim satisfaction crossed your features. Good.
“But it didn’t scare her off.” He continued, his gaze returning to yours, haunted. “She doubled down. She says she knows about you and San. All of it. And she said if I don’t help her, she’ll go to Yunho. Not just about me, but about San. She’ll paint you as the ringleader, the corruptor. And he’ll believe her.” His grip on your hands tightened. “He won’t be mad at us, Eunji. He’ll be mad at you. It’ll all come down on you.”
The fear in his eyes wasn’t for himself, or even for San. It was a pure, undiluted terror for you. It was the fear of seeing you shattered by Yunho’s wrath once more, and him powerless to stop it.
Your heart didn’t just flutter; it ached. Then it hardened. You leaned in, cupping his cheek, forcing his frantic gaze to hold yours.
“Hey. Look at me.”
He did, his breath still coming too fast.
“Let her try.” You whispered, your voice a soft, dangerous counterpoint to his anxiety. You closed the distance, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his lips, feeling some of the tension bleed from his frame. “Let her run to Yunho with her little stories.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, a silent promise. When you pulled back, your eyes were calm, but a chilling calculation had replaced your earlier worry.
“This isn’t a defeat. It’s a misdirection. Let her have her little victory. Let her think she’s won this round.” A cold, sly smile touched your lips. “It’ll just make the fall so much harder when I return the favor.”
“But—” He started, still caught in the nightmare she’d painted.
“Shhh.” You pressed a finger to his lips. “I’ll handle it. I’ll handle her. You warned me. That’s all I needed.”
You leaned in once more, your kisses becoming less about comfort and more about sealing a pact, about transferring your cold certainty into him. The worry was still there in the tight line of his shoulders, but beneath your touch, it began to morph into something else—a simmering readiness.
You had been warned. The battlefield was now defined. And you were no longer just playing defense.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
“Hello, Jongho.”
The sickly-sweet voice sliced through his concentration. Ann slid into the seat beside him, her presence an immediate blight on his mood.
Jongho closed his eyes, a slow sigh of pure exasperation escaping. Not now.
“So.” She continued, her tone deceptively light. “Have your answer because I'm not giving you more days.”
He turned his head, meeting her gaze with flat, undisguised annoyance “It’s been two days. You’re delusional if you think that’s a reasonable deadline.”
“It’s all the time I’m willing to waste. The sooner we start, the sooner we end this.” She leaned in, her eyes glinting.
“We?” Jongho repeated. His voice a low, dangerous rumble. “There’s no ‘we’, Ann.”
Ann’s expression dropped “What?”
“No.” He stated, the single syllable final and absolute. He turned his attention back to the front of the class, a clear dismissal. “I’m not helping you, so find someone else to play these childish games with you.”
For a moment, she was speechless, her face cycling through shock, disbelief, and finally, a cold, furious resolve.
“No?” She finally whispered, the word sharp as a shard of glass. “You’re saying no to me?”
Jongho didn’t dignify it with another look.
“Okay.” Ann nodded, a brittle laugh escaping her. “Well, I hope she has a shoulder to cry on after I tell Yunho everything.”
She stood and swept away, leaving Jongho with a knot of cold dread tightening in his gut. His eyes instinctively sought you out, finding you in the front row, laughing softly at something Minseok said. You looked so unconcerned, so normal, as if he hadn’t warned you two nights ago that a viper was coiling to strike.
The disconnect was terrifying. Hell was coming, and he felt utterly powerless to shield you from it.
—
In the quiet sanctuary of Yunho’s car, Ann saw her opening. The drive to her house was her final stage.
“... Yu.” She began, her voice trembling with expertly feigned distress. “There’s something I have to tell you. Something awful. About Eunji.”
Yunho’s grip on the wheel tightened, but he said nothing, his jaw set “Now what?”
“It’s… it’s about San. And Jongho. Maybe… others too.” She started.
“What you mean, Ann?” Yunho sighed, already feeling tired.
“I tried to ignore it, to believe the best, but… I saw them, Yu. In Jeju. San was… he was with her. And I heard him say she’d kissed Jongho that same night at the karaoke. And before, when we were friends… I saw her with Wooyoung, too.”
"I'm telling you this because I'm worry about her."
She fed him the truths, twisted with just enough plausible detail to sound real. She watched as the denial first hardened his features, then slowly, under the weight of her “confession,” began to fracture.
Yunho didn't say anything, his eyes were on the road but his mind was already running.
The pieces she threw at him clicked into a damning, horrific picture: San’s sudden, intense friendship with you. Seonghwa’s bewildering defection. Jongho’s quiet, watchful tension. Wooyoung’s possessive clinginess.
It wasn’t just rebellion. It was a pattern. A systematic, attention-hungry corruption.
Why? The question screamed in his mind. What is your problem? Are you that desperate, that hungry for validation that you need to collect his friends, one by one?
By the time he pulled up to her house, a silent, seismic rage had settled over him, cold and absolute. He nodded tersely at Ann’s goodbye, his mind already a roaring white noise of betrayal.
The drive home was a blur and the moment he arrived home, the front door slammed shut behind him with enough force to rattle the frames on the wall. He took the stairs two at a time, a storm given human form.
You were in your room, selecting a notebook for your project session at Minseok’s, when your door burst open.
Yunho filled the doorway, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a fury you hadn’t seen since the day of the video.
“You.” He spat, the word a curse.
You straightened, your guard slamming up instantly “Hello to you too. What’s your problem now?”
“My problem?” A harsh, disbelieving laugh ripped from his throat. He stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him. “My problem is that I have to hear from my girlfriend that my sister is the campus whore!”
The vulgarity, coming from him, was a slap. But you didn’t flinch.
“Ann talks too much. You shouldn’t believe her gossip.”
“Gossip?” He advanced, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Is it gossip that you fucked San in Jeju? That you were swapping spit with Jongho the same night? That you’ve been letting your own ‘friend’ paw at you since God knows when?”
Each accusation landed like a hammer blow.
“And Seonghwa… my friend. My good, decent friend. Did you have to sink your claws into him too? Couldn’t you leave one person in my life uncorrupted? Glad I believe what the whole fucking school told about you back then, you’re just a fucking whore, Eunji.”
The old wound, the one from the video, tore open anew, but this time, you wouldn’t bleed in front of him. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” You said, your voice dangerously calm.
“No?” He sneered, leaning into your space, his breath hot with fury. “I have all the pieces now. I see it. The way you dress, the way you act, the company you keep. It all makes sense. You’re not a victim, Eunji. You’re a provocateur. You crave the attention, the chaos. You need every man in the room looking at you, and you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they do.”
He was echoing the ghosts from the library, the boys who’d said you’d asked for it. The brother who had promised to protect you was now wielding the same poison.
“You’re pathetic.” You said, the words ice-cold. “You believe the lies of a jealous girl over your own sister. Again. You haven’t changed at all. You’re still the same coward who abandoned me when I needed you most.”
His face contorted, the insult striking deep “I abandoned a lie! I’m not abandoning anything now. I’m finally seeing the truth. And the truth is, you’re exactly what everyone says you are.”
The finality in his voice, the utter loss of the boy you once knew, was a deeper cut than any insult. But you wouldn’t let him see it.
You tilted your chin up, a cold, defiant smile touching your lips, a mask of unbreakable strength.
“Believe what you want, Yunho.” You said, gathering your things with deliberate slowness. “It’s all you’ve ever been good at.”
You walked past him, out of your room, leaving him standing in the wreckage of your shared past, his rage cooling into a hollow, bitter certainty.
He had chosen his side. And this time, you were done trying to call him back.
✮
The drive to Minseok’s house was a blur of asphalt and bass-heavy music you didn’t really hear. You cranked the stereo until your ears rang, a futile attempt to drown out the echo of Yunho’s words in your skull.
Campus whore. Provocateur. Exactly what everyone says you are.
Each one landed with every stoplight, a fresh wave of icy numbness followed by a searing, silent rage. You didn’t cry. The tears felt useless, a currency he didn’t deserve. Instead, you let the fury fuel you, harden you, until your grip on the steering wheel was the only thing that felt solid.
You parked outside a tasteful, modern two-story house in a quiet neighborhood. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you grabbed your bag and school materials, slamming the car door a little harder than necessary.
Just focus on the project, you commanded yourself. Forget him. Forget all of them.
Minseok answered the door with a soft, welcoming smile that almost reached his eyes.
“Hi! You made it. Come in, come in”
“Thanks for having me.” You said, forcing a lightness into your voice you didn’t feel.
The interior was clean, minimalist, and… unsettlingly familiar. A cold prickle ran down your spine as you stepped into the foyer. The layout, the style of the staircase, the faint scent of lemongrass cleaner… it tugged at a dark, buried memory. But you shook it off. Lots of houses look alike.
“We can work in the dining room. It’s quiet,” Minseok said, leading you past a living room where a large, framed portrait of a smiling, devout-looking family hung over the fireplace.
Your eyes skimmed over it, your brain refusing to process the faces. You settled at the large table, spreading out your notes. Minseok’s mother, a kind-faced woman with Minseok’s gentle eyes, brought in a tray of tea and hoddeok, smiling warmly.
“Minseok’s study partner! It’s so nice to meet you, Eunji. Please, work hard and eat well.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Joo.” You said, bowing your head slightly.
The surname ‘Joo’ pinged vaguely in your mind, but it was a common enough name. You buried yourself in the project, grateful for the distraction.
And it worked.
Minseok was a surprisingly engaging partner. Knowledgeable, patient, and genuinely funny in a dry, understated way. The tense energy from the chapel, the unspoken crush, it all faded into an easy, intellectual rhythm.
For almost an hour, you forgot about Yunho’s fury, Ann’s schemes, the exhausting weight of your secrets.
The front door opened and closed with a decisive thud, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps and a cheerful, booming voice that froze the blood in your veins.
“Minseok! I’m home! Mom said you have a friend over?”
Every muscle in your body locked. You knew that voice. You’d heard it in your nightmares, laced with mockery and something far more sinister. Your eyes shot to the archway leading to the foyer, your heart hammering a frantic, sickening rhythm against your ribs.
Joo Daehyun sauntered into the dining room. Older, more filled out, with a sharp, handsome face and a confident, predatory grace that his schoolboy self had only hinted at. His eyes, dark and calculating, swept over Minseok before landing on you.
A slow, delighted smile spread across his face, a smile that didn’t reach his cold eyes.
“Well, well.” He said, his voice a smooth, oily river. “Look what the wind dragged in. If it isn’t little Jeong Eunji. All grown up.”
Minseok looked between you and his brother, a confused but polite smile on his face “You two know each other?”
Your mind screamed. Every instinct screamed to run, to vomit, to scream. The room tilted. The familiar house details snapped into horrific focus—this was his house.
The house you’d been dragged to, disoriented and terrified, all those years ago. The house where the video was filmed.
But you didn’t run. You didn’t scream. You called upon every ounce of icy control you’d learned from surviving Yunho’s wrath, from navigating the dangerous loyalty of your boys. You met Daehyun’s gaze, your face a perfect, placid mask.
“Daehyun?” You said, tilting your head as if vaguely recalling a distant acquaintance. Your voice was steady, a miracle. “It’s been a long time. You were… Yunho’s classmate, right?”
Minseok’s face lit up “Ah, of course! Hyung, you and Yunho were classmates back in high school!”
Daehyun’s smile widened, impressed and amused by your performance. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, his eyes drinking you in with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl.
“That’s right. Good memory, Eunji.” He took a step closer, and you forced yourself not to flinch. “Though I have to say, my memory of you is a lot… clearer. You were always so pretty. Even back then.” His gaze was a physical touch, slimy and violating. “But now? You’re absolutely stunning. Time has been more than kind to you.”
“Hyung,” Minseok said, a faint note of discomfort in his voice at his brother’s tone.
“I’m just saying,” Daehyun chuckled, the sound like gravel. “It’s a wonderful surprise. I just got back from studying abroad, you know. Feeling a bit disconnected. Seeing a beautiful, familiar face is just what I needed.” He focused back on you, his voice dropping, intimate and threatening. “We should catch up properly. Reminisce about the old days. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten them either, have you?”
The threat was velvet-wrapped steel. He knew you remembered. And he was enjoying this, watching you squirm behind your polite facade.
You gave a small, tight smile, gathering your papers with deliberate calm “The old days are a bit fuzzy for me, to be honest. Just a lot of boring school stuff.” You stood up, your movements controlled despite the tremors wanting to wrack your body. “Minseok, I think we’ve made great progress. I should probably head home before it gets too late.”
“So soon?” Daehyun pouted, feigning disappointment. “The night is young. And I’m sure my little brother wouldn’t mind sharing his study partner for a little while longer.”
“I have a curfew.” You lied smoothly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. The need to escape was a frantic drumbeat in your skull.
Minseok, ever the gentleman, stood up “Of course. Let me walk you out.”
Daehyun didn’t move from the doorway, blocking the exit for a heart-stopping second before stepping aside with a mocking, sweeping gesture.
“By all means. Don’t let me keep you.” As you passed, he leaned in, his whisper a hot, poisonous breath against your ear. “We’ll talk soon, Eunji. I promise. It’s so good to see you again.”
You didn’t look at him. You kept your eyes forward, your spine straight, walking out of that house of horrors on legs that felt like water.
Minseok walked you to your car, apologizing softly “Sorry about my brother. He can be a bit… intense. I didn’t realize you knew him.”
“It’s fine.” You said, your voice miraculously light as you fumbled for your keys. “Really. It was just a long time ago. Thanks for tonight, Minseok. See you tomorrow at school.”
You slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door on his concerned, confused face. Only when the engine roared to life and you had pulled away, the house disappearing in the rearview mirror, did the mask shatter.
A violent, full-body shudder wracked you. Your breath came in ragged, silent gasps. The fear you’d locked down now flooded you, cold and paralyzing. But beneath the terror, a new, darker emotion ignited—a furious, burning hate.
Yunho had thrown you to the wolves with his accusations. And now, by cruel, twisted fate, you’d walked right into the den of the original wolf.
The game had just become infinitely more dangerous. And as you drove into the night, you knew one thing with crystalline certainty:
You’re fucked up.
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Stream Of Sin..
21: The Uninvited.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 11,4k
Synopsis: A carefully controlled birthday celebration fractures under the weight of jealousy, betrayal, and a terrifyingly intimate threat, proving that the most dangerous enemy might already be inside the house.
Warnings: Smut (MDNI!!) Unprotected sex, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, group sexual activity, including oral sex, vaginal penetration, BDSM, established dom/sub roles. Psychological dominance, verbal commands, humiliation, enforced rules, bondage, public humiliation, degradation. Emotional blackmail, forced observation, isolation, and shaming. Substance use, voyeurism and non-consensual sharing of intimate media, gaslighting, victim-blaming, family tension… and thats it, ig.
a/n: I hope you enjoy the chapter, I made the chapter based on Ji's birthday because someone sent me the idea! I really liked it and saw its potential haha. Thank you very much☺️! Just warning you that the following chapters are going to be full of angst and drama, this chapter was like an apology in advance haha. Love ya'll!! ❤️❤️
Series masterlist
Masterlist
A whole week has gone by and it's been pretty normal for you, except for the fact that Minseok flirts with you every day which made San grind his teeth, Seonghwa’s smiles grow a little tighter, and maybe Wooyoung sending you threatening messages during class but… Everything's been fine.
Ann hasn't done anything since that day at the pug, but the fact that she's so quiet makes you curious to know what that silly girl is up to because it felt like the calm before a storm you couldn’t yet see.
Oh, yes! And something will happen this week that you won't be able to avoid, even if you try.
“What are you doing for your birthday, sweetie?” Wooyoung asks casually as they walk out of morning mass. “I hope this time we can have a party where San doesn't fall asleep after one shot of tequila.”
San frowns, shoving him lightly “Look who's talking, the person who cries at every sad song that plays.”
Woo was about to say something, but your laughter stopped him, and he looked at you with a pout.
“You two are a mess, admit it.” You laughed again just remembering.
“She's right,” Hongjoong mused, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips as he fell into step beside you. “How could I forget the time Woo started crying because I wouldn't let him touch you? I had so much fun that day.”
“You’re all cruel!” Wooyoung declared, crossing his arms with an exaggerated pout that only made you laugh harder.
You'd really like to do something for your birthday, but you don't think your mother would accept it, or rather, she couldn't be in a room with them there, so a party at your house is not an option.
“I don't think I'll do anything.” You said with a sigh.
“What? Why not?” Wooyoung asked immediately.
“I don't feel like looking for a place to celebrate and—”
“I offer my humble home,” San interrupted, the smile you know so well appearing on his face. “My parents will be out the whole weekend.”
“It's settled then,” Hongjoong nodded.
“Wait—”
“Awesome, party at Sannie's house!” Wooyoung shouted excitedly, slinging an arm around your neck. “Let's get drunk, baby.”
“And fuck,” San muttered with a smirk.
You rolled your eyes, unable to believe what these lunatics were saying.
“Guys...” You started, but again someone interrupted you. Again.
“Did someone say party?”
Oh God, no.
“Hey, man!” San greeted him with a high five.
“You're just in time, pretty boy. Sit down.” Wooyoung patted the bench beside him with dramatic flair.
“Saturday is our little devil's birthday,” Hongjoong said without looking at him, still not used to having him around. “We're having a party at San's house.”
Seonghwa’s brow furrowed as he slid next to you, his hand naturally finding your knee “I thought you didn’t want a party, angel.”
You sighed, but it seemed like no one wanted to let you speak today.
“But we're going to throw her one, no excuses.” Wooyoung said casually. “We'll take care of everything.”
“But—”
“Just focus on looking pretty and that's it, princess.” San added, winking. “We'll do the rest.”
You saw the battle was lost. But you could still set the terms of surrender.
“Fine,” You said, holding up a hand to silence the imminent celebration. “But on one condition.”
“Anything, just say the word, pretty.”
“I don't want any strangers, just the five of us.” You begged, praying inside that especially Wooyoung wouldn't accidentally talk to someone, or that San wouldn't ask random people for opinions on which alcohol to buy. “Please.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” Wooyoung nodded.
But if we're honest, you didn't trust in him, and neither did he.
The plan, however, never stood a chance.
During a particularly dry economics lecture, Wooyoung, bored out of his mind, slid close to San.
“I’m gonna get the good vodka, the kind that makes her laugh at everything and makes Joong hyung vomit.” He murmured, a silly smile forming on his lips.
San smiled back “Eunji likes those sweet strawberry drinks too. Get a box and lots of snacks.”
“Of course I will.”
They thought they were being stealthy. They were not.
Ann, whose obsession had her monitoring San’s every move like a hawk, heard them murmuring. She watched his lips quirk into a smile as he talked. They will buy alcohol and snacks… for what? But then she could almost hear in her ears your name as San said it.
Of course you would be involved. Like always.
The lunch break bell rang, and she moved like a woman possessed, finding Yunho at his locker, Yeosang and Mingi lingering nearby, Jongho a silent presence a few feet away.
“Yu,” She said, her voice a strained whisper laced with fake excitement. “I just overheard… San and Wooyoung are planning a party. Is someone's birthday coming soon?”
Yunho’s expression darkened on cue “Eunji’s birthday is this Saturday, of course they are planning something for her.”
But it was Mingi who perked up, his face lighting with genuine interest “A party? For Eunji’s birthday?”
“Oh, well… Seems like it’s just going to be them.” Ann said, injecting a note of wounded exclusion into her tone.
Yeosang’s analytical gaze flickered. Jongho simply listened, his arms crossed.
“They are practically best friends, Ann.” Jongho said softly, trying not to be rude. “Obviously they are throwing her a celebration.”
“But I'm pretty sure Seonghwa will be there too.” Ann added.
“He is her boyfriend.” Yeosang felt a bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue when he said that.
“Well, that’s rude,” Mingi said, frowning. “Seonghwa’s our friend too. And she’s…” He trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence around Yunho. She’s important. He didn’t say it, but it hung in the air.
Later, as you were walking to the cafeteria with Seonghwa, his phone buzzed.
Mingi: Hey, heard about the party for Eunji. Jongho, Yeosang, and I are crashing. Don't try to stop us. Mingi: Day, place and time. Mingi: Please?
Seonghwa blinked at the message, then showed it to you. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“How? We literally just decided this three hours ago.” You already knew it was Wooyoung’s fucking fault.
“Dont know, baby.” He said, already typing back.
Hwa: It was supposed to be small. Just us.
The reply was almost instantaneous.
Mingi: We ARE ‘us’! You're dating her, we're your friends, we're her friends. We're practically invited.
You read it over Seonghwa’s shoulder and let out a soft, incredulous laugh. The ‘just us five’ dream was dead before it could even take a breath. Your small, intimate birthday was rapidly morphing into a full-blown gathering.
“Okay, tell them already.”
Hwa: Saturday at San’s. 8:00 pm.
And across the hall, watching the resigned smile on your face, Ann allowed herself a small, cold smirk. She might not be invited, but she’d already succeeded in poisoning the well. The party was no longer just yours and your boys’. It was theirs too.
“This is your fucking fault, Jung Wooyoung.” You said the moment you set your lunch tray on the table, the force made him jump. “I’m gonna kill you if something goes wrong that day.”
Wooyoung blinked up at you, his expression a perfect mix of offense and fascination. He placed a dramatic hand over his heart “What are you being so aggressive with me, honey?”
“Because of you and your fucking big mouth!” You snapped, and before he could protest further, you reached out and fisted a hand in his perfectly styled hair, giving it a not-so-gentle tug.
“Hey! What the fuck is your problem?!” He yells, his hands flying up to grab your wrist, but he was laughing through the grimace.
“Easy, princess.” San stood up to help his best friend from your savage act. He didn’t look overly concerned as he pried your fingers loose one by one. “What is going on? I know it's Wooyoung's fault, but take it easy, yeah? Don't give him the satisfaction of having a boner right now.”
“Excuse me?!” Woo gasped, shoving him aside. His outrage completely undermined by the gleam in his eyes.
“What’s the matter this time?” Hongjoong appeared, a big sigh escaping his lips. Why does he always have to solve your stupids fights?
“This idiot—”
“Let go.” Hongjoong said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Yeah, let go you bitch!” Wooyoung yelps again, but with a smirk.
That made you inhalate deeply because this freaky bitch enjoys being manhandled, but you did as told, you released the last of your grip with a huff.
“Angel.” Seonghwa’s calm voice cut through the tension as he gently took your now-free hand, lacing his fingers through yours in a soothing anchor. “Breathe.”
“Now.” Hongjoong’s dark eyes fixed on you.” Explain with words, not with violence.”
Seonghwa, seeing you refusing to speak, took over.
“The others found out about the party. They’ve declared themselves invited and are coming.”
Hongjoong’s eyebrows lifted a fraction “The others? Which others?”
“My friends.” Seonghwa clarified, a hint of apologetic embarrassment in his tone.
“Perfect.” San scoffed, slumping back into his seat, his earlier good mood evaporating. “Now we’re gonna deal with Yunho and Ann. Sounds so fun.”
A heavy silence fell. The dream of a tight-knit, five-person celebration was officially dead.
Hongjoong was the first to break it, his voice low and decisive “Fine. They can come.”
You whipped your head to stare at him “Joong—”
“But.” His gaze swept over all of you. “If they step out of line, if Yunho gives you a single look I don’t like, if Ann breathes wrong in your direction, if any of them kill the vibe—they’re out. I don’t care whose friends they are.” His eyes locked with Seonghwa’s. “Understood?”
Seonghwa nodded, his expression solemn “Understood.”
“Good,” San grunted, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “As long as we have a zero-tolerance policy for sanctimonious bullshit.”
“My hero,” Wooyoung sighed, fluttering his lashes at Hongjoong before ducking to avoid your half-hearted swipe.
Logically, it was settled. Boundaries were set. Your boys had your back, a united front.
But as the conversation moved on, a cold, quiet dread settled in the pit of your stomach. Hongjoong’s rules were clear, but rules had a way of shattering in the heat of the moment. You had a feeling, deep and unshakable, that Saturday wasn’t just a birthday party.
It was a powder keg. And someone was already holding a match.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
The sound of the door opening, followed by footsteps, woke you from your sleep. You were about to tell whoever had interrupted your sleep to go away, but the sound of a laugh you know very well stopped you.
“Happy birthday, my angel.”
You turned around, your eyes still half-closed from sleep, and found yourself looking into the beautiful face of your man.
“Wake up, beautiful.” Seonghwa smiled gently at you, his eyes full of love. “Blow out the candle and make a wish.”
With a snort, not believing he was really there, you sat up and clasped your hands together, closing your eyes. You didn't really wish for anything, since you already had everything you ever wanted, so you just closed your eyes for a moment and blew out the candle.
Seonghwa laughed contentedly and with one finger scooped up some whipped cream and spread it across your nose.
“Happy birthday!” He sang sweetly.
You smiled broadly, feeling enormous happiness early in the day. Your birthdays don't usually start like this.
“Thank you so much, love. You're so sweet.”
“Only with you.” He added, setting the small cake aside. He sat down next to you and gently covered your cheeks with his hands. “I hope this day is very special for you. Thank you for being born and making me happy with your existence.”
“You're corny, you know that?” You teased him, but the color in your cheeks made him smile.
“I know.” He winked playfully before stealing a kiss. “And you're very cute pretending you don't like what I say.”
This time you kissed him just to shut him up. It was a slow kiss, full of everything that cannot be expressed in words. Seonghwa hummed during the kiss, melting completely with your lips on his.
How he loves having you for himself.
“I have a gift for you.” He whispered on your lips.
He pulled away from you slightly to pick up a small red velvet box that was on the nightstand. You hadn't even noticed it when he put it there. With a shy smile, he offered it to you. You took it quietly, never taking your eyes off his. The moment you opened it, you let out a gasp.
“Oh my God, hwa.” Your whole expression was one of surprise.
Inside the box was a delicate silver ring with a star-shaped gem in the center surrounded by smaller gems. It was absolutely beautiful.
“Do you like it?” He asked with a touch of anxiety, his boba eyes analyzing your face.
You didn't say anything, you just turned to look at him with a smile before jumping up to hug him. Due to the force, Seonghwa fell onto the bed with you on top of him. His laughter echoed through the room.
“I think that's a yes.”
“Of course I love it, it's beautiful!” You shouted excitedly, your arms still around his neck. “Thank you, Hwa.”
He laughed again, loving your reaction “It's my pleasure, angel.”
The warmth of Seonghwa’s kiss and the dazzling ring on your finger made you feel like you were floating. He helped you get ready, his fingers lingering as he zipped up your dress, his lips brushing the nape of your neck.
“Ready to face the lions, angel?” He whispered, a playful glint in his eye.
“With you? Always.”
You descended the stairs hand-in-hand, the soft melody of your shared morning still humming in your veins. The dining room was a tableau of quiet tension.
Your stepfather was at the head of the table, reading the paper with a soft smile that crinkled his eyes. Your mother sat rigidly across from him, sipping her tea as if it were medicine. Yunho was already there, pushing food around his plate, a dark cloud in a crisp shirt.
The moment you entered, Mr. Jeong’s face lit up. He dropped his paper and stood, arms open.
“There she is! Our birthday girl!” He enveloped you in a warm, paternal hug that smelled of his familiar cologne and sincerity. “Happy birthday, my dear. May God bless you with endless joy.”
“Thank you, Dad.” You murmured into his shoulder, the term of endearment still feeling precious after all these years.
Your mother placed her cup down with a precise click “Happy birthday, Eunji.” She said, her voice as dry and flat as the toast on her plate.
Yunho didn’t look up. He kept his gaze locked on his plate, his jaw tight. You could feel the conflict radiating from him—the old instinct to smile, to ruffle your hair, to call you ‘angel’ warring with the fortress of resentment he’d built.
“I have something for you,” Your dad said, his eyes twinkling.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, sleek black key fob, placing it in your palm. You stared at it, uncomprehending for a second. Then it clicked. The silver keychain bore the logo of the luxury car you’d been casually—and not so casually—admiring for years.
“Oh my god… you didn’t.”
“I did.” He beamed, utterly pleased with himself. “It’s parked out front, you deserve it.”
Tears of genuine shock and gratitude pricked your eyes “Thank you.” You breathed, clutching the fob. “It’s too much.”
“Nothing is too much for you, darling.” He said firmly.
Across the table, your mother’s lips thinned into a pale line. The extravagance, the implied spoiling—it was everything she disapproved of.
“A car is a big responsibility, honey.” She commented tersely.
“She’s more than responsible enough, my love.” He countered gently but firmly, before turning back to you. “So, what are the plans for the big day? Going out with your young man here?” He nodded warmly at Seonghwa.
Seonghwa squeezed your hand “Actually, sir, her friends and I have planned a small gathering at a friend’s house tonight. To celebrate properly.”
“Wonderful!” He boomed, his approval immediate and wholehearted. “That’s exactly what you should do! Be with the people who love you, have fun. You’re only twenty-one once.”
Your mother set her napkin down with a quiet, definitive finality “Which friends?” She asked, her tone implying she already knew the answer she would hate.
“Hongjoong, Wooyoung, San… and Seonghwa’s friends too.” You said, keeping your voice light.
The air chilled by several degrees. Your mother said nothing, but the disapproval was a tangible force. Seeking to deflect, and perhaps out of a perverse desire to twist the knife of normalcy, you looked directly at Yunho, who had finally glanced up, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting, electric second.
“You should come, Yu.” You said, the old nickname slipping out before you could stop it. His flinch was almost imperceptible. “Bring Ann, too. It’s just a get-together.”
He held your gaze for a moment longer, a storm of unspoken words in his eyes—anger, hurt, and that stubborn, lingering echo of the brother who’d once promised you the world. You saw his throat work as he swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to say the words happy birthday. To say anything.
Finally, he gave a single, stiff nod “We’ll see.” He muttered, the non-committal answer his only defense against fully engaging.
It was enough. The invitation was cast, the lines drawn.
As you sat down to a birthday breakfast that was anything but celebratory, the ring on your finger felt heavy. The party tonight was no longer just a celebration. It was a collision course.
—
You took your time getting ready after Seonghwa told you that he would pick you up at seven thirty, sharp. Hongjoong’s orders, he said.
Music played softly as steam fogged the bathroom mirror. You lingered in the shower longer than usual, letting the heat ease the tension out of your shoulders. When you stepped out, skin warm and relaxed, you caught your reflection and paused.
Tonight wasn’t about being soft. It wasn’t about being sweet. It was about presence.
The dress waited for you on the bed like a dare. Gold, fitted, catching the light even while lying still. It clung where it mattered, unapologetic in its confidence. When you slipped it on, the fabric molded to you as if it had been designed with your body in mind, every curve highlighted, every movement intentional.
The heels followed. Then the jewelry and Seonghwa’s ring too, of course.
You left your hair down, dark waves framing your face, and leaned closer to the mirror as you applied your makeup. Smoky eyes. Lined lips. A version of you that didn’t ask for permission to be seen.
When you draped the faux fur jacket over your shoulders, the final image clicked into place.
You didn’t look like someone celebrating quietly at a friend’s house. You looked like someone walking into a room knowing it would never be the same afterward.
You checked the time. Early evening. Your phone buzzed almost on cue.
Hwa: On my way to pick you up, angel. Hwa: Hope you know how to drive.
You smiled at that last one, slow and knowing, as you slipped your phone into your bag.
One last glance in the mirror and you stepped out of your room, heels clicking softly against the floor, unaware that elsewhere, plans were already shifting, boundaries already thinning, and someone—somewhere—was preparing to strike the match.
Your birthday had officially begun.
When Seonghwa’s car pulled up, you were already waiting by the door, the soft evening light catching the gold of your dress. He stepped out, a smile already on his lips, but it froze the moment he saw you.
His breath hitched, audibly. For a few heartbeats, he just stood there, his car door still open, his eyes traveling from the elegant sweep of your hair down the daring line of your dress, over the curve of your hips, to the lethal points of your heels. His usual composure shattered, replaced by pure, unadulterated awe.
“Jesus, my love…” He finally breathed, the words coming out rough. He closed the distance in long strides, his hands coming up to cup your face, his gaze burning. “You look… fuck, you look like a sin I want to commit over and over again.”
Before you could even smirk, his mouth was on yours. It wasn’t the soft, morning kiss from earlier. This was deep, claiming, hungry. A kiss that tasted of pride and a sudden, desperate possessiveness. When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.
“Hongjoong is going to kill me.” He murmured against your lips, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “We’re going to be late because I’m seriously considering saying screw the party and taking you back upstairs right now.”
You laughed, the sound bright and a little wicked, and playfully pushed at his chest. “Calm down, pretty boy. The night’s young.”
He groaned, resting his forehead against yours for a second before straightening up. Then you dangled the sleek black key fob in front of his face.
“Actually.” You purred. “You’re riding with me tonight, right?”
His eyebrows shot up. A slow, delighted smile spread across his face “Are you sure?”
“You’re my passenger princess tonight, baby.”
He laughed, a rich, happy sound, and took the key from you with a theatrical bow “I am honored, Your Highness.”
The drive to San’s was a blur of city lights and low music. Seonghwa’s hand rested high on your bare thigh, his thumb drawing absent, soothing circles on your skin, but his gaze was fixed on you—the confident way you handled the powerful car, the curve of your smile in the dashboard glow. It was an intimate, charged silence, a private pre-game before the public spectacle.
When you pulled up to San’s modern, spacious house, lights already glowing from within, Seonghwa jumped out to open your door, offering his hand like a true gentleman. You took it, a queen descending from her chariot.
He pushed the front door open for you, and you stepped inside.
And stopped.
The entryway opened into a living room transformed. Dozens of silver and lilac balloons drifted near the ceiling. Twinkling fairy lights were woven around the archways. A long table was laden with an absurd, glorious spread of snacks, from fancy canapés to Wooyoung’s beloved junk food. And on a smaller side table, a pile of beautifully wrapped presents waited.
But the real sight was them.
Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and San stood in the center of it all, having paused their setup. They turned in unison as you entered, and three pairs of eyes widened in synchronized shock.
For a second, there was absolute silence. Then, it broke.
“Holy fucking hell,” San breathed, the first to find his voice, his usual smirk replaced by something far more appreciative and intense.
Wooyoung actually clutched his chest, staggering back a step “You’re trying to give me a heart attack, aren’t you? On your birthday? That’s cruel, baby.”
Hongjoong said nothing at first. He just looked at you, a slow, deep smile curving his lips, his dark eyes holding a heat that made the room feel ten degrees warmer.
“Pretty.” He finally said, the single word loaded with meaning. “You outdid yourself.”
Then they were on you, not as a mob, but in a sequence of practiced, possessive affection.
San reached you first. He slid an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“Look at you.” He murmured, his voice a low rasp near your ear before he captured your lips in a kiss that was all fire and familiarity, a silent promise of later. “Happy birthday, princess.”
Before you could fully recover, Wooyoung swooped in, gently pushing San aside. He cradled your face, his playful energy softened into pure adoration.
“The most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.” He declared, before planting a sweet, lingering kiss on your lips. “My birthday girl.”
Finally, Hongjoong approached. He moved with a deliberate slowness that commanded the room. He didn’t touch you at first, just let his gaze sweep over you once more, as if memorizing the image. Then he cupped the back of your neck, his touch firm and grounding.
“Stunning.” He stated, as if it were a fact of the universe, before closing the distance. His kiss was deep, controlled, and utterly consuming—a brand of ownership and worship all in one. “Happy birthday, pretty.”
As he pulled back, you were flushed, a little breathless, surrounded by the three of them and Seonghwa at your back. The air was thick with love, pride, and a potent, simmering desire that promised the night was about far more than cake and balloons.
They loved you. Fiercely, completely. And the way they looked at you in that gold dress made it perfectly clear: this celebration was just the opening act.
_
The world had taken on a soft, warm glow. The fairy lights seemed to pulse gently, the music sounded richer, deeper, and the laughter of the people around you was a comforting symphony.
Hongjoong’s joint had done its job, melting away the final edges of pre-party anxiety. The five of you were in your own perfect bubble.
Seonghwa, looking adorably serene and a little glassy-eyed from his first real experience, had his head resting in your lap as you played with his hair. Wooyoung was sprawled dramatically across the rug, philosophizing about the meaning of a particularly good bass line. San and Hongjoong were engaged in a low, amused debate about something trivial, their movements languid.
“You know,” Seonghwa mumbled up at you, a blissful smile on his face. “I think I understand the hype now.”
San snorted, raising his glass in a lazy toast “Welcome to the dark side, man. You’re officially one of us now.”
“A corrupting influence, truly.” You teased, leaning down to brush a kiss against his forehead.
Just then, Seonghwa’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. He fumbled for it, squinting at the screen.
Mingi: Almost there. Don't start the fun without us.
The bubble wobbled, but didn’t pop. Hongjoong, ever the pragmatist, stood up with a sigh that was more theatrical than annoyed.
“Alright, darlings. Time to air out the sin. San, fragrance. Woo, open a window. Let’s make this place smell like a spring garden, not a dispensary.”
San moved with surprising grace for someone so high, grabbing a bottle of expensive room spray and misting the air with a generous hand. Wooyoung dramatically flung open the patio doors, letting in a cool breeze.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Mingi entered first, a beacon of exuberant energy that cut through the hazy atmosphere. He held a massive, beautiful bouquet of deep red roses and lilies.
“Happy Birthday!” He boomed, his grin wide and genuine as he spotted you. He crossed the room in two strides, wrapping you in a tight, warm hug that lifted you off your feet before pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your cheek. “You look incredible, Eun.”
Jongho followed, more subdued but with a softness in his eyes that the weed in your system made you want to dive into. He held a neatly wrapped, flat square box.
“Happy birthday.” He said, his voice low. His hug was different—slower, more intimate, his arms tightening around you just a fraction more than necessary, his face buried in your hair for a second too long.
You had to physically restrain yourself from turning your head and kissing him.
Yeosang came last, hanging back by the door as if analyzing the scene. He gave you a small, polite nod.
“Happy birthday, Eunji.” His gaze was sharp, missing nothing, but a shy, almost fascinated smile touched his lips as he took in the room, the vibe, and you in the center of it all.
“You guys didn’t have to come!” You laughed, the sound airy and light, the high making everything feel amusing. “But I’m glad you’re here! Mingi, these are gorgeous, thank you!”
“It was his idea,” Jongho muttered, nodding at Mingi. “We just… follow him.”
The mood, surprisingly, didn’t break. Mingi seamlessly integrated himself, telling an outrageously funny story that had even Hongjoong chuckling. Yeosang accepted a drink and watched the interactions with quiet, analytical interest. Jongho sat on the arm of the couch near you, his presence a solid, quiet comfort.
For a beautiful, stretched-out moment, it worked. You were all talking, laughing, singing along badly to a pop song, the earlier groups blending into one warm, happy noise.
This, you thought, your head swimming with affection, might actually be the best birthday ever.
That’s when the doorbell rang again.
The shift was subtle, but palpable. The easy laughter didn’t die, but it lowered in volume. Wooyoung’s smile tightened. Hongjoong’s eyes flicked to the door, then to you.
San, who was nearest, went to answer it.
Yunho stood on the threshold, Ann hovering just behind him like a shadow. He was dressed neatly, his expression carefully neutral, a bottle of expensive wine in his hand. Ann wore a sweet, modest dress and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Hey,” San said, his voice flat but not overtly hostile. “Come in.”
The mood in the room cooled by several degrees as they entered. You, too pleasantly hazy to fully register the tension, beamed at them.
“You made it, Hi.”
Ann’s gaze swept over you, taking in the gold dress, the relaxed, decadent atmosphere, the closeness of the boys. Her smile became even more brittle.
“Happy birthday, babe. You look… festive.”
Yunho’s eyes found you, and for a second, the mask slipped. You saw it—a flash of something complex and painful before his gaze shuttered again. He nodded stiffly in your direction, a silent acknowledgement.
“Here.” He said, thrusting the wine toward San, who took it with a raised brow.
Then Yunho did exactly what you’d predicted. He completely ignored Wooyoung and Hongjoong, as if they were furniture. He moved straight toward Mingi, clapping him on the back, then nodded at Yeosang and Jongho. Finally, he engaged Seonghwa in quiet conversation, seamlessly inserting himself into the “acceptable” half of the room.
Ann lingered near you, a poisonous butterfly “What a lovely setup.” She chirped, her voice saccharine. “Did you do all this yourself, honey?”
“Nah,” Wooyoung drawled from the floor, not looking at her. “That’s our job. She just has to exist and look pretty. We handle the rest.”
Ann’s smile tightened, but she said nothing, her eyes darting toward Yunho, who was pointedly not looking in your or your demons’ direction.
The party had officially split into two factions. The warm, hazy bubble of your inner circle, and the cold, performative cordiality of the newcomers. The collision course was no longer theoretical. It had arrived, taken off its coat, and was now sipping politely on a drink, waiting for the first spark to fly.
And you, floating happily in the center of it all, were just sober enough to feel the first prickle of dread beneath the high.
—
The living room's charged atmosphere, split between warm laughter and chilly politeness, had started to press in on San. The air felt too thick with unspoken things.
He caught Hongjoong’s eye, nodded towards the patio doors, and mimed smoking. Hongjoong gave a slight, knowing smirk and a jerk of his chin towards the kitchen counter where his sleek metal case sat. San palmed a pre-rolled joint on his way out, the paper crisp and familiar against his fingers.
The night air in the garden was cool, a welcome shock after the stuffy warmth inside. He lit up, the first drag hitting his system like a warm, slow wave, layering over the pleasant buzz already there. The world softened further. The fairy lights strung on the fence blurred into halos. The music from inside was a distant, thumping heartbeat.
He was leaning against the wooden railing, watching the smoke curl towards the stars, his mind pleasantly empty save for a recurring image of you in that gold dress, laughing, when he heard the soft click of the door and footsteps on the stone path.
He turned, the movement slow, languid. A silhouette approached. Slender. Long hair catching the ambient light. Eunji. The thought formed in his hazy mind with the easy certainty of a dream. Of course it was you. You’d come to find him. A slow, dopey smile spread across his face.
“Hey, princess.” He murmured, his voice low and gravelly from the smoke. He took another drag, offering the joint in a silent, lazy invitation.
The figure came closer. He could smell perfume now. Sweet. Floral. Something was off, but his THC-slowed brain filed it under ‘Eunji trying something new.’ He was just happy she was here.
“Needed a break from the crowd too?” The voice asked. It sounded higher than yours, tighter. But in his state, it was just… your voice.
“Mmm,” He hummed in agreement, his eyes half-closed as he exhaled a plume of smoke. “Too many people. Better out here with you.”
He saw her move closer, into the dim light from the kitchen window. Her face was a beautiful blur. Before his sluggish reflexes could process her intention, she rose on her toes, her hands coming up to frame his face.
And then her lips were on his.
The kiss was warm, insistent. San’s brain, operating on pure sensory input and the unshakable belief that this was you, responded on autopilot. His free hand came up, tangling in the long hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. He kissed her back, deepening it, a familiar heat sparking in his veins.
It felt good. It felt right. For a few, blissful, confused seconds, he was lost in it.
Meanwhile, Jongho had been staring out the large window, not really seeing the dark garden, just using the reflection to watch the room behind him without engaging. The alcohol in his system was a warm, heavy blanket, but it did nothing to dull the ache in his chest watching you.
A flicker of movement outside caught his eye. He focused. Two figures near the back fence. One tall, lean—San. The other, smaller, in a light dress. Ann.
His brow furrowed. What were they…? He saw her move. Saw her reach up. Saw her pull San’s face down to hers.
Jongho’s entire body went rigid. The warm haze of alcohol evaporated, replaced by a surge of ice-cold clarity.
He watched, his knuckles white around his glass, as San—San, who looked at you like you hung the fucking moon—didn’t pull away. No. San’s hand came up, cradling her head. He was kissing her back. Passionately.
A corrosive mix of betrayal and fury boiled up in Jongho’s throat. His eyes cut across the room to where you were, head thrown back in a laugh at something Wooyoung said, utterly radiant and completely unaware. His gaze snapped back to the window, a snarl threatening to tear from his lips.
That bastard.
Back in the Garden. The kiss, the dissonance grew for San. The perfume was too strong, cloying. The feel of her body against his was all wrong—too stiff, too eager in a desperate way that wasn’t yours. The taste… it wasn’t the subtle sweetness of your lip gloss or the lingering taste of the sweet drinks you enjoy. It was something artificial.
A sliver of sober alarm cut through the fog. He started to pull back, just as Ann sighed against his mouth, a sound of triumphant satisfaction.
Their lips parted. San blinked, trying to clear his vision, the world swimming back into sharper, more horrifying focus.
The face in front of him was tearful, flushed, triumphant. But it wasn’t yours.
The name fell from his lips, a soft, confused exhale born of habit, hope, and a brain still three steps behind reality.
“…Eunji?”
The effect was instantaneous. Ann recoiled as if he’d struck her. All the color, all the triumphant glee, drained from her face, leaving her pale and shaking. Her eyes widened in a mixture of utter horror and soul-crushing humiliation.
He hadn’t been kissing her. He’d been so high, so lost, that he’d been kissing the idea of you.
And he’d just confessed it.
“I…” San stammered, the reality crashing down like a bucket of ice water. He took a full step back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a gesture of instinctive revulsion that only twisted the knife deeper. “Ann? What the fuck?”
But she wasn’t listening. She was staring at him, her breath coming in sharp, silent hitches, the devastation in her eyes turning rapidly into something far darker: a pure, venomous rage.
Inside, Jongho turned away from the window, his expression unreadable but his eyes burning. He had the evidence. He had the truth. And the party, poised on a knife’s edge, now had a lit fuse attached to a powder keg no one else could see.
Jongho moved through the room with a predator’s focus, ignoring Mingi’s slurred voice and Yeosang’s curious glance. His eyes were locked on you. You were leaning against the back of the sofa, a lazy, blissful smile on your face as Wooyoung animatedly told a story.
He didn’t ask. He simply took your wrist, his grip firm, and pulled you away.
“Hey—Jongho?” You giggled, stumbling a little as he led you towards the kitchen. “What’s the rush, baby?”
From his perch, Seonghwa tensed, his protective instincts flaring. He started to rise, but a hand clamped down on his forearm. Hongjoong. He didn’t look at Seonghwa; his gaze was fixed on Jongho’s retreating back. He gave one sharp, almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Not ours to interfere with right now.
Seonghwa sank back, confusion and a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but he trusted Hongjoong’s read of the room’s deeper currents.
The kitchen was a haven of relative quiet, the closed door muffling the music. The cool air from the stainless steel fridge hit your warm skin. Jongho released your wrist and turned to face you, his expression unreadably dark.
“What’s wrong, babe?” You asked, your voice still light, teasing.
The alcohol and weed made the world soft, and his intensity was a fascinating puzzle. You stepped into his space, looping your arms around his neck.
“You look so serious. Come here, kiss me and tell me what’s bothering my big, strong Jongho.”
You leaned up, capturing his lips in a slow, intoxicating kiss. For a heartbeat, he resisted, the stiffness in his jaw palpable. But you were you, and he was only human.
With a low groan that was half frustration, half surrender, he kissed you back. His hands came to rest on your waist, his grip tightening, pulling you flush against him.
The kiss deepened, turning hungry, a temporary balm for the fury simmering in his veins. When you finally broke apart, breathless, you smiled against his lips.
“Better?”
“No.” His voice was rough. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his thumbs digging into your hips. “I saw something. Outside.”
“Hmm?” You nuzzled his jaw, still trying to coax him back into the kiss.
He held you still “In the garden. Ann kissed San.”
You froze. Then you let out a soft, disbelieving laugh “Don’t be stupid, Jongho. San wouldn’t—”
“And he kissed her back.”
The laughter died in your throat. You searched his face. There was no trace of humor, no jealousy-fueled lie. Only cold, hard truth and a protective rage that mirrored the one now igniting in your own chest.
That bitch.
The words were a silent scream in your head. The pleasant haze evaporated, burned away by a white-hot jealousy. San was yours. He belonged to you, to your circle, to your unspoken rules. He didn’t get to kiss pathetic, scheming church mice in gardens.
You saw the fury reflected in Jongho’s eyes, felt it in the tense coil of his muscles. He leaned down, kissing you again, harder this time, a desperate attempt to swallow your anger, to replace the toxic image with the taste of him.
“Forget her.” He growled against your mouth. “She’s nothing.”
But it wasn’t enough. The jealousy was a live wire under your skin, a buzzing, angry need for obliteration. You needed to burn the image out. You needed to be claimed so thoroughly that nothing else could exist.
You pulled back, your eyes blazing “Fuck me.”
Jongho stilled “What?”
“Fuck me. Right now. I need you to make me forget.” Your fingers went to his belt. “I need you to ruin me so I don’t think about her ruining what’s mine.”
“Eunji, we can’t—here, someone could—”
“I don’t care.” Your voice was steel wrapped in silk. You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the hallway bathroom, the one tucked away from the main living areas. “Now, Jongho.”
The panic of getting caught warred with the desperate, possessive hunger your words unleashed in him. Make me forget. What’s mine. He was yours to use for this. He’d always been. With a curse, he followed you, his resolve crumbling.
The bathroom door locked with a soft, definitive click. The room was small, lit by a single harsh bulb, all cool marble and gleaming chrome. Your reflection in the large mirror above the sink was a vision of disheveled gold and dark intent.
Before he could protest again, you turned, backing towards the sink. You gathered the luxurious fabric of your dress, hiking it up around your waist, revealing the lace of your underwear and the bare skin of your thighs. You hoisted yourself onto the cold marble counter, the surface biting into the backs of your legs.
“Jongho.” It was a command.
Any remaining hesitation evaporated. The sight of you like that, demanding, furious, and utterly his for the taking, shattered his control. He was on you in two strides, his body caging you against the mirror. His mouth crashed down on yours in a kiss that was all teeth and dominance.
One hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. The other shoved between your legs, his fingers roughly pushing aside the thin lace of your panties.
“You’re mine.” He snarled against your lips, his voice guttural. “You remember that. Only mine when I’m inside you.” He drove two fingers into you without preamble, the stretch sharp, grounding. “Forget his name. Forget hers. All you feel is me.”
You cried out, a sound swallowed by his kiss, your nails scoring down his back. It was exactly what you needed—the pain, the overwhelming possession, the brutal reminder of power. He worked you with his fingers, rough and efficient, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure and pain chase away the anger.
When he felt you wet and ready, shuddering on the edge from his fingers alone, he fumbled with his belt, his movements frantic.
“Look.” He ordered, turning your face towards him. “Look at who you belong to right now.”
He pushed your panties aside and thrust into you in one brutal, claiming stroke, filling you completely. A choked scream tore from your throat, echoed by his own guttural groan. He didn’t wait for you to adjust. He set a punishing, relentless rhythm, each drive of his hips slamming you against the cold marble, his body covering yours.
“This is what you are.” He panted in your ear, his breath hot. “Mine. Needing to be fucked so hard you can’t think about anyone else.” He gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, his other hand still tangled in your hair. “You feel me? You feel how much I hate that he made you feel like this?”
You could only nod, words stolen by the sheer physical force of him, by the cathartic violence of his possession. The jealousy, the rage, it all blurred into a white-hot nexus of sensation centered on where your bodies joined. He was rewriting the violation with a stronger, more devastating claim.
His pace grew frantic, his control fraying “Come for me.” He demanded, his voice breaking. “Come on my cock and forget everything but my name.”
The command, the raw need in his voice, pushed you over the edge. You shattered with a silent, breathless cry, your body convulsing around him, the world narrowing to the feel of him pounding into you, chasing his own release. He followed you seconds later with a sharp, bitten-off groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his entire body shuddering as he spilled inside you.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the drip of a faucet. The anger was gone, burned out, replaced by a spent, heavy calm.
Slowly, he pulled out, he grabbed a towel to clean the mess he did and helped you down from the sink with hands that were suddenly gentle. He fixed your dress with careful, almost reverent motions, his earlier ferocity completely banked.
He cupped your face, his thumb wiping away a smudge of your lipstick. His eyes were dark, serious “You okay?”
You leaned into his touch, the storm inside you finally quiet “Yeah.” You took a shaky breath. “Thank you, babe.”
He nodded. He straightened his clothes, his movements methodical, the storm in his eyes now a calm, protective stillness. He pressed one last, lingering kiss on your lips.
“I’ll go first. Give you a minute.”
He unlocked the door, slipping out with a final glance to ensure the coast was clear.
Alone, you turned to the mirror. The girl staring back was a glorious mess. Hair mussed from Jongho’s grip, lipstick smeared, eyes still dark with the aftermath of fury and passion. The gold dress was slightly wrinkled, but it still clung with defiant elegance.
You reached for a tissue, wiping carefully at the ruined lipstick. A slow, cool smile spread across your lips as you reapplied it with a steady hand, the crimson a fresh declaration of war.
Then, a sound escaped you—a low, devilish chuckle that bubbled up from your chest. It wasn’t a happy sound. It was cold, amused, and utterly ruthless.
That. Fucking. Bitch.
The thought was a gleaming blade in your mind. Ann, the “good” church girl, Yunho’s devoted girlfriend, playing the pious angel while practically throwing herself at San in a dark garden.
And she had the audacity to look down on you? To try and blackmail you? The hypocrisy was so rich it was almost delicious.
And San.
The chuckle died, replaced by a sharper glint in your eye. Oh, he was in trouble. Deep, delicious trouble. Whether he was too high to know what he was doing or not, he’d put his lips on the enemy. He’d given her a moment of triumph, however fleeting and mistaken.
You took one last look in the mirror, confirming that everything about you was in order, and left the bathroom to return to your celebration.
When you stepped into the room, everything was the same as when you left, but this time Ann was sitting in the corner of a sofa, her eyes unfocused and a glass in her hand. And San was leaning against the wall near the door leading to the patio, the patio where he kissed Ann, by the way, chatting animatedly with Mingi and Wooyoung, but the moment his eyes met yours, he knew something was wrong.
Because he knows you very well, and you never look at him that way, as if you were about to throw something at him. But he let it go, because he knows very well that he has no right to complain after what he just did minutes ago.
“Angel, where were you?” Seonghwa asked as you sat down next to him. “We were waiting for—are you okay?”
You stopped looking at San to focus on Hwa, and with a forced smile, you nodded “Sure, why do you ask, babe?”
“You look... mad.” He replied carefully, taking your hands in his. “Did something happen? Did Jongho say something to upset you?”
Faced with his genuine concern, you let out a sigh, not wanting to talk about it only with him and then have to repeat it to Hongjoong and Wooyoung, so you just shook your head, trying to look as natural as possible.
“Everything's fine, we'll talk about it later, okay?” You said softly, and he understood instantly. “So, what were you waiting for?”
“Oh, yes! For you to open your presents.” He says with a smile, kissing your hand.
The forced normalcy was a tightrope, but you walked it with a practiced grace. You let Seonghwa guide you to the designated “gift corner,” a plush rug piled with colorfully wrapped boxes.
The group gathered around, phones raised, the atmosphere shifting back to festive. Ann remained a silent, pale statue on the sofa, her eyes avoiding everyone. Yunho stood awkwardly to the side, observing but not participating.
“Open mine first, babygirl!” Wooyoung chirped, shoving a large, glossy black box into your lap.
You tore the paper away to reveal pristine, red-soled Louboutin heels. They were lethally elegant, exactly your style.
“For my favorite goddess to step on us.” He winked.
You laughed, genuine this time, leaning over to kiss his cheek “They’re perfect, Woo. Thank you.”
San was next, his usual confidence subdued. He handed you a small velvet box. Inside, nestled on satin, was a delicate silver necklace with a butterfly pendant, its wings dusted with tiny, shimmering gems.
It was beautiful. Too beautiful for a traitor, a cold voice whispered inside you.
You met his eyes, your smile not quite reaching yours “It’s lovely, San. Thank you.” You said it sweetly, but the slight chill in your tone made him flinch almost imperceptibly.
He knew something was wrong.
Hongjoong’s gift was wrapped in simple, expensive paper. You unfolded a slip of wine-red silk dress, short and sleek, with a neckline that promised trouble. It was pure, unadulterated Hongjoong: knowing, indulgent, and perfectly tailored to your persona.
“For the next time you want to bring a room to its knees, pretty.” He murmured, only for you to hear.
You shot him a look of pure appreciation “I’ll wear it for you first.” You promised softly.
Seonghwa squeezed your hand, his ring glinting on your finger “You already have mine, angel.” He whispered, pride in his eyes.
Then came the anonymous pile. The first was a heavy, branded shopping bag. You pulled out a stunning, structured leather handbag from a notoriously expensive designer. It was impeccable.
“This is too much, guys.” You breathed, looking around.
Jongho gave a single, slight nod from where he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.
Your eyes softened for him “Thank you.” You said, and he acknowledged it with a tilt of his chin.
The next box was smaller, plain, and unmarked. A flicker of curiosity. You opened the lid.
And the world froze.
Nestled on tissue paper was a lace lingerie set—black, intricate, undeniably provocative. But it wasn’t the lingerie that stole the breath from your lungs.
Lying on top of it was a Polaroid. A close-up, explicit photo of a visible erection in grey pants. The image was graphic, vulgar. But your eyes weren’t on the central subject. They were locked in the background. A computer monitor. On that monitor, frozen mid-play, was a video.
Your video.
A recent one. One you’d filmed in Hongjoong’s bedroom just last week. The distinctive lace trim of your skirt, the angle of lights—it was unmistakable.
Ice water flooded your veins. Your blood roared in your ears, drowning out the party noise. The laughter, Wooyoung’s voice asking “What is it, baby? Show us!”, the flash of cameras—it all dissolved into a silent, horrifying vacuum.
Someone in this room knew. Someone had been watching. And they’d just announced it with a predator’s boldness.
“Eunji?” Seonghwa’s voice sounded far away. “You okay, angel?”
The sound of your name snapped you back. You slammed the box shut, a bright, brittle laugh tearing from your throat. It sounded alien to your own ears.
“It’s, uh… it’s private.” You managed, your voice surprisingly steady even as your hands trembled. You clutched the box to your chest like a shield. “Very private. Not for sharing.”
Wooyoung, misreading the tension, cackled “My my my! Someone got you naughty underwear! Who’s the secret admirer?”
His joke sparked a wave of chuckles from Mingi, a curious arch of Hongjoong’s brow, a faint, disapproving frown from Yunho.
You used the distraction to quickly set the box aside, as if it were burning you. You couldn’t look at anyone. Was it Mingi’s innocent enthusiasm? Yeosang’s analytical stare? The lingering disgust from Ann? Anyone.
“Last one!” You announced too brightly, grabbing the final small, elegantly wrapped box to move the horror along.
Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, woven with tiny, exquisite winged charms. It was beautiful, ethereal even. A stark, chilling contrast to the violation in the previous box.
“This is beautiful.” You murmured, your voice hollow. You put it on with numb fingers, the cool metal feeling like a manacle.
The gift opening was over. People dispersed back to drinks and conversations, the moment passing for them as just a slightly awkward pause.
But for you, the party had shattered. The gold dress felt like a costume. The laughter was noise. Your eyes, against your will, scanned the room. They landed on Yeosang, who was watching you from across the room, sipping his drink. He met your gaze and offered a small, polite, unreadable smile before turning away.
A fresh wave of cold dread washed over you.
The enemy wasn’t just outside in the garden. The enemy was inside the house. And they knew your deepest secret. The game had just escalated to a level you never saw coming.
—
The farewells were a blur of forced smiles and soft “happy birthday’s”. Yunho left first, his arm around a shell-shocked Ann, who didn’t even look back. Mingi, Yeosang, and Jongho followed, the latter pausing to give you a long, heavy look that held a world of shared secrets before he disappeared into the night.
The door clicked shut, leaving you with the only four who truly mattered. The silence in the suddenly too-big living room was deafening.
Wooyoung let out a theatrical sigh, then a wicked grin spread across his face.
“Finally. The real party can start.” He scooped you up in his arms before you could protest. “Time for your last present, birthday girl.”
You yelped, laughing despite the lingering dread from the anonymous box, as he carried you towards the hallway, his steps confident.
Hongjoong followed with a slow, knowing smirk. San, his earlier confidence frayed, trailed after them, a flicker of anxiety in his eyes. Seonghwa hesitated for a second at the threshold of the living room, his calm expression betraying a hint of nervous uncertainty, before he took a steadying breath and followed.
San’s bedroom was spacious, dimly lit, and smelled faintly of his cologne. Wooyoung laid you gently on the center of the large bed, then flopped down beside you, peppering your face with playful, clumsy kisses that made you giggle, the tension momentarily broken.
“Okay, okay, Woo!” You laughed, pushing at his chest.
Hongjoong leaned against the dresser, watching the scene unfold like a director. His eyes flicked to Seonghwa, who stood awkwardly near the foot of the bed.
“Nervous, Holy boy?” Hongjoong’s voice was deceptively light.
Seonghwa swallowed “A little. This is… new.”
San, eager to deflect from his own growing unease, clapped a hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder.
“Don’t be. It’s just us. And our girl.” He shot you a look that was part plea, part apology.
Wooyoung sat up, cross-legged, his head tilted “Question for our new member!” He chirped. “When it’s just you and JiJi… are you a sweet little bottom or a big bad dom?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Seonghwa’s ears turned a brilliant red “I—that’s—“
“He’s a soft dom,” San cut in, saving his friend. He’d seen it firsthand—the gentle control, the whispered commands, the intense focus on your pleasure. “Very in charge, but… reverent about it.”
Hongjoong nodded slowly, as if filing the information away “Good. That’s a useful dynamic.”
He pushed off the dresser, his presence expanding to fill the room. The playful atmosphere shifted, charged with a new, potent authority.
“Let’s remember the rules, everyone. Especially you, Seonghwa. When we’re all together like this, I lead. I give the orders. I decide who touches her, and when. Understood?” His gaze was a physical weight.
Seonghwa, after a moment, gave a firm nod “Understood.”
“Good.” Hongjoong’s smile was sharp. “Now, let’s—”
“Wait.” Your voice, quiet but clear, cut through the room.
All eyes snapped to you. You sat up slowly, the gold dress pooling around you. You looked directly at San, who was hovering near the bedside. A cold, serene smile touched your lips. The earlier warmth from Wooyoung’s kisses was gone, replaced by something calculating and icy.
“Before we begin.” You said, your tone sweet as poison. “I think San has something to share with the group. A little birdy told me a fascinating story about what happened in the garden earlier.”
The temperature in the room changed.
San’s face went pale “Babe, I can explain—”
“Oh, I’m sure you can.” You interrupted, your eyes never leaving his. “Why don’t you tell everyone? About how you and Ann kissed.”
The word ‘kissed’ hung in the air like a foul smell. Wooyoung’s playful grin vanished, replaced by open-mouthed shock. Seonghwa stiffened, his eyes narrowing. Hongjoong’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze turned glacial, fixed on San.
“It wasn’t like that!” San blurted, panic edging his voice. “I was high—out of my mind! She came up to me, I was blurred, I thought—I thought it was you!”
The confession, meant to exonerate him, had the opposite effect. Hongjoong moved so fast it was a blur. He was in San’s space in an instant, his hand fisting in the front of San’s shirt.
“You what?” His voice was a low, dangerous growl. “You were so fucking wasted you confused our girl with that pathetic, scheming little mouse?”
Wooyoung scrambled off the bed, his face a mask of betrayal “You kissed her? You actually let that Bible-sucker bitch put her mouth on you?” He sounded more heartbroken than angry.
Seonghwa said nothing, but the hurt and disappointment in his eyes were a silent indictment.
“I didn’t know!” San pleaded, his eyes wild, seeking yours. “Ji, you have to believe me, it was a mistake!”
“A mistake?” You repeated softly, the word dripping with disdain. “You put your lips on the enemy, Sannie. In my mind, that’s a betrayal. A weak, pathetic betrayal.”
Hongjoong shoved him back “On your knees.”
San stared, horrified “What?”
“You heard me.” Hongjoong’s voice brooked no argument.
He walked to San’s desk, rummaged in a drawer, and pulled out a length of silk cord—leftover from a gift, now a tool of punishment.
“On your knees. Now. Hands behind your back.”
The finality in his tone broke San’s resistance. With a look of utter shame, he sank to his knees on the plush carpet. Hongjoong moved behind him, binding his wrists together with efficient, cruel tightness.
“You don’t get to touch her tonight,” Hongjoong decreed, his voice cold. “You don’t get to touch yourself. You get to watch. You get to see what you almost lost because you couldn’t keep your fucking head straight. You get to see what happens to those who are loyal.”
He stepped back, leaving San kneeling, bound and helpless, a living monument to his error.
Your gaze drifted from San’s pale, humiliated face, down the rigid line of his shoulders, to where his wrists were tied securely behind his back. The sight did something to you—a hot, sharp thrill that coiled low in your stomach. The power in the room had shifted, and it was all because of your words.
You had exposed him. You had initiated his fall.
A slow, serene smile spread across your lips, one that didn't reach your cold, glittering eyes. It was a smile of pure, unhurried satisfaction. Seeing him like that, the usually arrogant, untouchable San, brought to his knees, stripped of his pride, bound and utterly at your collective mercy… was unexpectedly, devastatingly hot. It was a different kind of power play, and you were reveling in it.
Hongjoong’s sharp eyes caught your expression. A flicker of understanding, of dark approval, passed through his own gaze. He had done this for you, to restore the order you demanded, and your enjoyment was the ultimate validation.
He turned his attention back to San, his voice a low, chilling purr meant to carry to every corner of the silent room.
"You see her, San? Look at her."
San’s head was bowed, but at the command, he forced himself to look up, his eyes filled with a mix of shame and desperate apology.
"Look at the smile on her face," Hongjoong continued, circling him slowly like a shark. "That's the smile of someone who holds all the cards. The smile of someone who knows you're exactly where you deserve to be. You wanted her attention? You have it now. Every bit of it. And you get to watch what that attention looks like when it's given to those who earn it."
Your smile deepened, becoming a touch more cruel, more knowing. You let your eyes roam over San’s helpless form once more before deliberately turning your head, dismissing him. You shifted on the bed, the gold fabric whispering, and held out a hand toward Wooyoung.
"Woo," You said, your voice sweet and inviting, a stark contrast to the icy command of moments before. "Come here."
It was a blatant, performative act. A reward for loyalty. A punishment for the one forced to watch.
Wooyoung, who had been staring at San with wounded betrayal, immediately brightened. He all but launched himself onto the bed, curling into your side, nuzzling your neck with a soft, possessive sound.
"I've got you, baby." He murmured, loud enough for San to hear. "I'd never get so messed up I'd forget who you are."
You carded your fingers through Wooyoung's hair, your gaze lifting to meet Hongjoong's over his head. You gave a slight, imperceptible nod.
Proceed.
“Woo,” Hongjoong commanded, his voice regaining its smooth authority. “Show our pretty girl how much you've missed her. Use your mouth. Make her forget every name but ours.”
Wooyoung, eager to please and erase the bad energy, crawled back from your embrace. With a tenderness that contrasted the scene, he hooked his fingers under the hem of your gold dress, guiding it up and over your head.
He then made quick work of your lingerie, his touch worshipful. When you were bare before them, he didn’t hesitate. He settled between your thighs, his hands stroking your hips, and lowered his mouth to you.
A sharp gasp tore from your lips as his tongue found its mark, skilled and devoted. Your head fell back against the pillows. Hongjoong sat on the edge of the bed near your head, his hand stroking your hair.
“Park.” He said, not taking his eyes off you. “Come here. Kiss her. Let her feel your devotion.”
Seonghwa moved, shedding his own clothes with a quiet urgency. He slid onto the bed beside you, cradling your face, and captured your mouth in a deep, soul-searching kiss, swallowing your moans as Wooyoung worked between your legs.
Hongjoong’s hand trailed down, palming your breast, his thumb circling your nipple, adding to the cascade of sensation.
“Good,” Hongjoong murmured, his voice a dark caress. “You take their worship so beautifully, pretty.” He watched Wooyoung’s head bob, heard your choked cries against Seonghwa’s mouth. Then he shifted his gaze to Seonghwa. “You want to be inside her, don’t you? To claim her in front of us?”
Seonghwa broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire, “Yes.” He said firmly, his previous shyness now gone.
“Then do it.” Hongjoong’s permission was a king’s decree. “Show me how you treat what’s ours. Show me the soft dom she’s obsessed with.”
Seonghwa needed no further urging. He moved Wooyoung to the side and positioned himself, his eyes locked on yours as he pushed into you with a single, smooth, deep thrust. You cried out, his fullness overwhelming.
Seonghwa began to move, a slow, deep, reverent rhythm, his hands braced on either side of your head, his gaze pouring all his love into you.
While Seonghwa moved inside you, Hongjoong crooked a finger at Wooyoung, who lifted his head, his chin glistening.
“Come here, Woo. You’ve been good. You deserve a reward.”
Wooyoung shuffled up the bed, and Hongjoong guided his head to his own lap. With a pleased hum, Wooyoung pressed his cheek onto his hyung crotch, his enthusiasm evident.
Hongjoong watched it all, a conductor of sin, his hand still idly toying with your breast as Seonghwa drove into you with increasing intensity.
“That’s it,” Hongjoong encouraged, his voice rough. “Make her feel it. Make her know who she belongs to.”
From his place on the floor, San watched, bound and aching, every groan you made, every thrust of Seonghwa’s hips, a punishment more exquisite than any pain. He saw the love, the possession, the unbreakable bond he’d momentarily fractured, and the agony of his exclusion was absolute.
Just as Seonghwa’s pace began to falter, his release building, Hongjoong stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Enough.” Seonghwa stilled, trembling with the effort. “You’ve shown me your way. Now,” Hongjoong said, his eyes gleaming with dark intent as he finally shed his own clothes. “Let me show you how we really fuck our girl.”
He replaced Seonghwa, his body a heavier, more demanding weight. There was no softness now, only raw, unadulterated need. He drove into you with a force that stole your breath, his rhythm punishing, possessive.
This was fucking, pure and simple. A reclaiming, a branding.
“Look at her,” Hongjoong grunted to Seonghwa and Wooyoung, who watched as they jerked off. “See how she takes it? See how she comes apart for us? This is what loyalty earns you. This is your prize.”
His words, the brutal pace, the audience of your lovers—it was too much. You shattered, screaming his name as the orgasm ripped through you. He followed moments later with a guttural roar, collapsing atop you before rolling to the side.
The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing. After a moment, Hongjoong nudged Wooyoung.
“Your turn. But make it quick. We’re not done with her yet.”
Wooyoung didn’t need to be told twice. He was on you in a flash, his own need desperate. He kissed you messily as he pushed into you, his rhythm frantic and eager. It was over quickly for him, a burst of frantic passion, and he collapsed beside you with a satisfied sigh.
In the heavy silence that followed, broken only by ragged breaths, the only sound was a broken, choked sob from the floor.
San was crying. Silent tears of shame, regret, and desperate, hopeless want tracked down his cheeks. He was still bound, utterly forgotten, a prisoner of his own stupidity, forced to witness the paradise from which he’d been exiled.
Hongjoong finally looked at him, a cruel smile touching his lips “Learn your lesson, Sannie?” He asked, his voice quiet.
San could only nod, his face a mask of misery.
The punishment was complete. The hierarchy re-established. And you, in the center of it all, felt the fractured pieces of your night click back into a new, darker, more controlled order.
The anonymous threat still loomed, a shadow in the corner. But here, in this room, your kingdom remained absolute.
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Stream Of Sin..
20: The Angel In The Garden.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 9,2k
Synopsis: A poignant flashback reveals the pure, protective vow a brother made to his new sister, a vow now twisted into the very hatred that fuels their bitter present-day war.
Warnings: Angst, childhood trauma, abandonment issues, loss of a parent. Sexual assault/non-consensual imagery, victim blaming, slut shaming, graphic verbal abuse, emotional abuse, abandonment, unhealthy family dynamics, emotional distress, anxiety, panic attacks, psychological pain, manipulation, revenge, religious guilt, and moral hypocrisy.
a/n: Hii!! Here is Yunho's pov, I hope this chapter can solve all your doubts, babes. Let me know your opinions in the comments. Merry Christmas and Happy new year, thank you so much for all your love this year, I wish you all only good things, enjoy your holidays, love ya'll ❤️❤️
Series masterlist
Masterlist
“Yunho, this is Eunji.”
The boy stared at the little girl bowing before him. She was small, drowned in an elegant white dress that made her look like something from a Christmas movie. An angel, or maybe a lamb.
“Hello. I hope we can get along.” She said, her voice clear and oddly formal for a six-year-old.
Yunho’s brow furrowed. She speaks like a tiny adult.
“Son, please treat her well. They’ll be our family from now on.” His father said, his arm around the smiling woman beside him—Eunji’s mother.
“You’re not even married yet.” Yunho muttered, his eyes never leaving the girl.
The adults laughed it off as childish bluntness. But Yunho wasn't trying to be funny. The idea of his father getting married again made him want to scream, he didn't want strangers in his house, he wanted his mother there. With him.
It had only been a year, and he could feel his mother in this big house, because she was still here. Her clothes, her favorite coffee mug in the cabinet, her perfume lingering in the hallway. Her whole presence around the house.
She was still here, but his father was ready to move on.
“Why don’t you show Eunji your room? Or the backyard?” His father prompted, his tone gentle but firm.
Yunho didn’t answer. He just gave the girl one last long look before turning and trudging up the stairs. He didn’t check if she followed, but he heard the soft, hesitant pad of her footsteps behind him.
He pushed his bedroom door open. It was a boy’s sanctuary—light blue walls, a messy bed, shelves crammed with toys and books. He watched as she hovered in the doorway, her big eyes taking it all in. Her gaze drifted, then snagged on the small side table by his bed.
On it stood a framed photograph: a beautiful woman with a bright, warm smile, hugging a beaming little boy.
“She’s my mother.” Yunho said, his voice softer than he intended.
The girl stepped closer, her expression solemn “She’s beautiful.”
“Was.” He corrected quietly. “She died.”
Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with instant, genuine horror “Oh. I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Her reaction was so pure, so unscripted, that the knot in Yunho’s chest loosened, just a fraction.
“Don’t worry, it's okay.”
She looked down, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. He almost smiled.
Cute.
“So. Eunji, right?” He sighed, sitting on the edge of his rumpled bed.
She peeked up at him “Yeah. And you are… Yunho, right?”
The earnestness of the question, as if there could be any other boy in this house, finally made him laugh, a real one. He saw her tiny shoulders relax.
“You can sit.” He said, patting the space beside him. “If we’re gonna live together, we should probably know each other.”
She nodded, carefully smoothing her white dress before sitting down, leaving a respectful few inches between them.
And just like that, their history began.
—
You stood frozen at the edge of the wedding reception, watching your mother laugh in the arms of Yunho’s father. A familiar, cold fear wrapped around your heart, so intense you couldn’t breathe in the warm, crowded room.
You slipped outside into the chilly garden night, the cold air biting your bare shoulders. You sat on a stone bench, staring up at the stars, fighting to keep the tears in.
“It’s a pretty night, right?”
You jumped. Yunho stood beside you, already shrugging out of his little suit jacket. He draped it over your shoulders.
“What are you doing out here, angel?”
The nickname, still new, made your throat tighten. You just shook your head, not trusting your voice.
He sat down, his presence steady and calm “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
You did know. Over the past month of living together, the awkwardness had melted. He’d shared his comics, you’d shared your crayons. You’d built pillow forts and whispered secrets in the dark.
But you’d kept the biggest one locked away.
“Do you remember when we talked about our lives before… all this?” You murmured, feeling a new wave of anxiety in your body.
“Yeah.” He said, his voice gentle. He took your hand, his own surprisingly warm. “What’s wrong, angel?”
“Well… in reality, my father left us when I was four.”
The words settled between you like frost.
You kept your eyes fixed on the gravel beneath your shoes, afraid that if you looked at Yunho, you would break completely. Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of the coat draped over your shoulders, grounding yourself in its warmth.
“He just… disappeared.” You swallowed. “One day he was there, and then he wasn’t. No calls. No letters. Nothing.” Your voice trembled despite your efforts. “My mom says it wasn’t my fault, but sometimes I think… maybe I did something wrong, maybe he just didn’t want us anymore.”
Yunho’s grip on your hand tightened—not painfully, but firmly, like an anchor.
“And now.” You continued, words spilling faster as fear finally found a voice. “Now she’s getting married again, and I’m scared.” You laughed softly, bitterly. “I know it’s stupid. I should be happy. Your father is nice, and he loves her, and everyone keeps saying how lucky we are but—”
You finally looked at him “What if he leaves too? What if you leave too?”
The question hung in the cold night air, fragile and raw.
Yunho didn’t answer right away. His expression shifted, something deep and serious settling behind his eyes. He looked older in that moment—far older than his years—as if he suddenly understood exactly what you were feeling.
“My mom didn’t leave.” He said quietly. “She was taken from me.” He paused, thumb brushing slow circles over the back of your hand. “But I know what it feels like to wake up and realize someone is just… gone.”
You nodded, tears burning.
“But this?” He glanced back toward the glowing lights of the venue, where laughter drifted through open doors. “This isn’t that.”
You frowned slightly “How do you know?”
Yunho turned fully toward you then, his movements careful, deliberate. He crouched in front of you so you were at eye level, his coat slipping slightly but his attention unwavering.
“Because if my dad ever tried to leave you.” He said, voice low but absolute. “He’d have to go through me first.”
Your breath hitched.
“I didn’t choose this marriage.” Yunho admitted. “But I chose you.” He offered a small, sincere smile. “You’re my little sister now. That means you’re not alone anymore.”
Your tears finally escaped, sliding down your cheeks in silence.
“I promise you something, Jeong Eunji.” Yunho lifted his pinky between you, the gesture almost shy. “As long as I’m here, no one is going to abandon you. Not your mom. Not my father. Not me. I won’t let it happen.”
You stared at his hand for a moment before hooking your pinky around his, sealing the promise with a shaky breath.
“You’re my pretty angel now.” He added softly. “And I protect what’s mine.”
The words settled into your chest, warm and permanent. For the first time since your father left, the fear loosened its grip.
You weren’t alone anymore.
And years later—when Yunho would stand between you and the world without hesitation, when he would look at you like losing you was unthinkable—it would all trace back to this night.
To a cold bench under a quiet sky. To a promise made with a pinky and a boy who decided, right then and there, that you were his family.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
“Let’s go, darling. I’ll drop you at school today.”
You looked up from your breakfast, your spoon hovering over your cereal. The chair opposite you, usually occupied by Yunho, was empty. Your father stood by the door, keys in his hand.
“Where’s Yu?” You asked, he had never skipped school before.
“He isn't feeling well. Maybe he’s caught a cold.” He said casually. “Probably your mother will take him to the hospital later.”
“Sick?” You were already pushing back your chair, abandoning your cereal.
“Eunji, don’t run in the—”
But you were already flying up the stairs, two at a time, your school skirt swishing around your knees. You paused outside his door, then pushed it open without knocking—a privilege earned through years of shared space.
The room was dim, the curtains drawn. A lump under the duvet shifted as you approached.
“Yu?” You whispered, perching on the edge of his mattress. “You awake?”
A low groan answered you. The duvet was pulled down just enough to reveal his face, flushed with fever, his hair damp and stuck to his forehead. His eyes, usually so bright and alert, were glassy.
“I’m dying.” He croaked, the drama undermined by a congested sniffle.
A fond smile touched your lips. You reached out, pressing the back of your hand to his hot cheek.
“Don’t be dramatic. You just have a cold.”
His eyes drifted shut at your cool touch “Not being dramatic.”
He captured your wrist, his fingers warm and surprisingly strong even in his state. He didn’t let go; instead, he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles.
“I’m literally seeing an angel right now.”
You laughed, the sound bright in the quiet room “That’s the fever talking, Jeong.”
“Maybe.” He conceded, but his smile was soft, real, and entirely for you.
He didn’t release your hand, his thumb tracing idle circles on your skin. It was a simple gesture, one he’d done a thousand times, but in the intimate quiet of his bedroom, it felt weighted. Cherishing.
“You’re gonna be late for school, angel.” He murmured, his gaze tracing your features as if memorizing them.
“Please, your dad drives like he is in Fast and Furious. I’ll be there in five.”
A weak, breathy chuckle escaped him “Facts.”
You should have pulled your hand away. You should have stood up. But you lingered, held captive by the rare, vulnerable warmth in his eyes.
This was your Yunho. Your protector. Your best friend. And for a fleeting second, you saw something else there, something deeper and more fragile than brotherly love—a devotion that bordered on reverence.
“I should go.” You finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.
He gave your hand one last, gentle squeeze before letting go, his arm falling heavily back to the bed.
“See you this afternoon.”
“See you, Yu.” You stood, smoothing your skirt.
“Bye, angel.”
You paused at the doorway, looking back. He had already burrowed back under the covers, but you could have sworn you saw him watching you leave, his eyes holding a sadness that had nothing to do with the fever.
If only you had known that in one week, everything would shatter. But in this fragile, sun-dappled moment, he was still just your Yu, and you were still his angel.
And the love between you was the strongest, most certain thing in the world.
—
The gentle, ambient music from his speaker was the only sound in Yunho’s room, a calm backdrop to the rustle of pages. He’d finally carved out a moment to read, a rare pocket of peace after days buried in school projects.
His thumb was just about to turn the page when his phone buzzed aggressively on the nightstand, shattering the quiet. Annoyed, he marked his spot and picked it up. A text from an unknown number. He frowned.
Unknown Number: [Video Attached] Unknown Number: Is this your sister?
A cold, vague dread prickled at the base of his spine. He tapped the video. For the first two seconds, there was only dark, blurry motion. Then the frame focused.
It was you.
You were asleep, or unconscious, on a rumpled bed he didn’t recognize. The camera was close, invasive. And there, stark against your pale skin in the grainy light, was the evidence.
A streak of white, dried on your cheek. More on your neck, glistening on your collarbone. The camera panned, lingering, and he saw them—light, purpling bruises on the delicate skin of your throat. Hickeys. Bites. A violent map of possession.
“What…” The word left his lips as a choked exhale.
The book slipped from his lap, hitting the floor with a dull thud he didn’t hear. His blood turned to ice, then to fire. His grip on the phone turned white-knuckled, the plastic casing creaking.
This wasn’t a bad dream. This was a violation, broadcast directly to him. His little sister. His angel.
A torrent of emotions crashed into him, a protective rage so fierce it blurred his vision, a nauseating wave of horror, and a searing, shameful bolt of something else. Because despite the fury, his traitorous eyes cataloged the curve of your bare shoulder, the vulnerable arch of your neck, the parted lips… and a hot, possessive jealousy, sick and wrong, twisted in his gut alongside the need to destroy whoever did this.
Before he could type a single furious response, another message flashed up.
Unknown Number: She asked for it. Begged for it. And she got exactly what she wanted. Unknown Number: How does it feel to have a little whore for a sister?
The words were a detonation.
She asked for it.
The rage exploded, directed inward now, at the part of him that had always seen you as more than a sister. Was this the truth? Was the sweet, thoughtful girl who brought him soup when he was sick, the one who trusted him with her deepest fears, also this?
A girl who would… ask for this? Who would seek out her own defilement?
His angel?
The image of you in that white dress, the seven-year-old who promised to be his family, shattered and superimposed itself over a video—the innocence brutally smeared, the purity claimed by a stranger.
But the anger warred with a deeper, more terrifying hurt. This wasn't just about a brother's outrage. This felt like a personal betrayal. He was the one who was supposed to protect you. He was the one who… cared for you, in ways he barely dared to name even to himself.
And you had gone and let someone else mark you, ruin you, in the most visceral way possible.
His thumbs hovered over the screen, trembling. He wanted to type a million things. Who are you? I will kill you. But the toxic seed of the sender’s words had taken root.
She asked for it.
His angel. His Eunji.
Was it possible he never knew you at all?
The phone slipped from his numb fingers, joining the forgotten book on the floor. The gentle music played on, a grotesque soundtrack to the silent unraveling of his world, his trust, and the fragile, complicated love he’d built his entire identity around.
—
Yunho stood outside your bedroom door, his phone a burning coal in his hand. The video played on a loop in his mind—the pale skin, the dark marks, the violation frozen in pixels. The sender’s words echoed like a curse: She asked for it.
He didn’t knock. He just pushed the door open.
You were at your desk, pencil in hand, looking up with that familiar, open curiosity that used to make his chest feel warm. Now, it felt like a lie.
“You think this is funny?” His voice came out colder than he intended, sharp enough to slice the air between you.
Your brows drew together in pure, unadulterated confusion “Yu…?”
The nickname, his nickname, spoken in your soft, trusting voice, was a fresh wound.
He didn’t answer. He let the door slam shut behind him, the force of his rage vibrating through the walls. He needed to see you break. He needed to see the guilt.
Storming across the room, he threw his phone onto your desk. It skidded to a stop, the screen still glowing with the damning evidence.
“Explain it.” He snapped, the words brittle.
He watched your face, a hawk studying its prey. He saw the moment you picked up the phone. The color drained from your cheeks, leaving you ghostly pale. Your eyes widened, not with recognition, but with a horror so profound it looked… genuine.
For a split second, his conviction wavered. Maybe… But then he remembered the sender’s words. The deliberate filth of them. This wasn’t a random act. This was a message about who you were.
“I—I don’t know.” You whispered, your voice trembling. “I swear to God, Yu, I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.” His own voice cracked, a dam of pain and betrayal breaking through.
The image of you, his angel, willingly in that state was unbearable. He had to believe it was a lie, or he’d have to accept the video was truth, and that was worse.
“Tell me the truth before I tell our parents.”
Your tears came then, fast and silent. They should have softened him. Instead, they felt like manipulation. Proof of a guilty conscience, not an injured soul.
“I’m not lying! I don’t remember this—I don’t know when that happened!”
You don’t remember. The excuse was so pathetic it ignited his fury anew. All the fears he’d suppressed crystallized into this moment.
“Oh, so now you just don’t remember being in bed with someone, covered in—” He scoffed, the sound ugly and full of disgust.
He had to hurt you, to make you feel a fraction of the betrayal tearing him apart.
“That’s why you’re always going to people’s houses for ‘group projects’? So you can whore around in secret?”
He saw the blow land. Your expression shattered, your lips parting in utter disbelief.
“Wh-What did you just say?”
He didn’t get to answer. He saw a flicker in your eyes—not confession, but frantic, scrambling memory. You were constructing an alibi.
“No…” You whispered, your gaze going distant. “No, no, he planned this. He drugged me, Yu. I didn’t consent—I wasn’t even awake—look at the video, I’m unconscious.”
It was the worst possible thing you could have said. It was the script of every guilty person caught in a scandal. It wasn’t me. I was drugged. I’m the victim. It felt cheap. Stolen from a drama.
“You’re saying that’s not you?” He challenged, his voice dangerously low.
“I am saying it’s me.” You cried, lurching forward to grab his hand. Your touch, once a comfort, now felt like contamination. “But not like that. Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t do this. I would never—”
He wrenched his hand away as if scalded. The sight of you begging, the tears, the desperation—it all felt like a performance designed to trap him back into his role as your protector, the fool who believed in angels.
The boy who loved you more than he should couldn’t bear it.
“I thought you were different.” He said, the words hollow, scraped from the ruins of his own heart.
The confession was for himself as much as for you. The sister he adored, the girl he… cared for in ways he could never name, she was a mirage.
“Yunho, please.” You fell to your knees, sobbing openly, a portrait of abject misery. “Please don’t look at me like that. You said you’d never leave me. You said you weren’t like Dad. Please don’t leave me too.”
Each word was a twist of the knife. You were using his own promises, the sacred vows of his childhood, as weapons. You were reminding him of the boy who crouched in the garden and swore to protect his angel.
That boy felt like a stranger now. A naive fool.
He couldn’t stay. The love was still there, mangled and poisoned, and it would make him forgive you if he didn’t run.
“I won’t say anything.” He heard himself say.
The finality in his own voice startled him. It was the sound of a door slamming shut inside his soul.
“But from now on, don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. We’re strangers.”
He turned and walked out. He didn’t look back. If he saw your face again, he might break. And he couldn’t afford to break. He had to harden. He had to believe the video, believe the cruel messages, because the alternative—that his angel was truly violated and he was abandoning her in her worst moment—was a sin too great to live with.
He shut your door, and with it, he sealed away the part of his heart that belonged to you. It was the only way to survive the wreckage.
✮
“Let’s go, son. I’ll drop you at school today.”
Yunho looked up from his breakfast, his spoon hovering over his cereal. The chair opposite him, usually occupied by you, was empty. His father stood by the door, keys in hand.
“Where’s Eunji?” Yunho asked, your name like a shard of glass in his mouth.
“Oh, didn’t we tell you?” His father said, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “Eunji’s transferring. Her mother’s handling the paperwork this morning. Some other school with a ‘better arts program’.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You know how she spoils her. Could never say no.”
Yunho’s blood ran cold. The cereal turned to paste in his mouth “Transferring? Since when?”
“Since she decided, I suppose.” His father shrugged. “Now, hurry up.”
Yunho sat frozen, a thousand questions screaming in his head. Why? Why so suddenly? Why didn’t you tell him?
But then the bitter answer came, swift and punishing: Why would you? He’d screamed at you to never speak to him again. He’d called you a liar. A whore. He’d said you were strangers.
The memory of your shattered expression, the tears on your cheeks, slammed into him with fresh, sickening force.
The anger that had been a burning coal in his chest for days had finally cooled, leaving only the ashy taste of regret.
“Yunho!” His father called from the foyer, impatience edging his voice.
“Give me a minute!” Yunho yelled back, the words raw.
He abandoned his breakfast and took the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering against his ribs. He skidded to a stop in front of your bedroom door, his hand raised to knock. Hesitation turned his muscles to stone.
What could he possibly say? Sorry for calling you the worst things a brother could say? Sorry for believing a grainy video over you?
He took a ragged breath and knocked twice. Silence. He knocked again, louder.
“Angel?” His voice was rough.
Nothing.
A cold dread seeped into his veins. He turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly.
The room was pristine. Bed neatly made. Desk clear. The air held only the faint, fading ghost of your perfume. He closed the door softly, the click of the latch sounding like a final verdict.
—
The hollow feeling from the morning had hardened into a numb ache. Yunho tried to lose himself in a textbook, but the words blurred. The library’s quiet was suffocating. It was shattered by a low, snickering voice.
“Hey, Yunho. Heard the news about your sister.”
He looked up. Three boys from his class—known more for their bravado than their brains—loomed over his table, their grins sharp and ugly.
“What about her?” Yunho’s voice was dangerously flat.
The tallest one, Joo Daehyun, leaned on the table “Just saying, it makes sense she’d run. After that video got around. Guess she couldn’t face her fame here.”
Yunho’s knuckles turned white around his pen “Don’t talk about her.”
“Why? It’s not like it’s a secret.” Another one jeered. “Everyone’s seen it. Or heard about it. My cousin goes to that school she’s probably heading to. Says girls like her… they don’t just get favors. They know how to earn them.”
The implication hung in the air, vile and explicit. Yunho saw red. The world tunneled to the smirk on Daehyun’s face.
“Shut your mouth,” Yunho growled, standing so fast his chair screeched.
“Or what?” He goaded. “You gonna defend her honor? Come on, man. You saw it too. She was all over that guy. She was probably begging for it. Girls like that don’t get fuck just because they’re pretty—they provoke it. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she got exactly what she asked for.”
Something in Yunho snapped.
The crack of his fist against Daehyun’s jaw was louder than any library whisper. The boy staggered back into a bookshelf, sending a cascade of novels thudding to the floor. Chaos erupted—shouts, the scuffle of shoes, a librarian’s shrill whistle.
As two teachers rushed over to pull him away, Daehyun spat blood onto the linoleum, his eyes blazing with spite.
“You’re in denial, Yunho! Open your eyes! Your sweet little sister is a little tease who finally got caught! She provoked him!”
The words, screamed in the aftermath of violence, didn’t bounce off. They seeped in, poison-tipped.
Yunho was dragged to the principal’s office, the taste of copper and guilt in his mouth. But the physical pain was nothing. It was the psychic wound that festered.
She provoked him.
Was it true? The you in his memory—the one who used to share her ice cream and laugh at his dumb jokes—could never. But the you in that video, the you he’d refused to let explain… who was she?
For the first time, the brother who had always protected you now stood in a ruin of his own making, haunted by a single, corrosive doubt: What if they’re right?
✮
After the library fight and the hollow silence of your empty room, Yunho made a decision. He wouldn’t speak to you, but he would watch. He would become a silent analyst of your ruin, gathering evidence to either exonerate the sister he remembered or condemn the stranger you were becoming.
The first weeks after your transfer were the most confusing. At home, you were a ghost of your former self—paler, quieter, the light in your eyes dimmed. You went to class, you attended church, but you moved like you were underwater. A part of him ached to see it, a quiet confirmation of the trauma he’d refused to believe.
See? He thought, a bitter triumph mixed with guilt. She’s hurting. She was a victim. But you never came to him. You never sought his comfort. The chasm he’d created remained.
Then, the change began. It wasn’t a return to the old you; it was a metamorphosis into something entirely new. First, it was the makeup. The soft pinks were replaced by bold red lips and sharp, winged eyeliner that seemed less like adornment and more like war paint.
Then, the clothes. The pretty, modest skirts and sweaters were discarded. In came the mini-skirts that defied school regulations, the tops that showed slivers of your stomach, the corsets that shaped you in a way that made his jaw clench.
The fights with your mother became a nightly soundtrack—her tearful pleas:
“You’re not a bad girl, honey. Why are you dressing like one?”
Met not with your usual silent tears, but with a cold, defiant fire.
“I’m not doing anything wrong, mom.”
The words sounded borrowed, sharpened by a whetstone he didn’t recognize.
He pinpointed the source of the infection one afternoon, eavesdropping on your conversation with Mingi in the living room.
“Woo and Joong are waiting at the usual spot, wanna come?” You’d said, a smirk in your voice he’d never heard before.
Wooyoung and Hongjoong.
The names clicked into place. He’d seen them. The boy with the fox-like smile who seemed to vibrate with chaos, and the smaller one with the sharp eyes and sharper tongue that felt like a needle to the soul.
He watched them with you. The way Wooyoung would sling an arm around your shoulders, his laughter too loud, too intimate. The way Hongjoong’s gaze would linger on you, not with boyish crush, but with a knowing, possessive appraisal that made Yunho’s skin crawl.
They didn’t treat you like a friend. They treated you like a fascinating, dangerous pet they’d jointly discovered. They did this, he seethed.
They found her broken and remade her in their image. His hatred for them became a pure, burning thing.
—
“Let's go out and have dinner tonight.” His father suggested, his arm around his wife's shoulders. “What do you think, honey?”
“Sounds good.” The woman answered, a small smile on her lips.
“Cant. I have plans.” Your voice cut through the silence like a bullet.
“Darling, you always have plans lately.” His father said, a notorious sad tone in his voice. “Where are you going?”
“Woo’s house, we're going to see a movie and—”
“Again with those problematic kids.” Your mother rolled his eyes. “I told you to stop seeing them, Eunji, they are a bad influence for you!”
Yunho saw how you rolled your eyes and sighed before standing up, your chair dragging on the pristine floor with force.
“In reality I'm the bad influence, stop nagging.”
“Eunji—”
“Darling, don't be rude to your mother.” His father interrupted, not wanting another fight this early in the morning.
“She started.” You murmured, already turning around.
“Eunji, I'm still talking!”
Your mother let out a tired sigh, frustration in all her expressions. His father sighed too, rubbing her back.
“I’m pretty sure she is in that rebellious stage, love. Don't worry.”
“I don't know.” She sighed again.
Yunho looked at the direction where you went, more than feeling frustration, he felt concern. What was in reality going on with you?
He didn't know what to believe anymore.
✮
The sickness, he realized with dawning horror, was contagious.
Choi San. His own friend. The guy who used to game with him for hours started mentioning you in passing. Then he was hanging out with you and the demons.
During a gathering the Song family had organized, Yunho saw him lean in to whisper something that made you laugh, a genuine laugh he hadn’t heard in months, and it felt like a personal theft.
‘Stay away from her.’ He wanted to scream at San. ‘Don’t let her change you too.’
But then, the final, unforgivable breach: Park Seonghwa.
Seonghwa, who had become his friend during senior year—calm, intelligent, morally grounded Seonghwa.
Yunho found you in the library of the house, not studying alone, but with Seonghwa helping you with math. His gentle voice explaining equations, his soft smiles directed at you.
The world tilted, because Seonghwa was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to be proof that not everyone could be corrupted by your new orbit. But there he was, drawn into your gravity all the same.
Standing in the shadow of the library stacks, watching Seonghwa smile at you, the poisonous words of Joo Daehyun echoed in Yunho’s mind, not as a lie, but as a terrible revelation.
‘She provoked him. She knows exactly what she’s doing.’
Look at her. Look at what she’d done. She’d put on the costume of a temptress, and one by one, she was reeling them in. Hongjoong, Wooyoung, San, and now even Seonghwa.
She wasn’t a victim of circumstance; she was an architect of seduction. She’d learned from her “trauma” how to wield her beauty and newfound defiance as a weapon, provoking desire, provoking protectiveness, provoking loyalty away from him.
The doubt solidified into a cold, hard certainty. The sister he knew was gone, buried under layers of lipstick and rebellion. In her place was a stranger who provoked, who manipulated, who took what she wanted.
And the bitterest pill of all? He had been her first casualty.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
Yunho’s eyes went wide, the voices of his friends and San’s laugh was a background sound for him, the video paused in a random second made his mind remember that video he saw years ago.
What the fuck is this and why San sent it?
Immediate disgust sat on his tongue, and a bitter taste on his throat. The memory of that video was still fresh in his thoughts, making him feel the same wrath he’s had been feeling since that damn day.
“What is this?!” Yeosang dropped his phone like it burned. “Choi San!”
Yunho clutched his chest, trying to calm his anger “Are you insane?! We’re in a church basement!”
“San. What the hell is that?”
Mingi coughed, cheeks red, trying not to look at his screen “That’s… not a prayer app.”
San wiped a tear from his eye “What? It helps me unwind!”
Yeosang was already deleting the link “You’re the devil.”
Yunho followed suit “I need holy water for my phone.”
Jongho finally locked his screen and stared at San “You sent porn to a church group chat.”
“Technically, it’s a premium content page,” San corrected, still grinning. “Artfully shot. Good lighting. Zero faces.”
Seonghwa pinched the bridge of his nose “You’re sick.”
Indeed, he was sick of sharing such a thing to them and even more sick were the people behind it. How ruined they must be to do this sinful thing, and share it on the internet. To complete strangers.
Showing their bodies just to earn some coins was disgusting and pathetic.
God, please have mercy and free them from sin.
✮
“I heard a new student transferred in,” Yeosang said, his voice cutting through the usual lunchtime chatter as he took his seat next to Yunho. “Also, I heard that someone’s getting bumped from the Saturday nursing home service to make room for her.”
Yunho frowned, not looking up from his tray “Why would they kick someone out just for a new person?”
He didn’t particularly care about the new student, but the arbitrary injustice of it grated on him—a familiar, bitter feeling.
“Word is, this girl’s parents have ‘influence’,” Jongho supplied, not sounding impressed as he lazily stirred his drink. “And she’s supposedly a model student. Makes the school look good.”
“Her name’s Ann,” San added, a note of bored recognition in his voice. “She’s in our class.”
Seonghwa, who had been listening quietly, tilted his head “Ann?”
“Yeah,” San confirmed.
A dark, cynical thought surfaced in Yunho’s mind, and before he could filter it, it slipped out in a low murmur.
“Well, let’s hope she gets Eunji’s spot.”
The words landed like a stone in the center of the table. A heavy, uncomfortable silence followed. Mingi stopped chewing. Jongho’s stirring stilled.
Only San reacted audibly, his head snapping up “Hey. Rude.”
Yunho met his glare with a flat, unapologetic stare before deliberately looking away, effectively ending the conversation. But the seed had been planted. Ann. A name that would soon become inextricably linked to the fracture lines in their group.
—
The rumor Yeosang had mentioned was true. The "unlucky one" kicked from the coveted Saturday service to make room for the promising new student, Ann, was him.
That Saturday, Yunho found himself paired with Ann for a different, less prestigious task—organizing the church library archives. It was tedious work, and Yunho was quiet, clearly carrying a cloud of his own.
Ann, ever the eager newcomer, sought Yunho out after service to "apologize" for taking Yeosang's spot. Her sincerity seemed genuine, if a bit practiced, and she lingered, offering to help him as a way to make amends.
Yunho found himself reluctantly acknowledging her effort. She was polite, diligent, and when she turned her earnest smile on him, he saw none of the rebellion or hidden sharp edges he was so used to.
She was… easy. Uncomplicated. A relief.
Later that same afternoon, as Yunho was leaving the church grounds with Seonghwa and Mingi, he saw her again. She was waiting by the gate..
“Yunho!” She called, hurrying over. Her greeting included the whole group, but her eyes kept flitting to San. “I just wanted to say thanks again for today.”
The unspoken request hung in the air: Can I join your friendship group?
Seonghwa gave her a brief smile, already turning to joke with Mingi. But Yunho, feeling a strange sense of obligation, gave a short nod.
“It’s fine.”
That small nod was the invitation she needed.
In the following weeks, Ann became a gradual fixture. She was always there during school lunch, always had a relevant question for Jongho, a cheerful comment for Mingi, a respectful nod for Seonghwa. She laughed at San’s jokes, even when they weren’t funny, and listened to Yunho with rapt, admiring attention.
She was everything a good friend in their world was supposed to be, and then, she started hanging out with you.
Yunho would see you two in the hallways, your heads bent together. Ann, the good girl, seemingly trying to befriend his wayward sister and her demons.
It should have pleased him—maybe you’d learn something from her. But it didn’t. It ignited a slow-burning, confusing resentment.
He told himself it was protective. Ann was naive; you would corrupt her. You’d drag her into your world of risky choices and shady friends. But a deeper, more insidious part of him recognized the look in Ann’s eyes when she was with you.
It wasn’t just friendship. It was study. It was fascination.
And when he saw you laugh at something she said, a hot, possessive coil tightened in his gut.
Was he jealous of Ann for being near you? Or was he jealous of you for capturing the attention of the one person who seemed to reflect the simple, "good" world he was desperately trying to cling to?
He didn't know. All he knew was that Ann’s presence had become a mirror, and in it, he didn't like what he saw reflected back—about you, about his friends, and most of all, about himself.
✮
It happened in the nursery home courtyard, under a bleak, grey sky that matched Yunho’s mood. Ann had been his girlfriend for exactly three days—a decision that felt less like a choice and more like drifting into the only port that seemed calm after the storm you had caused for years.
She was chattering about something, a teacher, a project, and reached out to touch his arm. Her voice dipped into a tone she likely thought was intimate.
“So,Yu. I was thinking—“
The word hit him like a physical blow. His entire body went rigid. The air left his lungs in a silent rush.
Yu.
It was a single syllable, soft and affectionate, that had belonged to one person for nearly a decade. It was the name spoken in sleepy morning greetings, in whispered secrets during thunderstorms, in teary apologies after silly fights.
It was your sound for him. A piece of your shared language.
Hearing it now, in Ann’s higher, brighter pitch, felt like a violation. A theft. It was jarring, wrong—like seeing someone else wear your mother’s favorite sweater.
Ann didn’t notice his reaction, already moving on with her sentence. But Yunho heard nothing else. The world had narrowed to the echo of that stolen nickname ringing in his ears. A cold, heavy shame settled in his stomach.
He had allowed this. In seeking distance from you, he had inadvertently handed a piece of what you two shared to someone else, and hearing it made him feel desperately, achingly disloyal.
He didn’t correct her. He just gave a stiff nod, the ghost of your voice—“Bye, Yu.”—haunting him for the rest of the day.
—
One week later, the atmosphere at the lunch table was tense. You were there, a deliberate choice that set Yunho’s teeth on edge. Ann was clinging to his side, a silent, possessive counterweight to your presence.
The conversation was stilted until Seonghwa, calm as ever, cleared his throat. He looked at you, a soft, undeniable warmth in his eyes that made Yunho’s gut clench before a single word was spoken.
"Eunji and I are dating."
Yunho watched as Seonghwa made the announcement, his arm draped casually around the back of your chair. He saw the soft, besotted look on Seonghwa's face—a look that was supposed to be reserved for something pure, not for you.
The betrayal was twofold: his friend had been stolen, and his sister had done the stealing.
“So… you two are dating?” Yeosang asked, his analytical gaze sharp.
Yunho saw the flicker in Yeosang’s eyes too, an unspoken memory.
You just nodded, a picture of sweet compliance, slotting yourself between Seonghwa and San as if you belonged there. Seonghwa’s smile was serene, beatific, like he’d won a prize.
On your other side, San’s jaw was clenched so tight Yunho could see the muscle jumping. Good. Let him choke on it. Let him realize he’d been a pawn in whatever game you were playing.
“Since when?” Jongho grunted, skepticism rolling off him in waves.
It was the right question. Because it almost made sense—Seonghwa was clearly infatuated—but then nothing else about you ever added up.
Seonghwa’s answer was smooth, rehearsed “We’ve been close for years. It was only a matter of time.”
Close.
The word was a needle in Yunho’s side. He’d been blind. He’d seen the looks, the quiet conversations, and dismissed them as Seonghwa just being… Seonghwa. Kind to a fault. He never imagined his friend would be foolish enough to fall for the act.
Yeosang nodded, accepting the lie easily “That’s why she was at movie night. Makes sense now.”
“Yep.” You chirped, a flash of triumph in your eyes that only Yunho seemed to catch.
Then he spoke, his voice cutting through the charade, heavy with accusation “Do Mom and Dad know?”
He saw Seonghwa stiffen, a crack in the perfect boyfriend facade. But you, of course, were ready. A subtle touch under the table, a calming gesture, and you turned to him with that saccharine smile that made his skin crawl.
“We’ll tell them tomorrow night. I already spoke to Dad.” Your voice was sweet poison. Then you aimed the dagger, perfectly. “You should bring Ann too. Mom would love to have both of you there.”
Bringing Ann. Parading his own poor, pale imitation of a relationship in front of the wreckage of yours. The audacity was breathtaking. He glared, chewing on the bitter reality. He’d seen the soft looks, yes, but he’d never believed you could make Seonghwa, of all people, real.
“Sure.” He finally ground out, the word ash in his mouth.
San’s laugh was a jagged thing “Well, congrats, man. Hope you can handle her.”
The words were layered with a private, furious meaning that Yunho didn’t understand but deeply distrusted.
Then Yeosang, ever the social architect, extended the invasion “So, Eunji, are you coming to the arcade today?”
You played the demure card “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“If you’re dating Seonghwa, it’s only right we get to know you better,” Yeosang insisted, and the trap was set.
Your corruption of his friend was now a ticket into his entire social circle.
San’s invitation was a growl wrapped in a grin “Yeah, come on, Ji… you can hang with me.”
You giggled, nudging him “Don’t be mean, Sannie.”
Yunho watched, disgusted, as San’s entire demeanor softened at your touch, at the nickname. The loyalty you commanded, the chaos you sowed, it was everywhere.
And then it happened.
Seonghwa leaned close, his voice dropping into a tone of intimate possession that silenced the table.
“You should come, angel.”
Angel?
The world shattered into a million silent, screaming pieces. The air was sucked from Yunho’s lungs.
That word.
His word.
The sacred name from the garden, whispered to a crying girl in a white dress. The title he’d bestowed, the promise it contained—it was now in Seonghwa’s mouth, given to you like a casual endearment.
And you didn’t flinch. You didn’t look at him with the shared memory of what that name meant. You just accepted it, letting Seonghwa claim what was never his to claim.
A white-hot, obliterating rage flooded Yunho’s veins. This wasn’t just dating. This was a systematic plunder. You were taking everything—his friend, his social space, and now, the very last, most intimate piece of your shared history.
His eyes burned into the two of you, seeing not a couple, but a crime scene.
“Well then.” He heard himself say, his voice strangely detached. “We meet at the arcade. Six.”
Across the table, Ann was pale, her mind clearly reeling. But Yunho didn’t care about her theories or her panic. All he could hear was the echo of a stolen nickname, and all he could feel was the vow in the garden twisting into a curse.
Seonghwa had called you angel. And in that moment, Yunho knew the brother who made that promise was truly, finally, dead.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
The walk back up to the VIP section felt like climbing from a pit of humiliation. Each step echoed with the memory of your laughter, Seonghwa’s cold whisper, San’s vulgar promise.
Ann’s hands were ice, her face a bloodless mask. She felt hollowed out, scraped raw.
When she reached the booth, Yunho and Jongho were already there. Yunho was scrolling through his phone, a bored frown on his face. Jongho was staring into the middle distance, a dark, brooding statue.
“Darling?” Yunho looked up, his frown deepening as he took in her pallor, the tremor in her hands as she slid back into her seat. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yu, I… I’m not feeling well.” She managed, her voice a thin thread. “I think I need to go home.”
Thousands of thoughts screamed in her head. She tried. She tried everything. The anonymous threats, the public exposure, the moral siege. And for what? They were all in on it. They were laughing at her. How was that possible? How could she not beat you?
The question was a frenzied, desperate loop. All she wanted was you away from San. Was that so much to ask? What else did she have to do? Burn down the school? She was so tired. So desperate.
A dark, final idea began to coil in her mind. Yunho. He hated you. There was a chasm there, deep and old and bitter. She didn’t know why, but she’d seen the way he looked at you—like you were a stain. That was it. That had to be her last resort. She needed to find out why. She needed to weaponize his hatred.
Before Yunho could answer her request to leave, the energy at the entrance to the section shifted.
You appeared first, a vision of flushed, triumphant dishevelment. Your lipstick was slightly smudged, your hair had a just-tousled look, and there was a glow about you that spoke of anything but illness.
San followed, a lazy, satiated smirk on his face as he adjusted the cuff of his jacket. Seonghwa came last, his arm slipping possessively around your waist, his expression one of serene, utterly unshakeable contentment.
The three of you looked like a walking, breathing advertisement for sin and shared secrets.
Your eyes found Ann immediately. A slow, cat-like smile spread across your lips as you approached the booth.
“Honey!” You chirped, your voice dripping with a concern so false it was almost artistic. “Are you okay? You left the dance floor so suddenly! We got worried.” You glanced between San and Seonghwa, a shared joke passing silently between you three. “We were just… freshening up. The bathroom here has such good lighting, don’t you think?”
San let out a soft, choked laugh, turning it into a cough. Seonghwa’s fingers tightened on your hip, his thumb stroking a small, intimate circle.
Ann felt the acid in her stomach churn. You weren’t even trying to hide it. You were bragging. Flashing your victory in her face, wrapped in the paper-thin disguise of fake worry.
“I’m fine,” Ann forced out, her voice brittle. “Just a headache. I need to go.”
“Aww, that’s too bad, babe.” You pouted, leaning against Seonghwa. “The night was just getting interesting.”
Yunho had been watching the exchange, his gaze sharpening. He saw the way you three carried yourselves—a unified, smug front. He saw Ann’s shattered composure. Something had happened downstairs, and you had clearly been the architect of its destruction. The protector in him, the boyfriend obligated to care, stirred.
“Alright,” Yunho said, standing up, his voice leaving no room for argument. He was done with this circus. “I’ll take you home.”
He threw a dark, warning look at your trio—a look that said this isn’t over, even if he didn’t fully understand what this was.
“Get home safe, you two!” You called after them, your tone sweet as poisoned honey. You gave a little finger-wave specifically to Ann. “Feel better, Ann! Drink some water!”
As Yunho guided a stiff, silent Ann out of the section, San finally let his grin fully loose.
“Good lighting.” He repeated, snorting. “Fuck, that was brutal.”
Seonghwa pressed a kiss to your temple “She looked like she wanted to die.”
You watched their retreating backs, your own smile settling into something colder, more satisfied.
“She brought the knife to the gunfight.” You murmured, leaning back into your boys. “She just didn’t realize we were the ones who loaded the bullets.”
Downstairs, in the cool night air, Ann finally let a single, shivering tear escape. It wasn’t just defeat. It was annihilation. And as Yunho silently opened the car door for her, she made a silent, furious vow.
She would find the root of his hatred. She would dig it up, no matter how deep or ugly it was. And she would use it to bury you for good.
—
The drive to Ann’s house was a long, heavy silence. The hum of the engine was the only sound, thick with the aftermath of the pub’s humiliating spectacle.
Yunho kept his eyes on the road, his grip tight on the steering wheel. He didn’t ask questions. The look on your face—that brazen, mocking triumph—and the shattered shell of the girl beside him told him everything he needed to know.
You’d won another round. He didn’t need the details to feel the familiar, corrosive anger towards you bloom in his chest.
He pulled up in front of her modest, neatly-kept house and put the car in park. The silence stretched.
“Ann.” He finally said, his voice quieter than he intended. “Are you… are you really okay?”
It was the permission she needed. A choked sob escaped her, then another, until she was crying in earnest—not the delicate tears she sometimes produced for effect, but real, ragged breaths of frustration and defeat. She curled in on herself in the passenger seat.
“No.” She wept, her voice muffled. “I’m not okay. Nothing is okay. It’s all her. Everything is always her fault.”
Yunho didn’t ask who. They both knew. A part of him, the part that was still the boy from the garden, flinched at the raw blame. But a larger, more wounded part nodded in grim agreement.
Yes. It always is.
He felt a stiff, awkward responsibility. She was his girlfriend. She was upset. He’d done nothing to stop whatever had happened.
After a moment’s hesitation, he unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted, reaching out. He placed an arm around her trembling shoulders, pulling her gently towards him. It was the first time he’d held her beyond a stiff side-hug. She melted against him, burying her face in his jacket, her tears soaking through the fabric.
“Shhh,” He murmured, the words feeling foreign. He wasn’t used to offering this kind of comfort. “It’s alright. Just breathe.”
He stroked her back in what he hoped was a soothing rhythm, his mind miles away. He was thinking of a different girl crying in a garden, of promises made under the stars. The contrast was stark and painful.
After her sobs subsided into shaky hiccups, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening in the dim dashboard light.
“Yunho…” She whispered, her voice fragile. “If someone… if someone was really hurting me. Would you protect me?”
The question hit him with a strange gravity. It wasn’t a vague ‘what-if’. It felt specific, loaded. He searched her face, seeing not just tears now, but a simmering, desperate fear. The image of the video he’d received years ago flashed unbidden—your violated form. Was someone threatening Ann? Harassing her? His protective instincts, dulled but never gone, surged forward.
“Of course I would, honey.” He said, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. “No one hurts what’s mine.”
The words were an echo of a vow he’d made long ago, to a different person.
A strange, determined light flickered in Ann’s damp eyes. She didn’t say who. She didn’t say how. She just let the seed take root in the fertile soil of his guilt and protective duty.
Emboldened by his words, by the closeness, by the desperate need to secure this bond, she acted. Before he could process her movement, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.
It was a soft, clumsy kiss. Tentative and slightly off-center. Their first.
Yunho froze. He didn’t pull away. He let it happen, his mind a blank slate of shock.
This was what he was supposed to want, wasn’t it? A sweet, pious girlfriend. A simple affection. A relationship approved by the church, by his father, by his mother.
But as her lips moved hesitantly against his, he felt… nothing.
No spark. No warmth. No dizzying rush.
Just the soft pressure of another person’s mouth and the faint, floral taste of her lip balm. His heart didn’t race; it remained a steady, indifferent drum in his chest.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes searching his for a reaction.
He managed a small, tight smile “You should get inside.” He said softly, his voice oddly detached. “Get some rest.”
She nodded, looking a little dazed herself, and slipped out of the car. He watched her walk to her door, a cold confusion settling over him.
As he drove away, the ghost of her kiss lingered, a bland imprint. The question echoed in the empty car, louder than any music: Was it a mistake to ask her out?
But a deeper, more terrifying question followed:
Or was the problem not with her, but with him? Was his heart so utterly, irrevocably claimed by someone else—by the very person he was supposed to hate—that it had simply left no room for anyone new to matter at all?
Ann, now inside her room, wiped the last tears from her face, a hard, calculating resolve replacing her earlier despair. The kiss was a step. His promise was a weapon. Now, she just needed to find the right ammunition.
She needed to discover why the boy who promised to protect what was his, hated his own sister with such a perfect, burning passion.
That hatred, she was sure, was the key to finally destroying you.
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All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.
Stream Of Sin...
19: Silly Little Dove.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
Synopsis: Your secret cam persona captivates your closest admirers and a new, dangerous observer. Fuck, life is a real roller coaster.
wc: 10,7k
Warnings: Smut (MDNI!!) Voyeurism, masturbation, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving) fingering, anal sex, dirty talk, Dom/Sub dynamics, and a consensual sexual encounter involving multiple partners (M/F, M/F/M dynamics). Psychological manipulation, blackmail, moral conflict, religious guilt, complex/Non-Traditional relationships, strong language and verbal confrontation and mild violence.
a/n: Next chapter we'll have Yunho's pov, important for the plot! Thank you for reading, love ya'll ❤️
Serias masterlist
Masterlist
The notification hit their phones like a silent, synchronized detonation.
Holly JiJi has posted a new video.
For the subscribers—a curated, paying few—it was a sacrament. The title was simple: 'Enjoy.'
The video opened, cropped and artfully framed. It showed nothing but the junction of plush thighs, the dark lace of underwear pushed aside by a man's hand. The hand was familiar to someone—Long, slim and that silver bracelet on the wrist. Wooyoung's hand.
The sixty seconds that followed were a masterclass in sensory overload. The slow, deliberate push of two fingers, the slick, intimate sound amplified by the microphone hidden somewhere close. The camera trembled slightly with the rhythm. And the moans—breathy, broken, unmistakably hers. A soft gasp that hitched into a whimper, a whispered, "Oh, god… right there…" that dissolved into a helpless, keening cry as the pace quickened, the fingers curling just so.
It was raw. It was obscene. It was utterly captivating.
Mingi had been doing homework when the alert chimed. He dropped his pencil, his heart giving a hard, familiar thump against his ribs. In the privacy of his immaculate room, he didn't hesitate. He fumbled his pants open, his eyes glued to the screen, his other hand already moving in a rough, frantic rhythm that matched the one on the video.
"Fuck." He groaned aloud, his voice thick, his gaze devouring every pixel.
He was in love with her, the sinful siren who owned him completely. His release was swift, intense, and accompanied by a choked whisper of her name into his pillow, a prayer of pure, desperate worship.
—
Jongho was in his bedroom, alone after hours. The buzz in his pocket was an intrusion he both dreaded and craved. He leaned against the cool wood of the wall, shoulders tense, and hit play.
The sounds filled the tiled space, echoing softly. His stomach twisted with the old, familiar guilt—the church teachings, the judgment, the voice that said this was wrong. But a hotter, newer feeling surged beneath it.
Confidence.
He knew what that felt like now. He knew the feel of it. The guilt didn't vanish; it simply dueled with a possessive, visceral hunger. He didn't take himself out. Instead, he palmed himself through his sweats, applying a firm, grinding pressure as he watched, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
He didn't let himself finish. That would be a surrender he wasn't ready to give. But he allowed the ache, the proof of her power over him, to bloom and linger as the video ended, leaving him breathless and conflicted in the sterile, empty room.
—
Seonghwa was in his bed, the lights low. A soft, possessive smile touched his lips the moment he saw the silver bracelet. Wooyoung. He knew. He’d given his quiet, complicated blessing to this part of your life.
He watched not with the frantic hunger of the others, but with the deep, simmering pride of a co-conspirator. This was his angel, devastating and sublime. He bit his lower lip, not in frustration, but in heated appreciation. His own body reacted, a steady thrum of desire, but his hands stayed still, folded behind his head.
Jerking off to a video felt like a poor substitute when the real thing was his to claim. Instead, he picked up his phone, navigating away from the app to your private chat.
Hwa: Just watched the new post. Hwa: Fuck, angel. You looked and sounded so perfect. Woo’s lucky he got to be the one making you sound like that. Hwa: I’m not going to touch myself thinking about it. I’m going to save every bit of this feeling for when I see you later. Hwa: And then I’m going to fuck you until you forget how to make any sound but my name.
He sent it, the promise a live wire in the quiet room. His obsession was calm, certain, and patiently ruthless.
—
From the shadows of a meticulously curated anonymous account, he watched. He had every video saved, archived, categorized. He knew the cadence of her sighs, the particular hitch in her breath right before she came, the way she said "please" when she was close.
This new video was a gift, a treasure to be dissected. He didn't touch himself. His obsession was cerebral, a collector's fervor. He watched once, twice, three times, committing every detail to memory.
The specific shade of her skin in this light, the way the lace contrasted. He’d know that moan anywhere—in a crowded street, in a silent church. It was etched into his soul.
He typed a comment, his fingers steady. It would appear amid a sea of crude emojis and demands, a piece of poetry in a gutter.
Sinner99: My obsession just grows every time I see you, love. You are a beautiful, perfect ruin.
He posted it and sat back in the dark, a smile playing on his lips unseen. He was patient. He was watching. And his collection was growing.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
You’d skipped morning mass, claiming a headache, but the truth was you just wanted a moment of silence. Curled in a sunlit seat at the back of your empty classroom, you scrolled through your phone, a soft laugh escaping at a ridiculous meme Woo had sent.
The door swung open, breaking the peace.
“Eunji, hi!” Jane’s voice was a chirp that grated against the quiet.
She stepped in, followed by Juliet, Soojin, Hyejin, and of course, Ann, trailing slightly behind like a director watching her actors take the stage.
You didn’t look up, just let your thumb pause on the screen.
“Looking… different, Eunji,” Juliet tried, her tone the sugary kind of fake that made your teeth ache.
“It suits you,” Soojin added, her eyes scanning your modest uniform and bare face like it was a lab specimen. “Simplicity is a virtue.”
Hyejin, never one for the prelude, muttered just loud enough for the echo to carry, “Pity it doesn’t wash the sin off.”
A ripple of giggles passed through them, sharp and brittle.
Ann finally stepped forward, her face a mask of practiced concern “Girls, please, that’s not kind. My friend is just… trying on a new lifestyle.”
“Maybe you should try finding better friends,” Jane snipped, a smug little smile playing on her lips.
That’s when you finally looked up. A slow, wide smile spread across your face, not of anger, but of sheer, unadulterated amusement. It wasn’t the reaction they’d scripted. The giggles died instantly, replaced by a tense, wary silence.
“Are you quite finished with your little morality play?” You asked, resting your chin on your hand, your eyes sparkling with mockery. “You stand there in your little holy huddle, thinking your whispered judgments and dress code enforcement make you better than me?”
You leaned forward slightly, your voice dropping to a silken, dangerous purr.
“Let me enlighten you. You’re not saints. You’re a pack of bitter, small-minded cunts. And if there’s a hell, darling, we’ll all be taking the same elevator down. I’ll just be enjoying the ride.”
The color drained from their faces. Jane’s mouth opened and closed, fish-like, no retort coming. Ann’s placid mask cracked, revealing a flash of pure, unvarnished hatred.
Just as Jane drew a breath to fire back, the door burst open again, the morning influx of classmates flooding in with chatter and the scrape of chairs. The spell was broken. The holy group scattered with hurried, flustered steps, but not before throwing you a volley of venomous glares.
You simply gave them a small, regal wave, your smile never fading.
—
The three hours of class passed with a strange, new rhythm. You sat beside Minseok, who was… trying. He’d “accidentally” share his notes, his arm brushing yours. He’d ask you soft, earnest questions about the lesson, his gaze lingering a second too long.
It was clumsy, sweet, and painfully obvious—the flirting of a boy who’d only ever practiced on saints in paintings. You responded with polite, detached kindness, which only seemed to encourage him further.
At lunch, you sat alone at the end of a long table. True to Ann’s instructions, you hadn’t approached your boys. But you didn’t eat alone for long. Minseok appeared, tray in hand, asking softly if the seat was taken. You shrugged, and he sat, launching into a halting monologue about a scripture passage he found “particularly resonant.” You nodded along, texting under the table.
You: Being spiritually lectured over tuna salad. Send help or a distraction. Preferably both. San: Tell him you find the book of revelations particularly kinky. Joong: That fucking bible sucker again. Woo: I’M BORED COME BACK TO US 😭
When the final bell rang, you shouldered your bag, ready for another quiet, scripted exit. But as you stepped into the hallway, a familiar, tall figure leaned against the lockers, waiting.
Seonghwa.
A genuine smile, the first real one all day, broke across your face. You didn’t walk; you practically floated into his open arms. He caught you, his embrace firm and secure, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips that tasted like home and defiance.
“Missed you, angel.” He murmured against your mouth.
“You have no idea, baby.” You sighed, melting into him.
“Come on.” He said, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’m stealing you. Cafe date. My treat.”
—
At a cozy corner booth, over steaming drinks, the facade finally fell. Seonghwa stirred his coffee, his usually serene expression clouded.
“He sat with you again at lunch.” He stated, not looking at you.
You hid a smile behind your cup “Who?”
“Don’t ‘who’ me, angel.” He said, finally meeting your eyes, an adorable, petulant pout on his lips. “Joo Minseok. He’s looking at you like you’re a forbidden psalm he’s trying to memorize.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bright and clear “Jealous, Hwa?”
“Terrified.” He admitted softly, his pout deepening. “He looks at you like he wants to save you. I look at you and know I’d happily burn the world down with you. It’s a different kind of devotion, and I don’t like him offering his.”
Your heart squeezed. You reached across the table, taking his hand “You have nothing to be terrified of. He’s a sweet, confused boy caught in Ann’s web. Just like I’m supposed to be.”
“I’m tired of you being in her stupid web,” Seonghwa said, his thumb stroking your knuckles. “Even pretend. Especially when it puts other boys in the seat beside you.”
You leaned in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper “Then let’s end it. I’m bored. The ‘no makeup, sit alone, wear the sackcloth’ act has run its course. It was amusing, but it’s starting to get boring.”
You brushed a kiss against his pout, feeling it soften under your lips “The game will change. I’m done following Ann’s little list. It’s time we started playing by my rules again.”
Seonghwa’s eyes lit up, the jealousy melting into anticipation “What’s the move, angel?”
You smiled, the old, wicked glint returning to your eyes, the one no amount of modest uniform could hide.
“The move is… no more playing the victim. Just one more day, baby. And we’ll stop reacting to finally start acting. And Ann is going to learn what it feels like when the puppet cuts its own strings.”
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
The school had organized a mandatory "moral and civic responsibility" talk in the large assembly hall. A sea of uniformed students shuffled in, the air thick with collective boredom.
You filed in with your class, Minseok besides you, his presence a quiet, constant shadow you’d been instructed to tolerate. Just as you were about to step through the heavy double doors into the hall, a hand closed around your upper arm, firm and warm.
“Eunji. Let's talk.”
You turned to find Jongho, his expression a familiar storm of tension and poorly-concealed concern. He nodded a curt, polite apology to a confused Minseok.
“Excuse us, Minseok.”
Minseok opened his mouth, but Jongho was already steering you away, back down the now-empty hallway toward the classroom.
“Jongho, what—?”
“You’ve been off.” He cut in, his voice low and urgent as he pushed the classroom door open and pulled you inside.
The room was silent, desks neatly aligned, sunlight streaming in.
“For two weeks. Quieter. Playing dress-up. Sitting with the church mouse. And that anonymous threat you mentioned before—it hasn’t stopped, has it? What’s really going on?”
He backed you against the teacher’s desk, his hands planted on either side of you, caging you in. His eyes searched yours, not with judgment this time, but with a raw, frustrated protectiveness that surprised you.
You placed a calming hand on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart “It’s handled, Jongho. I’m handling it. You don’t need to worry.”
“Don’t need to worry?” He repeated, a harsh laugh escaping him. “You’re in the middle of something, and you’re acting like a scared rabbit when I know you’re a fucking wolf. That’s what worries me.”
His anger was a cover for fear. It was so transparent, so Jongho, that it disarmed you. Instead of arguing, you rose on your toes and silenced him the only way that ever worked—with your mouth on his.
He stiffened for a heartbeat, a final stand of resistance, before groaning into the kiss, his hands flying from the desk to cup your face, his lips moving against yours with a desperate hunger. It was all the permission you needed.
The kiss escalated, a frantic clash of teeth and tongue, weeks of forced distance and hidden games exploding into pure, physical need. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs and hoisting you onto the teacher’s large, polished desk with a thud that echoed in the empty room. Papers fluttered to the floor.
“Jongho…” You breathed, your fingers already working at the button of his slacks.
“Shut up.” He growled, but it was filled with heat, not anger.
He fumbled with the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your thighs. This was only the second time since that day, since you’d taken his virginity in his own bedroom. He was still clumsy, still overwhelmingly intense, his movements a blend of frantic need and reverent awe that made your head spin.
He entered you in one deep, claiming thrust, a choked moan torn from both your throats. Your back arched, your fingers scrambling for purchase on his shoulders.
He found a rhythm quickly, one hand on your neck, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. His eyes were dark, locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure on your face as he drove into you, each thrust a punctuation to his unspoken fear, his possessive anger, his helpless devotion.
The world narrowed to the slap of skin, the creak of the desk, the ragged symphony of your breaths, and the sublime friction building between you.
Meanwhile, in the Assembly Hall. Yunho shifted in his seat, the droning voice of the speaker failing to hold his attention. His gaze swept over the rows. Seonghwa sat calmly beside Mingi, who was fighting sleep. San was doodling in the margins of his program. But one seat was conspicuously empty.
Jongho’s.
A frown creased Yunho’s brow. Jongho wasn’t one to skip obligations. He was the most rigidly responsible of them all.
He nudged Yeosang beside him “Have you seen Jongho?”
Yeosang followed his gaze to the empty seat and shook his head, his analytical mind already switching to problem-solving mode.
“No. I saw him in the hallway earlier. Want me to go look for him? He might be in the classroom, maybe he forgot something.”
“Yeah, check,” Yunho said, a thread of unease weaving through him.
Yeosang slipped out of the row with a murmured apology to the students he passed and made his way through the silent, empty hallways to your shared classroom. The door was slightly ajar.
He was about to push it open when a sound stopped him cold. A soft, breathy gasp. A low, masculine groan. The unmistakable, rhythmic creak of furniture. His blood turned to ice. He should leave. He knew he should leave. But a terrible, morbid curiosity rooted him to the spot.
Slowly, silently, he pushed the door open just a crack.
The scene that seared itself into his retinas was one of raw, illicit passion. You, on the teacher’s desk, skirt rucked up around your waist, head thrown back in ecstasy. And Jongho, his back to the door, moving between your legs with a desperate, driving intensity Yeosang had never imagined his stoic friend possessed.
Yeosang’s hand flew to his mouth to stifle a gasp. He should be horrified. He was horrified. But he was also… transfixed. His mind, always so orderly, shattered into chaotic, screaming fragments.
Jongho. He’d been so angry when he’d told him about you and Mingi. He’d called you a corrupting influence. And here he was, fucking you on a desk in the middle of the day.
A darker, more uncomfortable thought slithered in. Was Jongho’s anger back then really about protecting Mingi… or was it jealousy?
And you… Seonghwa’s angel. Seonghwa’s girlfriend. Why were you here? Why were you letting Jongho—
His analytical gaze, detached even in its shock, began to catalog. The graceful, desperate arch of your spine. The way your fingers twisted violently in Jongho’s hair, not pushing away, but pulling him closer. The perfect, flushed column of your throat as a low moan tore from your lips.
A tremor ran through him.
That arch. Those grasping hands. That particular, breathy catch in the throat.
He’d seen it before. Heard it before. Not in this fluorescent-lit reality, but in the blue glow of his screen, in the secret, shameful hours of the night. A ghost from his most hidden life was dancing in front of him in brutal daylight.
No.
His breath hitched. The puzzle pieces—your sudden shifts, the cryptic control you seemed to wield, the elusive, magnetic pull that defied logic—began to spin and lock into a terrifying, perfect picture.
He didn’t move. He became a statue of observation, his analyst’s mind overriding his conscience. He watched the part of your throat, the delicate arch in your back, the skin of your thighs. He memorized the way your knuckles turned white where they fisted in Jongho’s shirt.
A slow, incredulous smile touched his own lips, cold and fascinated.
It’s you.
Another soft cry from you, muffled against Jongho’s shoulder, sealed it. The cadence, the pitch, the subtle break at the end—it was a symphony he knew by heart. He could have recognized it in a soundproof room, in a crowded street, in his sleep.
Of course it’s you.
A dizzying euphoria surged through him, hot and immediate. Holy JiJi. His silent obsession. The enigmatic goddess of his secret midnight hours. She wasn’t a distant phantom on a screen. She was here. She had breathed the same air as him, sat on the couch next to him, and laughed at his dry remarks. She had been within arm’s reach, and he, the master observer, had been blind.
All the things he’d fantasized about, all the scenarios he’d constructed in the dark… and you were right here.
He stayed, frozen in the doorway, a phantom audience to the climax. He watched the frantic rhythm stutter and peak, witnessed your body convulse in a silent, shattering release, saw Jongho collapse against you with a gutted groan.
Only when the heavy silence of aftermath descended did the weight of his own actions crash down. He hadn’t just stumbled upon a secret. He had studied it. He had coveted it. A wave of self-loathing, bitter and acidic, washed over him.
He was worse than a voyeur. He was a connoisseur.
He backed away silently, letting the door click shut with a finality that echoed in his soul. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs, but his mind was clearer than it had ever been.
The equation was solved. The variable identified.
Jeong Eunji is Holy JiJi.
His Holy JiJi.
And you were so much more… and so much worse… than he’d ever dreamed.
—
The frantic, desperate energy that had filled the classroom dissolved, leaving behind a heavy, breathless silence broken only by the slow return of your heartbeats to a normal rhythm. Jongho’s weight was warm and solid against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, his breathing still ragged in your ear.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The reality of where you were—on a teacher’s desk, in an empty classroom in the middle of the school day—began to seep back in, but it felt distant, secondary to the quiet connection humming between you.
Slowly, you lifted a hand and slid your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, your touch gentle, combing through the damp strands. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, the last of the tension bleeding from his shoulders.
He lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting yours. The anger, the fear, the frantic need were gone, replaced by a soft, dazed vulnerability you rarely saw in him. He leaned in and placed a slow, chaste kiss on your cheek, then another on the corner of your mouth, his movements tender, almost reverent.
“You’re impossible.” He murmured against your skin, his voice a rough whisper.
A small smile touched your lips “You started it.”
He didn’t argue. He just kissed you again, softly, deeply this time, a silent apology and a promise all in one. When he pulled back, his gaze was serious.
“Eunji. The threat. The one making you act like this. It’s not handled if it’s still making you play these games.”
You brushed your thumb along his sharp jawline “It is being handled. By me. You don’t need to carry it, Jongho. Not this one.”
He searched your face, looking for any sign of deceit or fear. He found only your usual, unshakable certainty.
“When?” He asked, his voice low. “When will it be done?”
“Soon.” You promised, your voice firm. “Very soon. And when it is, I’ll tell you everything. You have my word.”
He studied you for another long moment, the protector in him warring with the part that had learned, through fire and pleasure, to trust in your strange, formidable power. Finally, he let out another sigh, this one of resignation and trust. He nodded, once.
“Okay.” He breathed, sealing the agreement with another soft kiss. “Okay. But if you need me…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The intensity in his eyes said it all.
“I know.” You whispered, pulling him down for one last, lingering kiss. “I always know.”
He helped you off the desk, his hands lingering on your waist as you both straightened your clothes in a silence that was now comfortable, charged with a new understanding. He touched your cheek once more, a silent, possessive caress, before turning to leave.
As the classroom door clicked shut behind him, you were left alone in the sun-drenched room, the scent of him and the recent passion still hanging in the air. You smoothed your skirt, a slow, victorious smile gracing your lips.
But unbeknownst to either of you, a new player had entered the game—one with cold, analytical eyes and a secret that could change everything.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
A hush, sharp as a cut, fell over the school’s front yard the moment you stepped through the gates. The familiar morning chatter died, replaced by a wave of palpable tension and the unmistakable sound of your stiletto heels striking the pavement—a confident, rhythmic drumbeat announcing your return.
The two-week experiment in modesty was over. You were back.
And you had dressed for the occasion. Your hair fell in perfect, styled waves. Your makeup was a masterpiece of sharp eyeliner and glossy, blood-red lips. Your uniform was a suggestion of the original—blouse daringly unbuttoned, skirt hemmed to a height that defied every school regulation, the whole ensemble clinging to your curves like a second skin.
You weren’t just dressed; you were armed.
You walked with your head held high, your hips swaying in a slow, deliberate rhythm that turned the school path into your personal catwalk. You didn’t just occupy space; you commanded it, and the sea of stunned students parted before you.
Seonghwa walked at your side, his fingers laced possessively through yours. A proud, unshakable smile graced his lips as he watched you reclaim your throne, reveling in the electrified attention you drew like a lightning rod.
“Well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence again,” Wooyoung whistled, falling into step beside you, his grin wide and approving.
San’s gaze was a slow, appreciating burn that traveled from your heels to your eyes, lingering on the expanse of thigh your skirt revealed.
“Looking devastating, princess. Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“Thank you, darlings.” You purred, your voice sweet and carrying.
Hongjoong appeared on your other side, his devilish smirk already in place “Can’t wait to see little Dove Ann’s face when she gets a load of you. The cognitive dissonance might actually short-circuit her little brain.”
“And without a single instruction followed,” Seonghwa added, giving your hand a loving squeeze. “She’s going to combust.”
“She’s going to spontaneously die,” Wooyoung cackled, already vibrating with anticipation.
A slow, predatory smile spread across your lips “Shall we go and find out? Our usual seats?”
“Where else, pretty?” Hongjoong said, leading the procession toward the chapel’s back entrance.
Your kingdom was the last pews—the domain of rebels and observers, where you could see everything and everyone.
Minseok, lingering near the chapel doors with his Bible clutched to his chest, did a double-take so violent he nearly dropped it. The soft, serious girl who’d shared his desk was gone, replaced by a vision of brazen, glorious sin. Confusion warred with a startled, unwelcome fascination in his wide eyes. Where… where did she go?
Jongho, leaning against a stone pillar, allowed the barest hint of a smile to touch his lips. He’d seen the storm in your eyes yesterday, felt the shift. This was it. The performance was over. The counterattack had begun. A grim satisfaction settled in his chest.
Yeosang, standing beside Yunho, didn’t smile. His analytical gaze swept over you with a new, terrifying clarity. The modest facade had been a fascinating puzzle. This? This was the glorious, unapologetic answer. Holy JiJi in the flesh.
His throat went dry. The arch of your spine in those heels, the confident sway—it was all a devastating live enactment of a hundred fantasies he’d watched in secret. The urge to be near you, to dissect this new, real-world data, was suddenly an ache.
Yunho felt his jaw tighten, his eyes narrowed to slits. This wasn’t a relapse; it was a declaration. The two weeks of quiet, modest obedience hadn’t been penitence. They’d been a strategy. A calculated move in a game he didn’t understand the rules of. A cold certainty settled in his gut: whatever you were playing at, it had just escalated, and it was nothing good.
You swept into the back of the chapel with your entourage, the air shifting with your arrival. All heads turned.
And there, in the third row, was Ann. She turned, likely expecting to see the chastened, plain version of you she’d tried to create. Her eyes found you instead.
For a second, her pious, placid expression didn’t change. Then it did. Her face drained of color, her jaw went slack, and her eyes bulged with a mixture of sheer horror and incandescent rage. She looked like she’d been slapped by a ghost—a ghost wearing designer heels and a smirk.
What… What is this? her mind seemed to scream across the pews. Why aren’t you following the rules? Why aren’t you scared?
You met her stunned gaze, held it for a delicious, endless second, and then slowly, deliberately, you smiled.
The game, as she knew it, was over. Now, it was your turn.
—
The buzz of students returning from mass faded as you settled back into your seat. You could feel it before you even looked—Minseok’s stare, heavy and unblinking, fixed on the side of your face. It had been there since you’d returned to class after the assembly, sliding into the seat beside him like nothing had happened, your skirt maybe an inch shorter than yesterday, your lips a familiar, bold shade of rose.
For an entire hour of Sister Beatrice’s lecture on moral fortitude, you felt that stare burning a hole in your temple. Not judgmental, not disgusted, just… confused. Intensely, painfully curious.
When the bell finally rang, you turned to face him fully, raising one perfectly arched brow.
“See something you like, Minseok?”
He flinched, his ears turning a brilliant shade of pink. He adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit.
“I… It’s just. You’re different today.”
You leaned back in your chair, a slow smile playing on your lips “Am I?”
“You’re… you again. The makeup. The… everything.” He gestured vaguely at you, his words tripping over each other. “Until yesterday you were so… quiet. Modest. Now you’re…”
“Loud?” You supplied, your tone light, teasing.
“Not loud.” He said quickly, his brow furrowed as he struggled to articulate the storm in his head. “Just… present. Fully. It’s like you turned the lights back on.”
The observation was more astute than you’d given him credit for.
You tilted your head “The person sitting here for almost two weeks was me. The person sitting here now is also me. I’m not a different person, Minseok. I’m the same collection of bad decisions and questionable morals.” You gestured to yourself. “Just with better lip gloss and significantly higher heels.”
A sound escaped him—a soft, startled puff of air that was almost a laugh. It seemed to surprise him as much as it did you. His lips twitched, fighting a smile, and for a second, the severe, pious mask slipped, revealing a boy who was genuinely amused.
“The heels are… noticeable.” He conceded, his gaze flicking down to your feet for a millisecond before snapping back to your face, as if the sight was too much to bear.
“They serve a purpose.” You said, standing up and gathering your books. “They make me taller. And they’re excellent for stepping on people who annoy me.”
This time, a real, helpless smile broke through. It transformed his face, softening the sharp angles, making his eyes crinkle behind his glasses.
“I’ll… keep that in mind.” He stood too, hesitating as you slung your bag over your shoulder.
The internal war was visible on his face—the good, church-going boy who’d been warned about you, and the painfully sincere young man who found your brutal honesty more refreshing than any psalm.
“Eunji.” He started, his voice tentative. “Would you… I mean, if you’re not busy… perhaps you could explain the Kantian response to the utilitarian problem we discussed last week? Your perspective in class was… unique.”
It was a flimsy excuse, a scholar’s version of ‘can I have your number?’. But the hope in his eyes was painfully real. He wasn’t trying to save you. He was trying to know you.
You looked at him—at his too-straight posture, his nervously clutched notebook, the blush still high on his cheeks. A strange, almost protective fondness flickered in your chest. He was so far out of his depth, paddling toward a whirlpool, and he had no idea.
You gave him a smile, this one softer, less edged “Maybe tomorrow, Minseok. I have plans today.”
He nodded, trying and failing to hide his disappointment “Of course. Tomorrow, then.”
As you walked away, you could still feel his gaze on your back. Not burning anymore. Just… watching. Waiting.
He liked you.
The realization was as amusing as it was inconvenient. And in the tangled, dangerous game you were playing, a sincere, lovesick saint with a crush was perhaps the most unpredictable wild card of all.
—
You spotted them from across the cafeteria: Yunho’s table, a fortress of strained normalcy. Yunho was pushing food around his plate, Ann glued to his side with a porcelain smile. Mingi and Jongho were in a low conversation, while Yeosang sat unnervingly still, watching everything with those analytical eyes that now held a new, terrifying knowledge.
You turned to Seonghwa and San, who flanked you like royal guards.
“I feel like sitting over there today.”
San’s smirk was instant and sharp “To make the witch’s eye twitch? I’m in.”
Seonghwa simply nodded, a calm, knowing look in his eyes. He laced his fingers through yours, his grip firm and reassuring.
“Lead the way, angel.”
The walk across the cafeteria felt like parting the Red Sea. Conversations stuttered as you passed, three of the most talked-about students moving with a unified, unshakeable purpose.
You stopped at the edge of Yunho’s table “Mind if we join?” You asked, your voice sweet, but your eyes were on Ann.
A complex series of reactions rippled across the table. Mingi’s face lit up with genuine, relieved delight. Jongho’s tense posture eased a fraction, a silent welcome. Yeosang’s gaze snapped to you, intense and calculating, a slight, unreadable smile touching his lips. Yunho’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of irritation and something else—confusion, maybe.
Ann’s perfect smile froze, then tightened “Of course! There’s plenty of room, babe.” She chirped, the sound brittle.
You slid into the seat directly across from her, Seonghwa settling beside you, San on your other side, effectively boxing you in with devotion. The dynamic shifted instantly, the energy crackling.
Ann’s eyes swept over you—the dark eyeliner, the bold lip, the confident slouch. She couldn’t help herself.
“You changed your look again, Eunji. It’s so… dynamic. Last week’s style was so serene. It really suited you.”
It was a dart, thinly veiled as concern. Before you could even form a sarcastic retort, a chorus of low, male voices cut through, a shield raised in unison.
“I think she looks powerful,” Mingi said, his voice firm, his gaze daring anyone to contradict him.
He’d seen you serene, and he’d seen you powerful, and he knew which version truly took his breath away.
“She looks like Eunji,” Jongho grunted, not looking up from his tray, as if stating an irrefutable fact of the universe. “That’s what suits her.”
Yeosang took a slow sip of his water, his eyes on Ann over the rim of his glass “Aesthetic preference is subjective, Ann. But capability isn’t. Her grades didn’t dip last week, and they won’t dip this week. The packaging is irrelevant to the content.” It was a cold, logical dismantling of her entire premise.
Then came the heavy artillery. San leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand, his eyes glinting with open challenge.
“Yeah, and I think the lipstick is hot. So maybe keep your fashion reviews to yourself, yeah?” His tone was a lazy, disrespectful drawl that made Ann’s cheeks flush with humiliated anger.
Finally, Seonghwa turned his head slowly toward Ann. His expression was peaceful, but his eyes were like dark, deep and unyielding. He reached over and casually tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch proprietary and tender.
“She’s always beautiful.” He said, his voice soft but carrying. “But she’s especially beautiful when she’s exactly who she wants to be. Don’t you agree?”
It wasn’t a question. It was a verdict.
Ann looked like she’d been slapped. Her gaze darted from Seonghwa’s protective hand to San’s defiant smirk, to the wall of casual defense from the others. The video burned in her pocket, the words ‘I know what you do when your boyfriend isn’t watching’ screaming in her mind. She wanted to stand up and shout it. To throw the proof in all their trusting, stupid faces.
Her knuckles were white where she gripped her fork. She bit down so hard on her lower lip she tasted blood. The scream died, suffocated by the sheer, staggering weight of your united front.
You watched it all, a slow, serene smile gracing your lips as you took a delicate bite of your food. You didn’t need to say a word. The squirm. The rage. The helpless, furious silence. It was better than any revenge you could have planned.
This was just a preview. And it was delicious.
The initial, electric tension at the table slowly dissipated into something more complex—a fragile, humming equilibrium. You, Seonghwa, and San held court with an easy, effortless camaraderie that drew Mingi and Jongho into quiet conversation. Yunho remained a silent, brooding island, and Ann sat beside him, a statue of forced smiles and simmering rage, picking at her food as if it were made of ash.
It was Yeosang, the quiet observer, who finally broke the stalemate in a new direction. He dabbed his mouth neatly with a napkin and looked first at San and Seonghwa, then at you, his expression as placid as ever.
“There’s a new place that opened near here.” He said, his voice conversational. “It’s more of a quiet pub—good burgers, decent fries, and they serve soft drinks. A few of us,” His gaze flickered to include Mingi and Jongho, “were thinking of checking it out this afternoon after the last class. You should come.”
The invitation landed in the center of the table like a perfectly thrown dart. Yunho’s head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t roll them, but the impulse was a visible tremor in his jaw. The thought of you infiltrating again another one of his spaces—a casual, normal hangout—clearly grated on him.
Ann’s reaction was less controlled. Her fork slipped from her fingers with a sharp clatter against her tray, the sound making several people jump. Her cheeks flamed as she fumbled to retrieve it.
“That new place? That’s… a bit far, isn’t it?” She said, her voice strained. “And we have that… that youth group planning session, remember, Yunho?” She was scrambling, building flimsy walls to keep you out.
Mingi, however, brightened immediately “Oh, yeah! I heard about that place. It has a dance floor too. You’d love it, Eun.” He shot you a warm, eager look.
Jongho gave a single, firm nod of agreement, his silent vote cast. San leaned back, a slow, intrigued smile spreading across his face. He could smell the game in the air. He looked at you, arching a brow in a silent question:
You thinking what I’m thinking?
You were.
Yeosang’s invitation wasn’t just friendly. It was strategic. He’d seen something—or suspected something—and this was a move on his new, private chessboard. An invitation to observe you further, to pull you deeper into his orbit, but he didn't know that you would watch her combust in a setting where she’d have to maintain her ‘good girlfriend’ act.
You met Yeosang’s calm, analytical gaze and saw the unspoken curiosity glittering beneath the surface. He was offering you a front-row seat to Ann’s continued misery, wrapped in the plausible deniability of a casual hangout.
A sweet, innocent smile bloomed on your lips “That sounds lovely.” You said, your voice dripping with polite enthusiasm.
You reached under the table and gave Seonghwa’s knee a subtle squeeze—a silent ‘play along’.
Seonghwa, ever your perfect counterpart, nodded gracefully “It does. I’ve been meaning to try a quieter spot. Angel, would you like to go? We can make it a group thing.” He included San with a glance, seamlessly solidifying the plan.
Yunho almost rolled his eyes at that.
“Lets go.” San purred, his eyes locked on Ann’s pale, furious face. “I’m always up for a good… drink.”
Ann looked like she was swallowing glass. Her plan to isolate you was crumbling in real time, and now you were being welcomed—invited—into the very social circle she was trying to leverage against you.
By Yeosang, of all people, who was supposed to be sensible!
“Wonderful.” Yeosang said, a faint, satisfied smile touching his own lips. “I’ll send you the time later.”
As lunch ended and everyone began to disperse, you caught Ann’s eye one last time. You gave her a tiny, friendly wave, the picture of gracious acceptance. Her returning smile was a grotesque, brittle thing, her eyes promising holy vengeance.
You couldn’t wait. The afternoon had just gotten infinitely more interesting.
✮
The pub’s VIP section was all dark wood and low amber lighting, a cozy, intimate cave separated from the main floor. The mood was a fragile truce between Yunho's friends, and the toxic interloper, Ann, all sharing a large, circular booth.
“Look who decided to come.”
Mingi chirped, his face lighting up the moment you and Seonghwa appeared, fingers laced together.
“Thought you had more interesting things to do, princess.” San teased from his seat, a lazy, knowing arch to his brow.
You shrugged, a flirty smile playing on your red, red lips “I can always make a little space in my schedule.”
As you slid into the booth, the air in the section seemed to compress and heat up several degrees. You’d chosen a red corset that cinched your waist, a black mini skirt, and heeled boots that added dangerous inches to your height. You looked less like a girl on a casual hangout and more like a siren who’d accidentally docked at a family-friendly port.
Every male eye at the table was a study in restrained chaos.
San stared openly, his gaze a slow, appreciative burn that made no attempt at subtlety.
Mingi choked on his drink, his eyes wide as he visibly fought back what was surely a filthy, reverent comment.
Jongho, seated on your other side, immediately found a fascinating spot on the wall to study, his jaw tight, his entire body a rigid line of do-not-look.
Yeosang took a slow sip of his virgin cocktail, his analytical mind already cursing, picturing things he’d only seen on his private screen—things that were now in terrifying, breathtaking 3D right beside him.
Yunho looked away, his expression a familiar mask of angry disapproval. But his initial, involuntary glance had held a flicker of something else—a reluctant, furious acknowledgment that you were, objectively, stunning.
Ann looked like she’d been slapped. She’d attempted to mimic your style—a plain top and trousers—but on her, it looked like a costume, not a second skin. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of shame and bitter envy as she saw the effect you had without even trying.
And Seonghwa… Seonghwa simply guided you to the seat, his hand a warm claim on the small of your back. He looked prouder than a king with a priceless jewel. As he sat, his lips brushed your temple, and the promise in his eyes was clear: Tonight. You’re mine.
The evening progressed in a strange, humming tension. You ordered drinks and snacks, your laughter bright and unforced. You chatted easily with Seonghwa, Mingi, and a monosyllabic-but-present Jongho, your hand resting possessively on Seonghwa’s thigh. Every stolen glance, every soft whisper you shared, made Seonghwa’s serene smile deepen.
Across the table, Yunho’s jaw tightened into a painful-looking knot every single time Seonghwa leaned in and murmured, “Angel.” The nickname seemed to physically wound him, a symbol of everything he felt his friend had been tricked into.
Ann, meanwhile, was a volcano of simmering frustration. She tried desperately to engage San, who, pleasantly buzzed from a joint he’d snuck off to smoke, played along with her transparent flirting just for the cruel sport of it. She leaned forward, her voice dialed up to a chirpy, flirty register that felt jarring in the cozy atmosphere.
“So, San… I heard you were really into church choir back then? That’s so cool.”
San took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes glinting with private amusement. He let the compliment hang in the air for a beat too long, watching her eager expression start to strain.
“Mmm,” He finally hummed, noncommittal.
Undeterred, Ann twirled a strand of her hair “I’d love to hear you sing sometime. I bet you’re really… good.” She punctuated the word with what she probably thought was a sultry look.
This time, San couldn’t help the quiet snort that escaped him. He covered it with a cough, his shoulders shaking slightly.
“Yeah,” He said, his voice dripping with a mock-seriousness only you and the other boys would catch. “Real good. Lots of… deep lyrics and things.”
You watched from your side of the table, hiding a smile behind your glass. San was playing with his food, and Ann was too hungry to realize she was the food.
She was just opening her mouth for another attempt, leaning even further into his space, when Mingi—bless his chaotic, oblivious timing—suddenly slammed his hands on the table, making the glasses rattle.
“Choi San!” Mingi boomed, his energy a stark contrast to the tense little drama. “This song! Come on, let’s dance!”
It was a terrible, cheesy pop song from a few years back, playing softly from the speakers. San looked from Ann’s frozen, hopeful expression to Mingi’s giant, expectant grin. The contrast was too much. A real, full-bodied laugh burst out of him, sharp and bright. He pushed himself up from the booth, clapping Mingi on the shoulder.
“You’re a mess,” San said, still chuckling, his gaze sliding past Ann as if she were suddenly invisible. “But fine. One stupid dance.”
When San and Mingi finally declared the small dance floor downstairs was calling, the group splintered.
You agreed instantly, pulling Seonghwa up “Come dance with me, babe.”
He shook his head, a soft smile on his lips “I’ll watch you from here. Go have fun, angel.”
Yunho muttered something about the bathroom and stood, Jongho following like a shadow. Yeosang excused himself for “some air.”
Suddenly, the VIP booth held only Seonghwa and a very, very motivated Ann.
This was it. Her moment. Her victory. She wouldn't wait more time, she wouldn't waste her opportunity with anonymous threats.
This is the opportunity that God gave her on silver platter. So she sent the last message.
user2387: You didnt follow my rules, you lost your chance.
She watched as you, San, and Mingi disappeared onto the dimly lit dance floor below. She let Seonghwa watch for a few minutes, let him see you laughing, your body moving between his two friends. Mingi eventually peeled off, heading toward the restrooms, leaving you swaying close to San.
Ann took a deep, shaky breath and leaned toward Seonghwa, her voice a hushed, trembling whisper of fake concern.
“Seonghwa… I don’t know how to say this. I’ve been so worried. About you. About Eunji.”
Seonghwa tore his gaze from the dance floor, turning to her with a carefully constructed look of polite curiosity.
“Worried? Why?”
“It’s just… the way she is with them. With San. Haven’t you noticed?” Her eyes were wide, dripping with faux-sympathy. “It’s not… normal. For a girlfriend.”
Seonghwa’s expression shifted, perfectly on cue. The serene confidence melted into dawning concern.
“What are you saying, Ann?”
“I have proof.” She whispered, her voice trembling with manufactured pain. She pulled out her phone, her fingers shaking with excitement. “I didn’t want to believe it either. But you deserve to know the truth.”
She unlocked her screen, pulled up the video, and turned it toward him.
Seonghwa’s reaction was a masterpiece. His eyes widened, his lips parting in a silent gasp. He brought a hand to his mouth, the picture of a man whose world was shattering.
“That’s… that’s them. At Mingi’s.” His voice was a devastated whisper. “She… she’s cheating on me? With San? With my best friend?”
Ann nodded, her face a mask of shared sorrow “I’m so, so sorry. I thought you should know. I couldn’t let her make a fool of you anymore.”
Seonghwa stared at the video for another long moment, then let his head drop, his shoulders slumping in despair. When he looked up, his eyes were glittering with a convincing mix of hurt and fury.
“You’re right. I… I can’t let this pass. Not like this.” He stood up abruptly, his body vibrating with righteous anger. “Come with me. I’m confronting them. Right now. I need a witness.”
Ann’s heart soared. Yes. Yes! She scrambled to her feet, barely containing her triumphant glee behind a mask of solemn support.
“Of course. I’m here for you, Hwa.”
They descended the stairs to the pulsing, shadowy dance floor. You were still close to San, moving to the music. Seonghwa strode through the shifting bodies with a single-minded purpose, Ann clinging to his heels like a vengeant ghost.
He reached you and shoved San hard in the chest, forcing him back a step.
“San, what the hell is happening between you and my girlfriend?!” Seonghwa’s voice cut through the music, sharp and raw with ‘feigned’ betrayal.
You spun around, your expression one of perfect, shocked confusion “Seonghwa, what are you doing?”
Your eyes flicked to Ann at his side, and a flicker of understanding—and cold amusement—passed through your gaze before you schooled your features back into concern.
“I want this bastard to tell me if it’s true!” Seonghwa jabbed a finger at San.
San held up his hands, his face a picture of defensive bewilderment “What the fuck are you talking about, man?”
“Don’t act!” Seonghwa roared, pushing him again. “I saw a video! Of you kissing Eunji! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
The words hung in the humid air. A few nearby dancers paused to stare. San’s defensive posture melted. He looked from Seonghwa’s furious face, to your “concerned” one, to Ann’s barely-contained glee. A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips.
“Okay, fine,” San said, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. “Yeah. I kissed her. So what?”
The admission seemed to suck the sound from the room for Ann. This was it. The breaking point. She held her breath, waiting for the explosion, the tears, the public implosion of your relationship.
Instead, a beat of silence passed.
Then, you laughed. A soft, clear, bell-like sound. Seonghwa’s furious mask dissolved into a wide, unrepentant grin. San threw his head back and cackled.
Ann stared, her brain stuttering, unable to process the scene. The three of you were… laughing?
Before she could form a thought, San grabbed you, pulled you close, and planted a loud, smacking, theatrical kiss on your lips. He then spun you, like a dance move, directly into Seonghwa’s waiting arms. Seonghwa dipped you low and kissed you deeply, passionately, right there in the middle of the dance floor.
When he let you up, you were all grinning like maniacs. You turned your head, your eyes locking directly onto Ann’s horrified, utterly shattered face.
You winked. Then Seonghwa leaned down, his lips brushing Ann’s ear, his voice a cold, quiet murmur that sliced through her shock.
“You think I didn’t know? Don’t be stupid, Ann. We're best friends for a reason.”
San leaned in on her other side, his breath smelling of mint and weed and victory.
“Thanks for the show, Ann. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” He purred, his gaze hot on you, “We’ve got a pretty angel to fuck.”
Without another glance, the three of you turned and melted back into the crowd, arms linked, laughter trailing behind you.
Ann stood frozen in the middle of the swirling dancers, the music a deafening roar in her ears. The victory she’d tasted seconds ago had turned to ash, then to acid, burning a hole straight through her chest.
She didn’t know if she wanted to scream, or cry, or simply cease to exist. All she knew was that she had lost. Spectacularly. And you had won, again.
—
The laughter from the dance floor still echoed in your veins as San pushed open the door to the unisex bathroom at the back of the pub, checking quickly before pulling you and a flushed Seonghwa inside. The lock clicked with a final, deliciously illicit sound.
The room was small, all clean tile and stark lighting, smelling faintly of citrus cleaner. For a moment, the three of you just stood there in the humming silence, the energy crackling between you.
San leaned back against the sink, a wicked grin spreading across his face “Did you see her face?” He asked, his voice a low, husky whisper. “Our little dove Ann looked like she was about to spontaneously combust right there.”
A genuine laugh bubbled out of you “She was so sure telling Seonghwa would be the kill shot.”
San pushed off the sink, his playful demeanor softening into something more earnest as he looked at his friend.
“She thinks she’s playing chess with a queen.” He said, nodding toward you. “But she doesn’t realize the queen isn’t on the board. She’s the one holding the pieces.”
“You’re so cruel, Sannie.” You laughed again.
San wasted no time. He backed you against the cold wall, his mouth crashing down on yours in a kiss that tasted like shared secrets and rebellion. It was deep, hungry, and possessive, a familiar claiming that set your blood on fire.
From a few feet away, Seonghwa watched, his breath catching. The sight was undeniably intoxicating, the way San’s hands framed your face, the little sound you made against his mouth, but it also sent a sharp, unfamiliar pang of insecurity through him.
He was the official boyfriend in public, but in this shadowed, stolen moment, he felt like an outsider. He bit his lip, his hands clenched at his sides, unsure of the rules in this new, uncharted territory.
Where does he fit in this? Does he wait? Is there a line?
You felt his hesitation like a shift in the air. Breaking the kiss with San, you turned your head, your gaze soft even as your lips were swollen. You reached a hand out towards Seonghwa.
“Hwa.” You breathed, your voice a quiet invitation in the humming silence.
He stared at your outstretched hand for a heartbeat before taking it, his fingers lacing with yours, warm and a little unsure. San, seeing the motion, shifted his attentions. He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck to your shoulder, his hands sliding down to cup your hips, pulling you more firmly against him. He left your lips free, an open offering.
“Your turn, hyung.” San murmured against your skin, his voice a low, encouraging rumble. “Kiss our girl.”
Seonghwa’s eyes, wide and dark with conflict, met yours.
You squeezed his hand “It’s okay, baby.” You whispered, pulling him closer until your lips were a breath apart. “We can stop anytime. This is only if you want it.”
He swallowed hard. The rational part of him, the good boy, screamed that this was wrong. But a deeper, more visceral part had been awakened… The part that had watched you command rooms and weave spells around other men.
The part that found a terrifying, electric heat in the thought of sharing this, of seeing you undone not just by him, but by the raw, unfiltered desire you and San shared.
He wanted to be part of that world. He wanted to learn its language.
“I want it.” He whispered, the confession raw. “I want… I want to share you.” And then he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours.
It was different from San’s kiss. Softer at first, more reverent, a question. You answered it by deepening the kiss, your free hand coming up to cradle his jaw, pulling him into you. A low groan escaped him, and any remaining hesitation shattered.
He kissed you like a man starved, his tongue sliding against yours, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you from the wall and against his chest.
San watched with a predator’s approving smile “Good.” He purred, his hands moving to the clasp of your corset. “Now, let’s see our prize.”
He took the lead, his movements efficient and confident as he helped peel your corset off, then made quick work of your skirt, letting it pool around your ankles. Seonghwa followed his lead, his fingers fumbling only slightly with the hem of your lacy panties before they joined the pile.
Soon you were standing bare between them, the cool air and their heated gazes raising goosebumps on your skin. San’s eyes were dark with intent. He turned to the long, porcelain sink counter, giving it a testing pat.
“Up you go, princess.” He said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
He lifted you effortlessly, seating you on the cold, hard edge. He spread your legs, putting you on full, devastating display. He then turned to Seonghwa, who was watching, transfixed. San placed a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him to his knees on the tiled floor.
“You first, hyung.” San said, his tone a mix of command and tutoring. “Taste her. Get her ready for us.”
Seonghwa’s eyes flew to yours, a flicker of nervousness returning. But you nodded, running your fingers through his hair.
“Please, Hwa.” You almost whined.
That was all Seonghwa needed. He started with slow, reverent kisses on your inner thighs, then, with a final, encouraging glance from San, he gave his first, long, firm lick. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut.
Seonghwa was, as always, a devoted pleasure-giver. He ate you out with eager, worshipful intensity—long, languid licks, focused sucks on your clit, groaning each time your fingers tightened in his hair. He held your thighs in a firm grip, keeping you open and steady for his ministrations.
San, watching from beside you, let out a short, impressed laugh “Didn’t know you were such a pussy worshipper, my friend.”
Between moans, you slapped his arm “Shut the fuck up, San.”
He just grinned. While Seonghwa worshipped you with his mouth, San caged you against the mirror, and claimed your mouth again in a searing, dirty kiss, his tongue mimicking the rhythm Seonghwa was building below.
“Fuck, you taste so good, angel,” Seonghwa murmured against your core, his voice vibrating through you.
You whined against San’s mouth when you felt Seonghwa’s fingers rub your entrance.
“Want my fingers, baby?” Seonghwa asked softly, already pushing one in, then two, curling them just right.
You broke the kiss with San, panting “Yes, yes, please…”
San smirked, thoroughly enjoying your messy begging “Awww, our princess wants to cum?”
You could only nod frantically as Seonghwa’s fingers worked you expertly, hitting that spot that made your back arch.
"You're dripping for us, baby," San growled, his own arousal pressing against your hip. "Making such a pretty mess."
Just as the coil inside you tightened unbearably, San moved Seonghwa aside and pulled you off the sink, your legs wobbling. He turned you to face the large mirror above it, your flushed, desperate reflection staring back. Seonghwa rose behind you, his lips glistening, his eyes dark.
“Not yet, princess,” San breathed in your ear, his hands gripping your hips. “Gonna make it better.”
He positioned himself behind you, his chest to your back as he unbuckled his pants, freeing his hard length. In the mirror, you watched as he guided himself into you with one smooth, deep thrust, filling you completely. A choked cry tore from your throat.
“That’s it, baby.” San groaned, setting a hard, punishing pace that made the mirror rattle. “Look at you. Look at us.”
Your eyes met Seonghwa’s in the reflection. He was watching, captivated, his hand stroking himself slowly. You reached a hand back, wrapping your fingers around him, jerking him off in time with San’s thrusts. Seonghwa’s head fell back with a guttural moan.
“Fuck, angel.” He breathed.
San fucked you with relentless intensity, one hand snaking around to rub tight circles on your clit, the other gripping your breast, pinching your nipple. You were a writhing, moaning mess between them, hurtling toward the edge again.
“I’m gonna—San, I’m gonna—”
“No,” San grunted, pulling out of you abruptly just as you were about to tip over.
You whimpered, a sob of frustration escaping you. Seonghwa immediately pulled you against his chest, shooting a glare at San.
“What are you doing? She was right there.”
San just chuckled, wiping his brow “Patience, man. I know she’s your pretty angel. But she can take more.” He met Seonghwa’s concerned gaze, his own softening just a fraction. “Trust me. And trust her.”
He turned you in Seonghwa’s arms, kissing you deeply, swallowing your frustrated sounds.
“You want him, don’t you, baby?” San whispered against your lips. “You want to feel us both?”
You nodded, your mind hazy with need. San looked at Seonghwa over your shoulder.
“You take her pussy. I’ll take her ass.” At Seonghwa’s shocked, wide-eyed expression, San clarified gently. “I’ll prepare her. You just… distract her. Kiss her. Love on her. Make her feel good.”
Seonghwa looked from San’s determined face to your pleading one. The idea was terrifying—he was scared of San hurting you, of it being too much. But then he remembered. The videos. You had taken two at once. You could handle it.
The thought sent a bolt of pure, dark heat through him.
“Okay,” Seonghwa breathed, his voice rough. He captured your lips in a deep, soothing kiss, his hands roaming your body with tender reverence. “Shh, angel, I’ve got you. Just feel.”
As Seonghwa kissed you, worshipping your mouth, your neck, your breasts, San knelt behind you. He used the slickness dripping from your core to coat his fingers, then carefully, meticulously began to prepare your other entrance. You gasped into Seonghwa’s mouth, but he held you close, murmuring praises.
“So good for us… so perfect… taking it so well, my angel.”
When San was satisfied, he lined himself up “Ready, baby?” He asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
You nodded against Seonghwa’s chest. San pushed in slowly, a burning, exquisite stretch that made you cry out. Seonghwa froze, ready to push San away, but you clutched him tighter.
“I’m okay… I’m okay, Hwa, please…”
Seonghwa looked into your eyes, seeing not pain, but intense, overwhelming pleasure. He kissed you, hard, then guided himself to your slick, waiting entrance. As he slid into your tight, wet heat, you moaned, full in a way you’d been before.
For a moment, they both stayed still, letting you adjust, kissing your shoulders, your back, murmuring filthy, loving things. Then San began to move. A slow, deep roll of his hips. Seonghwa followed his lead, setting a counter-rhythm that stole the breath from your lungs.
It was an overwhelming symphony of sensation. San’s possessive, deep thrusts, Seonghwa’s worshipful, claiming strokes, four hands roaming your body, two mouths on your skin.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Seonghwa groaned, his forehead against your shoulder.
“So tight… taking us so fucking well, princess,” San gritted out, his pace increasing.
The room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, ragged breaths, and filthy, adoring praise. San spanked your ass, the sharp slap echoing, making you clench around them both and drawing twin groans. Seonghwa’s hand found your clit again, rubbing insistently as he fucked into you.
“That’s it, come for us, angel,” Seonghwa urged, his voice ragged. “Let go. We’ve got you.”
The dual stimulation, the sheer fullness, the overwhelming sense of being utterly claimed and adored by them both, shattered you. Your orgasm crashed over you with violent, helpless intensity. You screamed, your body convulsing around them as a gush of release soaked Seonghwa’s hand and your thighs.
The feeling pushed them both over the edge. Seonghwa came with a broken shout, his hips stuttering, filling you. San followed with a deep, guttural groan, his thrusts becoming erratic before he stilled, buried deep inside you.
For a long moment, the only sound was your collective, ragged breathing. They held you up between them, covered in sweat and the evidence of your shared passion. In the mirror, you saw a tangle of limbs, flushed skin, and sated, possessive expressions.
San was the first to move, carefully pulling out and helping you, boneless, to lean against Seonghwa. He fetched a wad of paper towels, cleaning you both with a surprising tenderness.
Seonghwa just held you, his face buried in your hair, his arms trembling slightly “My God.” He whispered, the words filled with awe, not regret.
San finished cleaning up and looked at the two of you, a soft, genuine smile on his usually sharp face.
“See?” He said quietly. “No rules. Just us.”
And in the stark light of the bathroom, the three of you knew that everything had changed. Ann’ world was built on petty secrets. Yours was built on this.
And it was unshakeable.
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All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.
Stream Of Sin..
18: The Good Girl Performance.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 9,2K
Synopsis: A blackmail threat from a jealous rival was meant to break her. Instead, you see it as the opening move in a game she was born to win.
Warnings: Fingering, oral sex, penetrative sex, dominant/submissive dynamics, and mild voyeurism. Strong language, psychological manipulation, possessive/jealous behavior, bullying and blackmail, moral/religious conflict, dubious morality and power imbalances.
a/n: Hope you like it! Love y'all
Series masterlist
Materlist
The Sunday afternoon sunlight streamed into your bedroom, painting everything in a warm, lazy glow. You were a picture of pure, decadent relaxation, buried in the center of your bed in your softest pajamas. A half-empty bowl of chocolate ice cream rested on your stomach, and some mindless movie played on the TV, forgotten background noise.
Your entire focus was on your phone, a slow, wicked smile playing on your lips. There it was. A new message from Ann… oh wait, from user2387.
user2387: Who I am doesn't matter. What matters here is your little secret.
You let out a soft, derisive scoff, shaking your head.
"God, she's trying so hard." You murmured to the empty room, your grin widening. This was even more fun than you'd anticipated.
You took a deliberate, sweet spoonful of ice cream, savoring it as your thumbs danced across the screen, crafting your reply with theatrical precision. You made sure your tone was perfectly pitched, a blend of desperation and pleading.
You: Please, just tell me what you want! But stop this!
You hit send, the silly, triumphant smile never leaving your face. You could just imagine Ann on the other side, reading your message and clapping her hands with glee, believing she had you right where she wanted you.
You waited, spoon hovering, but no immediate reply came. The silence was its own kind of victory; she was probably savoring it, thinking she was building suspense.
The anticipation was too good not to share. You took a quick screenshot of the absurd exchange and opened the chat group you’d aptly named 'Sinners Club’—home to you, Hongjoong, Wooyoung, San, and now, Seonghwa.
You: [Image Sent] You: She's taking her role so seriously, I can't!
The responses were instantaneous.
Wooyoung: ??? Hongjoong: What the fuck is happening? San: She thinks she really ate with that 🤡 Seonghwa: Pathetic 😂
You laughed aloud, a clear, happy sound. This was your team. Your harem.
You: Don't worry my loves, I'll explain everything tomorrow at school. Just know a little mouse is trying to play cat. It's hilarious. You: Meet me in the back before morning mass tomorrow.
You set your phone down, finishing the last of your ice cream. The movie credits rolled on the TV, but you paid no mind. Your own personal drama was far more entertaining. You settled back into your pillows, the warmth of the sun and the sweetness of the secret victory lulling you into a state of perfect, powerful contentment.
The game was on, and you were so ready to play.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
You arrived fifteen minutes early, exactly ten minutes before the school-wide Monday mass began. You slipped into the secluded back garden of the outdoor chapel, a hidden pocket of overgrown jasmine and crumbling stone where you and the boys usually hid to skip class.
Leaning against the sun-warmed wall, you lit a flavored cigarette, the sweet smoke mingling with the morning dew. The silence was a perfect, private blanket.
“That’s what you call breakfast?” A voice drawled from the archway.
You turned, scoffing lightly as Hongjoong sauntered over, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Look who’s talking. The one who smokes like a fucking freight train.”
He let out a soft, dark laugh, plucking the cigarette from your fingers with practiced ease.
“You learned from the best, pretty.” He said, taking a long, appreciative drag.
You rolled your eyes, the ghost of a smile on your lips “Anyway, where are the others? Didn’t you pick up Woo?”
“Right here, baby,” Wooyoung sang, materializing from the other side of the wall with a dramatic flourish and a wide grin. “Miss me?”
“Where’s San and your bible boy? Mass starts in seven,” Hongjoong asked, handing your cigarette back, its filter now warm from his touch.
“They’re coming.” You said, taking a slow, deliberate drag just as the final two members of your council appeared.
San led with his usual lazy confidence, Seonghwa a step behind, his expression unreadably calm.
“Okay, the gang’s all here,” Wooyoung chirped, rubbing his hands together. “Now spill the goddamn tea, darling. The screenshot was delicious but confusing.”
Hongjoong’s playful smirk vanished, replaced by a sharp, protective focus “Yeah, what the hell is actually happening?”
San slung an arm around your shoulders, a possessive and comforting weight. He plucked the cigarette from your fingers for himself.
“Someone we know far too well is trying to play threat with our princess.” He announced, his voice dripping with mocking contempt.
“Threatening?” Hongjoong’s voice lost all its levity, his eyes narrowing to dark slits. “Explain. Now.”
You felt the shift in the air—the casual morning vibe evaporating, replaced by a crackling, unified intensity. You took a steadying breath, the center of their undivided, razor-sharp attention.
“It’s Ann.” You said, the name dropping like a stone.
Wooyoung let out a sharp, incredulous bark of laughter “Of course it is! That fucking—.“
“What did she do?” Hongjoong cut in, his voice low and deadly serious, his gaze never leaving yours.
“She recorded me kissing San at Mingi’s.” You explained, watching the rage ignite in Hongjoong’s eyes and the cold fury settle over Seonghwa’s face. “She made a fake account and sent it to me with a creepy little message saying that she will tell Seonghwa.”
“That pathetic, jealous little—” Wooyoung started, but Hongjoong held up a hand, silencing him. His mind was already racing ahead.
“What’s the play?” He asked you directly.
He knew you wouldn’t just be scared. You’d be planning. A slow, wicked smile finally broke through your composed facade.
“We let her think she’s winning.” You purred. “I’m going to act scared. Clueless. I’ll play her desperate little victim over DMs. Let her get drunk on her own power.”
San grinned, squeezing your shoulder “And then?”
“And then.” You continued, your eyes gleaming. “When she’s at her most confident, when she’s sure she’s destroyed me… we pull the rug out from under her so hard she forgets her own name.”
Wooyoung’s anger melted into gleeful anticipation “Oh, I love it. The dramatic reveal! The humiliation!”
“We need to be careful,” Seonghwa spoke for the first time, his voice quiet but firm. “Yunho is in the middle. And she’s unstable.”
“Which is why we control the narrative.” You said, looking at each of them in turn—your devil, your hype man, your loyal knight, your calm strategist. “We know everything. She knows nothing. We turn her own weapon into her cage.”
Hongjoong finally smiled again, but it was all sharp edges and dark promise. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering.
“Just tell us what you need, pretty. We’ll be your shadows, your pawns. Whatever you want.”
The first bell for mass rang in the distance, a faint, ignorable sound. You stubbed out the cigarette on the stone wall. The game was no longer just yours. It was theirs.
And with an army like this, Ann didn’t stand a chance.
“For now.” You said, smoothing your skirt, the perfect picture of innocence ready to be performed. “Just watch. And laugh with me.”
The last bell for mass was your cue for leaving. All of you shared a final, knowing glance—a silent pact sealed in the morning air—before walking together to the front of the chapel. A river of students flowed alongside you, a perfect camouflage, so you didn’t see Ann standing at the very back of the pews.
She was watching. Her eyes tracked your every move, a thin, fun smirk playing on her lips as she observed your little entourage. Oh, she thought, a thrill of power humming in her veins.
For the first ten minutes of the service, Ann’s attention was fixed not on the priest, but on the drama unfolding in the third row. She watched you lean your head on Seonghwa’s shoulder, the picture of devoted innocence. Her gaze then slid to San, sitting on your other side. The way his eyes lingered on the two of you—a mix of longing and something darker—made her blood simmer with vindication.
"Poor Seonghwa." She mused, her heart twisting with a sickly sense of righteous pity.
He was such a good boy, quiet and steady. He didn’t deserve to be made a fool of by someone like you. You were the problem. A poison wrapped in pretty skin, corrupting everything you touched.
As the second choir song began to swell through the chapel, filling the space with hollow piety, Ann saw her moment. The perfect, symbolic time to begin.
She discreetly lowered her phone into her lap, hidden behind the hymn book. Her fingers, cold and deliberate, navigated to the Instagram DM thread with the blank icon.
Her smirk deepened as she typed, the words feeling like stones she was laying in the foundation of your ruin.
user2387: You look very cozy with your boyfriend right now. It's almost convincing.
She hit send, the little whoosh sound a silent gunshot in the quiet of her own mind. She slipped the phone back into her blazer pocket and looked up, her expression smoothing into one of serene attention. But her eyes found you again, watching for the flinch, the sudden glance at your phone, the tiny crack in your perfect facade.
The vibration in your blazer pocket was a soft, insistent buzz against your thigh. You kept your head resting on Seonghwa’s shoulder, your eyes closed as if in prayer, but a slow, secret smile threatened to curl the corner of your mouth.
You let the vibration hang in the air for a full minute, letting the anticipation build—for her, and for you. Then, with a subtle, weary sigh, you straightened up. You pulled your phone out just enough to see the screen, your body angling slightly away from Seonghwa in a show of secrecy.
The message glowed in the dim light. You allowed your breath to hitch, just audibly. Your fingers trembled minutely as you typed a reply, making sure the movement was visible from the corner of Ann’s predatory gaze.
You: Please stop watching me. What do you want from me?
You hit send and quickly shoved the phone back into your pocket as if it were burning you. You brought a hand to your forehead, letting your shoulders slump forward in a posture of distress. Seonghwa, feeling the shift in your posture, leaned in.
“Angel? You okay?” He murmured, his voice laced with a concern that was only partly an act—the part where he hated seeing you play the victim, even falsely.
You just shook your head, a small, helpless motion. On your other side, San had seen it all. His jaw tightened, but not with worry. With rage at the spectacle Ann was forcing you to enact. His hand found yours where it was clenched on the pew, giving it a single, hard, reassuring squeeze.
From a few rows ahead, Hongjoong glanced back, catching your eye on the reflective surface of a polished wooden panel. He raised a single, questioning brow. You gave the tiniest nod. His lips quivered in a dark, approving smirk before he turned back around, already no doubt scheming.
And Wooyoung, seated beside Hongjoong, had to stuff his fist against his mouth to stifle a giggle, his shoulders shaking silently. He found the whole thing hysterically pathetic.
At the back of the chapel, Ann watched the entire silent play unfold: your tremor, your hurried reply, Seonghwa’s worry, San’s comforting grip. It was better than she’d imagined.
Your phone buzzed silently in your hand.
User2387: I want to see how far the good girl act goes. Your first task: I want you to sit with Joo Minseok in class, always. Maybe if you are near a holy boy can save you from hell.
She sent it, her heart pounding with a thrilling mix of malice and power. This was perfect. Humiliating, morally righteous, and designed to confuse and alienate your friends. She tucked her phone away, a serene, pious smile settling on her face as she lifted her gaze to the altar, feeling like a goddess directing her own personal puppet show.
When you felt the second buzz, you rolled your eyes. You were going to enjoy playing with her, but you hated pointless small talk, so that part would be a genuine chore.
You took your phone out and had to bite the inside of your cheek to stifle a laugh. You read the message three times. This was her opening move? She thought this would humiliate you? It was embarrassingly childish. But then, you couldn’t expect much from someone whose entire world was as small as her mind.
Sit with Joo Minseok… You frowned. You’d never even heard that name before. Was he in your class?
You tapped out a quick, suitably desperate reply.
You: Fine. I'll do it. But please, don't say anything to anyone!
Then you nudged San with your elbow, keeping your voice a low murmur “Who the hell is Joo Minseok?”
San’s head turned slowly, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement “Goody Two-Shoes Minseok? You’re joking, right?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” You whispered back. “Who is he?”
Seonghwa leaned in from your other side, his brow furrowed “You really don’t know him? He’s in your class.”
“Evidently not.” You said, your tone flat. You showed them both your screen.
San clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with silent, incredulous laughter making a few students nearby shot him irritated glances. Seonghwa just frowned harder, looking from the message to your face, utterly confused.
“Why would she ask you to do that?”
“Why are you laughing?” You hissed at San, jabbing him in the ribs with your elbow.
He wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye “You really want to know why she’s throwing you at him?”
“Yes! Obviously! It’s a stupid request.”
“We’ve been in the same class for two years, Ji.” San said, his voice a low, teasing rasp.
You shrugged, as if the answer was self-evident “I pay attention to me, and to you guys. I don’t care about the background extras.”
Seonghwa’s hand found your thigh, giving it a soft, approving squeeze “That’s… oddly sweet, angel.”
San scoffed “Sure. No narcissism at all.”
“Anyway.” You pressed, your patience wearing thin with the mystery. “Who. Is. He?”
San finally relented, his voice dropping into a theatrical, gossipy whisper.
“Joo Minseok is the human equivalent of a damp hymn book. He’s top of the class, wants to be a priest, and has the social skills of a startled goat. He quotes scripture when someone curses. He’s not… unattractive, in a bland, unfinished-clay-sculpture kind of way. But he’s the most awkward, sanctimoniously pious person to ever walk these halls. Ann probably thinks sitting next to him will be your personal penance. She thinks you’ll be bored to tears and socially annihilated.”
You blinked, processing. So, Ann’s idea of torture was… forcing you to sit next to the class saint? A boy so holy he was practically invisible to you?
A slow, wicked smile spread across your lips. This wasn’t a punishment. This was an opportunity, and it was going to be so much more fun than she could possibly imagine.
—
The final hymn echoed through the chapel, signaling the end of mass. You shared a brief, lingering kiss with Seonghwa—a performance for Ann’s watching eyes—before splitting off.
You fell into step with Wooyoung and San, the three of you a familiar, mischievous unit heading to class. A few paces behind, a shadow of conflicted tension, Jongho followed. He kept his distance, his jaw set, determined to keep the secret of his bedroom encounter locked away, even as his eyes tracked your every move.
The classroom buzzed with the low hum of pre-class chatter. You scanned the room, your gaze landing on the front row. Just as San had described, there he was: Joo Minseok. He sat with a spine so straight it looked painful, a worn leather notebook open before him, the morning light glinting off his perfectly polished glasses. He was writing notes already.
Notes before the class started. Sick.
You leaned into San, your voice a low murmur "Him?"
San gave a slight, mocking nod "The one and only, baby."
You had to admit, he was… oddly pretty in a severe, porcelain-doll kind of way. Sharp features, pale skin, an aura of untouched purity. Definitely not your type, but not the troll Ann probably imagined.
With an internal sigh of theatrical resignation, you hoisted your bag and walked with purpose down the aisle. All side conversations stuttered to a halt as you passed. You ignored the stares and slid into the empty seat next to Minseok with a soft thud, dropping your bag on the floor.
He flinched, as if you’d dropped something radioactive. His pen stilled. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you, his eyes wide behind his glasses—not with interest, but with pure, unadulterated confusion and a hint of horror.
Why was the school’s acknowledged devil sitting in the seat of scholarly penitence?
You offered him a small, bland smile that didn't reach your eyes, then immediately busied yourself with your phone.
From the back of the room, Wooyoung’s loud, confused “What the fuck?” was barely muffled by San’s hand clapping over his mouth. San was leaning over, whispering an explanation into Wooyoung’s ear, whose expression morphed from outrage to gleeful understanding.
But you didn't have long to enjoy the peace. A tense, awkward silence emanated from the boy beside you. You could feel his discomfort like a physical force field.
Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm, laced with a condescending curiosity “Is there a reason you’re sitting here, Jeong?”
You didn’t look up from your phone “It’s a free seat.”
“It has always been free.” He countered, his tone implying that its emptiness was a feature, not a flaw. “You… and your friends, you always sit in the back.”
“It's the beginning of a new semester, I feel like a change of scenery could be good for me.” You said airily, finally glancing at him.
His lips were pressed into a thin, disapproving line. He looked you over—your posture, your expression, as if diagnosing a spiritual ailment.
“This isn’t your place.” He stated, not unkindly, but with absolute certainty. “You belong back there.” He gave a slight, dismissive nod toward the back row where Wooyoung was now making faces at you, and where San lounged like a king of misrule.
Across the room, nestled safely among the holy girls, Ann watched the exchange with Juliet. She hid a smile behind her hand, her eyes bright with triumph. This was going exactly as she’d hoped.
Minseok was looking at you like you were a stain on his perfectly ordered world. The humiliation was subtle, but it was there. She’d forced the sinner into the pew of the saint, and the saint was visibly recoiling.
Little did she know, you were just getting comfortable. And saints, you’d found, were often the most fun to corrupt.
✮
The first week of your "penance" passed in a strange, suspended reality.
Every morning, you took your seat beside Joo Minseok. The initial shock from Sister Beatrice, the whispered gossip from your classmates, and the blatant confusion from Minseok’s own circle of devout friends became a dull background hum.
Ann, from her safe seat across the room, watched it all with a growing, smug satisfaction. Her ego inflated with each passing day. You were visibly isolated from Wooyoung and San during class.
You were living her little punishment. It was perfect.
For Minseok, the first few days were an exercise in rigid tolerance. He kept his gaze firmly forward, his shoulders tense, as if your very presence was a distraction sent by a lesser demon. He flinched whenever your arm accidentally brushed his, and he pointedly ignored any sigh or shift you made.
But you… you were an enigma. You didn’t giggle, you didn’t pass notes, you didn’t check your phone during class. You listened. When Sister Beatrice called on you—probably expecting you to be adrift—you gave sharp, intelligent answers that were often more insightful than the textbook.
Minseok saw you scribble notes in the margins of your book, not doodles, but concise, accurate summaries. She’s smart, he noted with clinical surprise, the first crack in his wall of disapproval.
And then, against his will, his observations became… personal.
During a quiet moment while the class worked on a problem set, his gaze slipped sideways. The morning light caught the sweep of your lashes against your cheek, the perfect, plush curve of your lower lip as you bit it in concentration. He noticed the delicate veins on the back of your hand as you held your pen, the soft, clean scent of your fragance—something sweet and subtle, not the overwhelming perfume he’d associated with girls like you.
His own thoughts startled him with their clarity: She is a very beautiful girl, and the realization felt like a sin in itself.
The turning point came on Thursday. You dropped your pen. It rolled toward his polished shoe. With a sigh, you bent to retrieve it at the same moment he did. Your fingers brushed. You both froze for a split second. You looked up, your eyes meeting his through his glasses. You offered a small, tired, genuine smile that didn’t seem calculated to charm anyone.
“Sorry.” You murmured.
“It’s… it’s fine.” He stammered, handing you the pen, his ears turning pink.
The next day, during a brief class break, he didn’t open his scripture study book. Instead, he cleared his throat.
“The analysis you gave on the Reformation yesterday was… succinct. Most people oversimplify Luther’s position.”
You looked up from your phone, where you’d been texting Seonghwa a string of eye-roll emojis. You blinked, caught off guard by the actual conversation.
“Oh. Thanks. I just think if you’re going to start a continent-wide religious war, your arguments should at least be clear.”
A sound escaped him—not quite a laugh, but a soft, surprised puff of air. Almost a smile. “A pragmatic view.”
“The only view worth having.” You said with a shrug, but you didn’t turn away.
From that day, a fragile, bizarre truce formed. He’d lean over to point out a line in the textbook you might have missed. You’d ask him a clarifying question about an assignment in a tone that was studious, not flirtatious. It was small talk, but it was happening.
Ann watched this development like a hawk spotting a mouse moving in the wrong direction. Her smug satisfaction curdled into confusion, then into a sharp, prickling anxiety.
This wasn’t part of the script. Minseok was supposed to be repelled, to eventually snap and publicly condemn you, driving you back to your sinful corner in shame. He wasn’t supposed to… lean in. He wasn’t supposed to look at you with that focused, curious expression.
He wasn’t supposed to make her punishment look like… a budding study partnership.
Her grip tightened around her phone, the plastic case creaking. A new, more virulent kind of jealousy took root—not just over San, but over the control of her own narrative. You were supposed to be the humiliated one. So why did Joo Minseok, the holiest boy in school, seem to be the one under your strange, quiet spell?
The game had just gotten a new player, and Ann had no idea what his move would be.
—
“Ugh, I’m exhausted,” Wooyoung whined the moment he collapsed into his seat at the lunch table, letting his head drop onto the plastic surface with a dramatic thud.
You couldn’t help but smile at his theatrics “You were asleep for three straight classes, Sister Beatrice gave up on you by the end of first period.”
San scoffed, throwing a crumpled paper napkin at him “I had to fill out your entire workbook, you damn brat.”
“Aww, thanks, baby,” Wooyoung sang, lifting his head just enough to shoot San a loopy, grateful grin. “You’re my hero.”
San rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned back, a study in feigned annoyance.
Hongjoong and Seonghwa arrived at the table together, trays in hand. It had become the new normal over the past week. From the first day of the term, Seonghwa had quietly asked to join your lunch table instead of sitting with his usual, more subdued friends.
“Consider me part of the club now,” he’d said with a soft smile, his eyes on you. “I want to get to know your friends better.” You’d agreed, of course, leading him to your sacred, chaotic corner of the cafeteria.
You didn’t miss the ripple effect it caused. Mingi’s conflicted glances, Jongho’s tense, observant silence, Yeosang’s analytical frown, and most of all, Yunho’s seething glare from across the room—it was all part of the new backdrop.
“What fresh hell did you unleash now, Woo?” Hongjoong asked, sliding in beside him, his sharp eyes already scanning the table’s energy.
“Hi, angel,” Seonghwa murmured, settling smoothly into the seat next to you. His presence was a calm anchor in the usual storm.
“Hey, Hwa.” You replied, leaning in to steal a soft, quick kiss. He tasted like mint and sunlight.
“I got a double portion.” He said, already nudging the extra container and utensils toward you. “Thought we could share.”
“Thank you, babe.” You whispered, a genuinely shy smile touching your lips at the simple, domestic gesture.
Hongjoong, who had been watching the exchange instead of listening to Wooyoung’s rambling, felt his jaw tighten. The sight of you two in your easy, affectionate bubble was still a visceral adjustment. His knuckles turned white around his chopsticks.
Not here, he reminded himself, forcing a slow breath. Not with Ann’s eyes crawling all over you. He shut his eyes briefly and took a large, deliberate bite of his food, swallowing down the acidic taste of something that wasn't on his tray.
“So,” Hongjoong began, his tone forcibly neutral as he turned his attention to you. “How’s the penance going with the holy boy, pretty?”
You shrugged, poking at your shared meal “Normal. He’s quiet. It’s fine.”
A sly smirk played on Wooyoung’s lips. He leaned closer to Hongjoong, his voice a stage whisper meant to cut through the chatter.
“Seems very interested in our little babydoll, though. Asks her a lot of questions. Looks at her when he thinks no one’s watching.”
Hongjoong’s head snapped toward him, all pretense of calm evaporating “What did you say?”
Wooyoung just shrugged, the smirk firmly in place, his eyes glittering with mischief. Hongjoong’s dark gaze swung back to you. You were blissfully unaware, laughing softly at something Seonghwa had murmured in your ear, your expression open and bright.
The sight—your happiness, so easily sparked by someone else, while another boy watched you with a fascination he shouldn’t have—was the final straw.
“Eunji.” His voice was a blade of ice, cutting through the noise.
You looked up, your smile fading into confusion. He never used that tone. And he almost never called you by your full name.
“Yes?”
“Do me a favor, baby.” He said, his voice low and controlled, though his chopsticks were stabbing his rice with unnecessary force. “Don’t flirt with that scripture-quoting loser. I don’t want him getting ideas he has no business having.”
The table fell silent for a beat. You processed his words, and then a slow, knowing smile spread across your face. Jealousy. It looked so good on him, even when it was this sharp.
“I would never.” You cooed, fluttering your lashes with exaggerated innocence. “He’s not my type, Joong. At all. Don’t worry about it.”
Hongjoong just held your gaze, his eyes narrowed into dark slits, before turning back to his food with a dismissive grunt. You immediately shot a venomous, but amused, look at Wooyoung, who simply winked back, utterly unrepentant. The drama, as always, was exactly how he liked it.
The atmosphere at Yunho's usual lunch table was subdued, a quiet that felt heavier than mere silence. The empty space where Seonghwa usually sat was a conspicuous void.
Yeosang pushed a piece of carrot around his tray, his voice thoughtful "It's... strange without Seonghwa hyung here."
Mingi, slouching beside him, nodded with a sigh "Yeah. He always had the dumbest, quietest jokes. I miss that."
A grunt of agreement came from Jongho. He didn't elaborate, but his lack of objection spoke volumes. He missed the calm, steady presence too. Yunho’s jaw worked as he stared at the far table where you held court.
There you were, laughing between Seonghwa and Wooyoung, with Hongjoong watching like a possessive shadow and San radiating smugness. The sight was a physical irritant.
"He chose to sit over there," Yunho said finally, his voice tight. He wasn't just stating a fact; he was accusing. "With her. And those... idiots." The word was venomous. "First, she's dating him—God knows why he fell for her act—and now she's practically stolen him from us. What the hell is her problem? Is corrupting my friends her new hobby?"
His frustration wasn't just about Seonghwa's absence. It was about the entire ecosystem shifting around you. You were the disruptive force, and he was powerless to stop the fallout.
Beside him, Ann sat perfectly still, her food barely touched. She was watching the same scene, but through a different, more panicked lens. Her plan with Minseok wasn't humiliating you; it was making you look interesting to a saint. And now, even Yunho's own friends were mourning Seonghwa's defection to your side.
Your influence was spreading, not shrinking. A cold knot of failure tightened in her stomach. She couldn't let this stand. She needed a new strategy. New weapons. And she knew exactly where to find them.
Plastering on a sweet, apologetic smile, she placed a gentle hand on Yunho's arm "I'm just going to go say hi to Juliet and Jane, okay? I promised I'd help Jane with her history notes later."
Yunho, lost in his own resentment, just gave a distracted nod "Sure, darling."
Ann stood, her movements graceful, and wove through the cafeteria with purpose. She didn't head for the bathroom or the library. She made a beeline for the table where Jane, Juliet, and their friends Soojin and Hyejin sat—a table known for its polite conversation and judgmental glances toward yours.
These girls had never been her close friends. They were acquaintances, united by church activities and a shared, silent disapproval of your existence. They were the ones who had first pulled Ann aside when she started talking with you, their voices hushed with warning: "Be careful. She's... not like us. She runs with a bad crowd. She'll try to drag you down."
At the time, Ann had nodded, pretending to absorb their concern while secretly thrilled to have any bond with you. Now, she needed that disapproval to become active.
She slid into an empty seat beside Juliet, offering a fragile, worried smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Hi, guys. Mind if I join you for a minute? I... I just need to talk to someone who understands."
Jane leaned in immediately, sensing drama "Of course, Ann. What's wrong? You look upset."
Ann let her shoulders slump, casting a furtive, pained glance across the room toward your table—toward where Seonghwa was now feeding you a bite of his food.
"It's about Eunji," She whispered, her voice trembling with expertly feigned distress. "I think... I think she's cheating on Seonghwa. And I don't know what to do. I feel so terrible for him."
The girls' eyes widened in unison. Ann’s words hung in the air, a drop of poison in a cup of sanctimony. Jane, Juliet, Soojin, and Hyejin leaned in so close their heads nearly touched, forming a tight, scandalized circle.
“Cheating?” Juliet gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “On Seonghwa? But he’s… he’s an angel.”
“I know,” Ann whispered, her eyes glistening with manufactured tears. “He’s so kind to everyone. He doesn’t deserve this. And Yunho… he’d be devastated if he knew what his sister was really like.”
Jane’s lips pursed into a thin, disapproving line “We always knew there was something… off about her. The way she flaunts herself. And those boys she surrounds herself with—Hongjoong and Wooyoung are practically demons.”
“Do you have proof, Ann?” Soojin asked, her voice hushed but intense. She was the most pragmatic of the group. “You can’t just accuse someone of something so grave.”
This was Ann’s moment. She didn’t show the video—that was her nuclear option, her private trophy—but she nodded, her expression solemn.
“I have proof. I saw something… concrete. Something that leaves no doubt.” She let the implication of scandalous visuals hang in the air, making their imaginations run wild.
Soojin’s eyes hardened “Then she should be punished. Publicly. Before Seonghwa’s heart gets broken any further. He needs to see her for what she is.”
Hyejin, usually quiet, nodded fervently “It’s a sin to lead such a pure person on. She’s playing with his soul.”
“But we have to be careful,” Jane interjected, her mind already weaving a plan with threads of piety and malice. “We can’t just spread rumors. That’s beneath us. We have to… guide her towards repentance. Make her see the error of her ways before the truth comes out and destroys everything.”
Ann nearly smiled. This was better than she’d hoped. They were doing the plotting for her. “Guide her? How?”
The girls exchanged a look, a silent communion of judgment.
“First,” Juliet said, her nose wrinkling. “She needs to stop with the… display. The makeup, the unbuttoned uniform, the way she wears her skirt. It’s a deliberate distraction. If she truly valued Seonghwa, she’d present herself modestly, to honor him.”
“Yes!” Hyejin agreed. “And she should distance herself from those bad influences. If she’s serious about being a good girlfriend, she wouldn’t need to cling to such… unsavory company.”
Soojin added the masterstroke, her voice cool “And she should spend less time clinging to Seonghwa in public. If her affection is genuine, it doesn’t need to be performative. In fact, giving him some space might help him see her more clearly. Let him miss the version of her he thinks exists, while she’s alone, facing the consequences of her behavior.”
Ann listened, drinking in their ideas. It was perfect. They were suggesting she strip you of your armor—your beauty, your friends, your claimed boyfriend—and leave you isolated and exposed. They framed it as a moral correction, but the intent was pure social execution.
“You’re right,” Ann said, her voice filled with false, grateful conviction. “It’s not about being cruel. It’s about giving her a chance to correct her path before it’s too late. For Seonghwa’s sake.”
“For Seonghwa’s sake.” They all echoed, a quiet, righteous chorus.
Ann excused herself a moment later, the ghost of a real smile touching her lips as she walked away. She pulled out her phone, her fingers flying over the screen to the anonymous Instagram account.
She now had a full, sanctimonious agenda. And you were going to follow every step, or your “secret” would be exposed. The game had just evolved from petty humiliation to a full-scale, moralistic siege.
And she had an army of choir girls backing her play.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
Saturday afternoon bled into a lazy, golden haze. After service, you’d gone home with Seonghwa—a gesture that earned a warm smile from his mother.
The moment his bedroom door clicked shut, the world narrowed to just the two of you, tangled together on his bed with some animated movie playing softly in the background. It was a quiet sanctuary, his arm around you, your head on his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns on his shirt.
The buzz of your phone was a rude intrusion. You fished it from your pocket, and a slow, incredulous smile spread across your face as you read the message.
user2387: If you really want to be a good girlfriend, you must stop using makeup and wearing the uniform correctly. Do this on monday and on tuesday i would give you more instructions.
A soft scoff escaped you. You tilted the screen for Seonghwa to see. He read it, and a quiet, affectionate laugh rumbled in his chest beneath your ear.
“She really is something else.” He murmured, his voice laced with a mix of pity and disdain. He turned his head, his nose brushing your hair. “She thinks it’s the lip gloss and the skirt that has us all twisted, doesn’t she?”
“Apparently.” You said, tossing the phone aside onto his duvet, a gesture of dismissal.
Seonghwa’s hand came up to cradle your jaw, turning your face gently towards his. His eyes, usually so calm, were dark with a fierce sort of admiration.
“Stupid girl.” He whispered, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “She doesn’t understand. We don’t follow you because you paint your lips red or show your legs. We follow you because you’re you. Sharp, and fearless, and so devastatingly you that it feels like gravity. You could wear a sackcloth and smudge dirt on your face, and we’d still be right here.”
The words, spoken with such quiet certainty, wrapped around you tighter than any embrace. Your smile softened, turning real and tender just for him.
“Yeah?” You breathed, your gaze dropping to his lips.
“Yeah.” He confirmed, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.
Then he closed the distance, capturing your mouth with his. This kiss wasn’t like the soft pecks you’d shared before. It was a seal on his words, a claiming, a slow-burning affirmation. It was deep and searching, his tongue sweeping against yours, tasting of mint and the underlying heat of his conviction.
You melted into him, a small sound of pleasure escaping your throat as your hands fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt.
His own hands began to move, not with haste, but with a reverent purpose. One stayed tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss. The other slid down, over the curve of your hip, then up under the hem of your blouse. His fingertips were cool against the warm skin of your stomach, making you shiver.
“My angel.” He breathed against your lips, his kisses trailing down to your jaw, your neck. “My smart, beautiful angel. Playing her games so perfectly.” Each word was punctuated with a kiss, a nip, a soothing lick.
His hand slid further, dipping past the waistband of your skirt, past the lace of your underwear. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers found you, already slick and eager for him—a visceral testament to how his words and his touch alone could undo you.
“Seonghwa…” You whimpered, your hips arching involuntarily against his hand.
“Shhh, I’ve got you, angel.” He soothed, his mouth returning to yours, swallowing your moans.
His fingers began to move, a slow, torturous exploration at first, learning every fold, every sensitive spot that made your breath catch.
“This is your reward. For being so good. For being so… you.”
His praise was a catalyst. His touch grew more confident, more insistent. One finger, then two, curling inside you with a precision that had you seeing stars. His thumb circled that perfect, aching spot, applying just the right pressure, his rhythm a mirror of his kissing—deep, worshipful, and utterly consuming.
The movie’s dialogue faded into meaningless noise. The only sounds were the slick slide of his fingers, the ragged harmony of your breaths, and the soft, broken praises he whispered against your skin.
“That’s it… so perfect for me… let go, angel. Just feel how much you’re wanted. How much you’re loved.”
You clutched at his shoulders, your cries muffled against his neck as the pleasure built, coiling tight and unbearable. He felt it, his movements becoming more focused, more relentless, driving you higher until you shattered with a choked sob, your body convulsing around his hand as he held you through the storm, his lips pressed to your temple, murmuring endless praises.
As the aftershocks trembled through you, he slowly, gently withdrew his hand, bringing his glistening fingers to his own lips without breaking eye contact. He sucked them clean, his dark eyes holding yours, the act somehow more intimate than anything that had come before.
“No makeup.” He said, his voice raw and thick with satisfaction as he gathered you back into his arms, your body pliant and boneless against his. “No short skirt. It doesn’t matter. You’ll still be the most powerful person in every room you walk into. And you’ll still be mine.”
And as you drifted in the hazy, sated aftermath, you knew he was right. Ann’s demands were childish costumes. The real power, the intoxicating control, was something no uniform could conceal. It was in you. And your boys would follow it anywhere.
—
Monday morning dawned bright and cool. You stood in front of your mirror, studying your reflection with a clinical eye.
No makeup. Not a trace of eyeliner, no tint on your lips, no blush to sculpt your cheeks. Your uniform was pristine—skirt hemmed to the modest length, blouse buttoned to the top, cardigan neat and proper.
You looked like the version of you that existed in your mother’s fantasies, in the church ladies’ approving nods, in Ann’s twisted moral victory.
You smiled. It wasn’t the usual smirk, sharp and knowing. It was something softer, quieter, and somehow more unnerving.
When you walked into the school courtyard, the effect was immediate.
Wooyoung spotted you first. He froze mid-sentence, his jaw going slack “Whoa.”
San, leaning beside him, straightened up slowly. His eyes tracked you from head to toe, a slow heat building in his gaze “Holy shit.”
Hongjoong, already lighting a cigarette by the wall, nearly dropped it. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke as he watched you approach, his dark eyes unreadable but intense.
“What?” You asked, your voice light, innocent. “You’ve seen me without makeup before.”
“Not like this,” San murmured, his voice rough. “You look… fuck, you look pure, baby.”
That was the word. Pure. It was the look Ann wanted—the chastened good girl, stripped of her weapons. But on you, it was a different kind of weapon entirely. Without the armor of kohl and lipstick, your beauty was startling in its clarity. Your eyes seemed larger, darker, more haunting. Your skin glowed with a freshness that made everyone else look tired. The modest uniform didn’t hide your shape—it hinted at it, wrapped it in a layer of forbidden temptation that was somehow more potent than any skin you’d shown before.
“Ann’s first demand.” You explained quietly, your lips curling just at the corners. “No makeup. Uniform worn correctly.”
Hongjoong’s mouth twitched into a slow, approving smile “She really has no idea, does she?”
“None.” You said, and your eyes sparkled with a mischief that no lack of eyeliner could dim.
The real test came in homeroom. You took your seat beside Minseok, who did a double-take so pronounced he nearly dropped his Bible.
“Eunji.” He said, his voice unusually unsteady. “You… you look different.”
“Do I?” You asked, arranging your books neatly. “I just decided to follow the dress code properly.”
He stared a moment longer, then quickly looked down, adjusting his glasses. But you saw the flush creeping up his neck. He’d thought you were pretty before. Now, clean-faced and solemn, you looked like a revelation. A saint he hadn’t read about.
Across the room, Ann watched with a smug, thin smile. Finally, she thought. Finally, she looks the part. Humble. Plain. Ashamed.
But then she saw Minseok’s lingering glance, the way his fingers tightened around his pen. She saw the looks you were getting from other boys in the class, not the usual leering admiration, but something more intrigued, more focused. She saw the way even Sister Beatrice gave you a nod of approval, a softening in her stern expression.
Ann’s smile faltered. This wasn’t the humiliation she’d pictured. This was… something else. You weren’t fading into the background. You were commanding the room in a new, more dangerous way, through absence, through suggestion, through the sheer audacity of looking holy when everyone knew you were not.
user2387: No sitting with your friends today at lunch. And give Seonghwa some space, let him breathe.
At lunch, you took a seat at the edge of your usual table, picking quietly at your food as you heard Wooyoung yap about somethig he did.
Seonghwa watched you from a few tables away, where he sat with Yunho, Yeosang, and a tense-looking Mingi. His gaze was heavy, possessive, and full of a quiet, blazing pride. He knew what you were doing. He knew this was all a performance. And yet, seeing you like this, stripped bare for everyone, yet completely untouchable, it did something to him. Something deep and primal.
Jongho followed his gaze, his expression caught between confusion and suspicion “Why is she sitting like that? And why does she look… like that?”
“Like what?” Seonghwa asked mildly, tearing his eyes away from you with visible effort.
“I don’t know. Normal. Like a normal student.”
“Maybe she’s trying something new,” Seonghwa said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
Jongho frowned, not satisfied, but dropped it.
—
The text came that evening, just as promised.
user2387: Good. Now, for tomorrow: I want you to stay away from Hongjoong and Wooyoung. Don’t sit with them, don’t talk to them. A good girlfriend doesn’t need friends like that.
You read it, then screenshot it and sent it to the group chat.
You: You’re gonna miss me. Wooyoung: Awww she’s trying to break us up 😭 Hongjoong: Tell her we said hi, pretty. San: This is getting sad. Seonghwa: Be careful, angel.
You put your phone down and looked out your window, the evening sky bruising purple and blue.
Ann thought she was stripping you of your power. She had no idea she was just teaching you how to wield it in a whole new way.
And the best part? You were just getting started.
✮
The cafeteria had been an exercise in exquisite torture, for everyone.
You’d followed Ann’s directive to the letter. When Hongjoong and Wooyoung slid into their usual seats, you’d remained standing, tray in hand, your expression unreadable. You’d felt their stares burning into your back as you turned away.
You’d chosen a small, isolated table near the window. Alone. For about thirty seconds. Then, Joo Minseok, emboldened by your changed appearance and your apparent distance from your “bad influences,” had approached.
“May I join you?”
You’d nodded, offering a small, polite smile—the kind you never gave anyone “Sure.”
And honestly? He wasn’t terrible company. He talked about a medieval religious text he was reading with a genuine, nerdy passion. He didn’t leer, he didn’t flirt clumsily. He was just… earnestly there. You were aware of the quiet admiration in his eyes, the way his gaze lingered on your profile when he thought you were looking at your food.
It was harmless. Almost sweet, but from across the room, it looked like a damn courtship. You felt the weight of four separate, scorching glares:
Hongjoong’s, a cold, simmering fury from your usual table. San’s, a hotter, more possessive burn from where he leaned against the wall, having abandoned his own lunch to watch. Seonghwa’s, a complex, aching tension from Yunho’s table, his jaw tight as he pretended to listen to Mingi… And Wooyoung just smirked because he knew you would be in trouble later.
The bell for next period was a mercy. You dumped your tray and slipped into the stream of students, but a hand closed around your wrist before you could reach the stairs.
Wooyoung’s playful grin was gone, replaced by something darker, more thrilling “Come with me, honey.”
“Woo, we have class—”
“I do, you don’t.”
He didn’t ask. He pulled you through a side corridor, up two flights of rarely used stairs to the third floor—the domain of storage rooms and abandoned language labs. The air was dusty and still. He stopped at a heavy wooden door, pushed it open, and nudged you inside.
“Have fun, baby.” He singsonged, his grin returning, sharp and knowing, before he pulled the door shut behind you.
The room was an old music room, shelves lined with forgotten sheet music, a single dusty piano in the corner. And in the center, waiting, were Hongjoong and San.
Hongjoong leaned against a teacher’s desk, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. San stood by the window, backlit by the afternoon sun, his silhouette tense. The air crackled with a dangerous, silent energy.
“So,” Hongjoong’s voice cut through the silence, smooth as a razor. “Having a nice lunch, pretty?”
You lifted your chin, your heart hammering not with fear, but with a dark, eager anticipation “It was fine.”
“Fine,” San echoed, pushing off the wall. He took a slow step toward you. “Looked real cozy from where I was standing. You smile at him like that? All soft and… nice?”
“I was being polite.” You said, your voice steady even as your pulse raced.
“Polite.” Hongjoong pushed off the desk, closing the distance between you. He stopped inches away, his dark eyes boring into yours. “You don’t get to be polite to him. You don’t get to give him the version of you that you withhold from us.”
His hand came up, his thumb brushing roughly over your bottom lip, wiping away the memory of your polite smile.
“The you that follows rules, that sits pretty, that listens to sermons… that’s not who you are. And seeing you pretend…” His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “It pisses me off.”
San was behind you now, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth at your ear “He’s right, princess. We know what you are. And so do you.”
Hongjoong’s hand fisted in the front of your perfectly buttoned blouse “You want to be a good girl for everyone else? Fine. But for us…” He yanked, and buttons flew, scattering like pearls on the dusty floor. “…you’re our good little whore.”
The crude word, coming from his elegant mouth, sent a shock of pure heat straight to your core. You gasped, but San’s arms wrapped around you, pinning your arms to your sides.
“Say it,” Hongjoong demanded, his gaze dropping to your exposed lace bra. “Who do you belong to?”
“You.” You breathed, the fight leaving you, replaced by a pooling, liquid want.
“Louder.”
“You!” The word was a moan as San bit down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, hard enough to mark.
Hongjoong’s cold control shattered. He captured your mouth in a searing, punishing kiss, all teeth and dominance. San’s hands roamed over your body, groping, squeezing, shoving your modest skirt up around your hips.
When Hongjoong broke the kiss, you were panting. He looked wrecked, his hair mussed, his lips swollen. He sank into the threadbare armchair in the corner, his eyes never leaving yours.
“On your knees, baby.” He commanded, his voice rough. “You want to be good? Be good for me. Show me what that pretty, polite mouth is really for.”
You didn’t hesitate. You dropped to your knees between his legs, your hands trembling as you undid his belt and zipper. He was already hard. You looked up at him through your lashes as you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head.
A low groan tore from his throat. His hand fisted in your hair, not guiding, just holding, claiming.
“That’s it, my good girl. Such a good fucking mouth.”
From across the room, San watched, his own hand stroking himself over his pants, his eyes glazed with lust and a fierce, possessive pride.
“Look at her.” He growled. “So eager. She missed this, hyung. Missed being used.”
Hongjoong’s hips began to move, shallow thrusts into the wet heat of your mouth “San.” He gritted out, his composure fraying. “Get over here. I want to watch you fuck her while she sucks me off.”
San was on you in seconds. He hauled you up by your hips, bending you over Hongjoong’s lap so your mouth was still buried in Hongjoong’s cock. Your back was arched, ass in the air for San. He didn’t bother with foreplay. He shoved your panties aside and slammed into you in one brutal, filling thrust.
You cried out around Hongjoong, the vibrations making him curse. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, ragged breaths, and filthy, broken praise.
“That’s our girl,” San grunted, pounding into you, each drive pushing you deeper onto Hongjoong. “Not his. Not anyone else’s. Ours.”
“You take it so well,” Hongjoong panted, his grip in your hair tightening as he fucked up into your mouth. “Our perfect, dirty girl. Remember this. Remember who makes you feel like this.”
It was overwhelming, a sensory overload of possession and pleasure. You were a conduit for their jealousy, their lust, their love—all twisted together into something beautifully dark.
You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel: the stretch of San inside you, the slide of Hongjoong on your tongue, the bruising grip of their hands.
Hongjoong came first with a sharp, guttural moan, spilling down your throat. You swallowed around him, and the convulsion made San lose his rhythm, slamming into you erratically before he followed with a deep, shuddering groan, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he filled you.
For a long moment, the only sound was your collective, ragged breathing. Slowly, San pulled out, and you collapsed forward, your head resting on Hongjoong’s thigh. He stroked your hair, his touch now surprisingly gentle.
“Look at you.” He murmured, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. “A complete mess.”
San knelt beside you, kissing your temple, his anger spent, replaced by a sated, smug affection “Our pretty mess.”
You looked up at them, your lips swollen, your uniform destroyed, marked inside and out. You’d never felt more owned, more seen, or more powerful.
Hongjoong tilted your chin up, his dark eyes soft now “No more polite smiles for the holy boy, pretty. Understood?”
A slow, real smile—your smile, wicked and knowing—spread across your well-used lips.
“Understood.”
They had reminded you of your place, and you had never felt more at home.
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All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.
Stream Of Sin...
17: Kings, Queens, and a Jester
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 9,3K
Synopsis: A simple game night exposes tangled desires and loyalties, culminating in a secret recorded as a weapon. But the hunter has just become the hunted, and the real game of vengeance begins.
Warnings: Smut (MDNI!!) Protected sex (finally) Oral sex (f receiving) Dom/Sub dynamics, fingering, a lot of kissing. Strong Language, pervasive use of strong profanity throughout, manipulation, blackmail, invasion of privacy, depiction of an obsessive, unrequited crush leading to malicious behavior. Complex morality, tense, charged arguments and confrontations, underlying jealousy and rivalry.
a/n: Just one thing to say. You welcome ☺️
Series masterlist Taglist closed
Masterlist
“Okay, no more Mario Kart!” Mingi clapped once, loudly, declaring an end to the digital war.
A chorus of groans came from Yunho, Yeosang, and Ann, but the rest of the group was easily swayed. After all, how could they deny you when you were too pretty to be stuck in a room full of men clutching controllers like their lives depended on it?
Mingi dug under the coffee table and pulled out a stack of boxes “We’re doing board games. Teams.”
Ann perked up, a little too desperate “With whoever we want?”
“It’ll be random, darling,” Yunho said, already shuffling the cards with a finality that brooked no argument.
Everyone gathered around the coffee table. You dropped down beside Seonghwa, of course, his fingers immediately brushing your knee in a sweet, subtle claim. Mingi immediately fought for the spot on your other side, his gaze lingering on Seonghwa’s touch a moment too long, his own fingers twitching with the memory of your skin.
With you seated firmly between Seonghwa and Mingi, San was left with no room near you. He opted for the strategic position next to Jongho, leaving a clear path for Ann to slide in beside him. She could have practically climbed into his lap to get his attention, but San decided to ignore her presence entirely, his focus locked on the tiny strip of bare skin where your skirt had ridden up, his jaw flexing as he watched Seonghwa’s hand rest there.
Finally, Yunho settled between Ann and Jongho, leaving Yeosang to complete the circle beside Mingi.
“So what are we playing? Some biblical quiz or what?” You tilted your head, a teasing smile on your lips.
San laughed openly, while Seonghwa and Mingi fought to hold back their own grins. God, they loved your attitude.
“Eunji, please,” Yunho scolded, his stare tight.
You almost rolled your eyes, but decided to simply lean your head on Seonghwa’s shoulder instead, a picture of false docility.
“Something easy,” Mingi declared, opening the first box. “Jenga.”
You blinked at the little wooden blocks “Seriously?”
San laughed under his breath, his voice a low purr meant only for your ears “Come on, princess. It’s not that nerdy.”
The new nickname sent a visible shockwave through the group. Ann looked like she wanted to rip her own hair out—or yours. Seonghwa merely bit back a scoff; now that the truth was out, San was clearly taking every advantage to get under his skin.
Ann forced a giggle and lightly hit San’s arm “Don’t say stuff like that, Sannie. You’re going to make her think she—”
“That she is a princess?” He cut her off, his eyes never leaving you, that infuriating, captivating smile playing on his lips.
“San can call her whatever he wants,” Seonghwa said softly, his voice a calm counter to the rising tension. He pressed a kiss to your hair. “They are close friends, after all. Right, angel?”
You hummed in agreement, and Ann’s eye twitched, her smile becoming a tight, strained line.
You fucking attention seeker.
—
The game was stupid and boring. It was the typical Jenga with questions, but for some weird reason, the questions were boring as hell. Where did Mingi buy this, a kids' store?
Halfway through, you were laying against Seonghwa’s chest as he played for you both. You were already bored, wanting to go home and do something more productive. Like kissing Seonghwa. Or, now that you thought about it better, you hadn't done your little made up with him.
“Can someone get more soda and snacks?” Yeosang asked softly.
This was your moment to get a fucking rest from the boredom.
“I’ll go.” You said, standing up.
“I— I’ll help her.” Jongho immediately stood too, so fast it made San scoff, already knowing what he was on.
Ann noticed that, narrowing her eyes as she remembered what San had let slip that night in Jeju: You kissed Jongho.Seonghwa looked at him, confused, but when he locked eyes with San and saw a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head, a thousand questions began racing through his mind.
The kitchen felt like a sanctuary of silence after the living room's charged atmosphere. You went straight for the cabinet, pulling out chips and pretzels. Behind you, you heard the fridge open and the clink of glass bottles.
The tense silence was thick enough to slice. You decided to cut it yourself.
"You've been staring a hole in the side of my head all night." You said without turning around, your voice light and teasing. "Do you have something to say to me, Jongho?"
He slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary "Why?"
You finally turned, leaning back against the counter, a picture of casual innocence "Why what?"
"Don't." He bit out, his voice low and strained. "Why did you do that in Jeju? Why do you... play with me? With San? With Mingi?" He took a step closer, his eyes dark and conflicted. "Why, when you're with him?" He jerked his head vaguely toward the living room, where Seonghwa was.
You simply shrugged, that innocent smile still playing on your lips "You think too much, Jongho. You don't need to worry about any of that. Just let it flow."
You took a step toward him, closing the distance. Your fingers trailed lightly up his arm, feeling the tense muscle beneath his sleeve.
"It's more fun that way."
He stood rigid, his breath catching "Eunji..."
"You liked it." You whispered, rising on your toes.
You didn't kiss him, not fully. Instead, you brushed your lips against the corner of his, a ghost of a touch, feeling the sharp intake of his breath. You lingered for a heartbeat, letting him feel the warmth, the promise, before pulling away.
He was left frozen, breathless and eager for more, his resolve visibly crumbling. But you were already turning, grabbing the bowl of snacks.
"Come on." You said, your voice back to normal, as if nothing had happened. "They're waiting."
You walked back into the living room, leaving him in the kitchen to compose himself, the taste of you and his own confusion hanging in the air around him.
You placed the snacks on the table. Jongho followed a moment later, his posture rigid, carefully avoiding everyone's eyes as he set down the drinks.
The game limped on for another few minutes, the wooden tower looking increasingly precarious. You let out a soft, theatrical sigh, letting your head loll back against the couch.
"I'm booored."
Yunho's patience, already frayed by your earlier behavior, snapped "Then you shouldn't have come, Eunji. If you're just going to sit there and complain—"
"Hey," Mingi cut in, his voice firm but calm. He shot Yunho a look that was deceptively light. "She can come over whenever she wants." His eyes flickered to you for a heartbeat, and the double meaning was crystal clear: She belongs here as much as anyone. Maybe more.
Before the sibling argument could ignite, Seonghwa shifted beside you. He'd been watching everything—your boredom, Jongho's flustered return, the charged exchange between you and Mingi. A quiet resolve settled on his features.
"I'm going to use the bathroom." He announced, his voice steady. He gave your knee a final, reassuring squeeze before standing and heading for the stairs to the second floor.
The game continued, the air thicker in his absence. A few minutes later, your phone buzzed in your lap.
Hwa: Come upstairs.
A thrill shot through you. You stood up, stretching lazily "The Jenga tower is giving me anxiety. I'm going to the bathroom downstairs."
You made a show of walking toward the first-floor bathroom, then, once out of sight, you quickly and silently darted up the stairs. Seonghwa was waiting for you in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He pulled you into the nearby bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.
"What's going on, Ji?" He asked, his voice low. His gaze was searching, but not angry. "With Jongho too?"
You looked up at him through your lashes, that innocent, knowing smile playing on your lips. You didn't need to say a word. He saw the truth in your eyes—the thrill of the chase, the addiction to the attention, the sheer power you wielded.
He let out a soft, breathy laugh, a mix of exasperation and sheer want.
"You're going to be the death of me, angel." He murmured, and then his mouth was on yours.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was possessive, claiming, a silent declaration against all the other men downstairs. It was exactly what you loved.
Downstairs, San watched the stairs, a restless energy buzzing under his skin.
"Seonghwa-hyung is taking forever." He announced to no one in particular. "I need to pee. I'm using the one upstairs."
He bounded up the steps two at a time and didn't bother knocking, simply pushing the bathroom door open. The scene before him made him stop dead. You and Seonghwa, wrapped up in each other, breaking apart at the interruption.
San's face fell into an exaggerated, genuine pout "Yah... I feel left out." He stepped inside, “closing” the door behind him, effectively locking the three of you in.
In one smooth, bold motion, he slid an arm around your waist and pulled you gently but firmly from Seonghwa's grasp, turning you to face him.
"My turn, baby." He declared, before capturing your lips with his own, this kiss all fiery desperation and playful challenge.
Downstairs, Ann's suspicion had become a living, breathing thing. You had been gone too long.
"Eunji is taking a while too." She said, her voice sugary sweet. "I'll just check if she's okay."
She found it empty. Her frown deepened into a scowl. That little— Without a second thought, she hurried upstairs, her steps silent on the plush carpet. The door to the main bathroom was slightly ajar, just a crack. She crept closer, her heart hammering with vindictive hope.
And there it was. The proof. Not of you and Seonghwa, but something even better. San was perched on the edge of the sink, and you were standing between his legs, kissing him with a passion that made her blood boil.
A vicious, triumphant smile spread across her face. Got you.
She pulled out her phone, her hands trembling with excitement, and hit record. This was the evidence that would destroy you. She focused the camera on you and San, the perfect picture of betrayal.
What her narrow frame couldn't see, what her malicious focus completely missed, was Seonghwa. He was leaning against the wall across from the sink, just out of the immediate camera's view.
He wasn't angry. He was watching with a dark, intrigued smirk, his eyes full of lustful anticipation, waiting for his moment to reclaim you from San's theatrical embrace. The hunter, patiently waiting for the game to come back to him.
Poor little naive Ann.
Satisfied with her damning footage, Ann slipped back downstairs, her body thrumming with secret victory. She resumed her place on the couch, the picture of innocence, while inside she was already drafting the message to Seonghwa in her head.
Back in the bathroom, Seonghwa’s patience finally wore thin. Watching was a unique kind of torture, one that stoked a possessive fire in his gut. He pushed off the wall and moved behind you, his hands settling on your hips as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips tracing a hot path along your skin.
The sensation made you gasp against San’s mouth, pulling you deeper into the dizzying crossfire of their attention. San smirked into the kiss, his hands tightening on your waist as Seonghwa claimed your neck.
“This is fun,” San murmured against your lips, his voice husky. “But this bathroom is a little small for three, don’t you think? Let’s get out of here. My place is empty.”
The idea was intoxicating. You turned your head, your eyes, heavy with desire, meeting Seonghwa’s.
“Hwa?”
For a moment, conflict flickered in his dark gaze. The old, possessive part of him warred with the new, tantalizing reality you were offering. He saw the eager pout forming on your lips and leaned in, kissing it away with a soft, lingering pressure.
“Not tonight, angel.” He murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek. His eyes held a promise, and a boundary. “I’m still… adjusting. But one day.” He added, his gaze flicking to San with a look that was neither a challenge nor a surrender, but a simple statement of fact. “We can have our fun.”
He was drawing his line, not out of rejection, but out of a need to control the pace of his own fall. And as frustrating as it was, the promise in his words was a victory in itself.
✮
The car hummed with a silence that felt heavier after the night's events. The streetlights cast long, sweeping shadows across Yunho’s focused face. Ann watched him, her expression sweet, but her mind was a hive of calculated venom.
“You know.” She began, her voice soft, almost idle. “I’ve always thought San and Eunji had such a… unique friendship.”
Yunho’s grip on the steering wheel tightened just a fraction “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing specific.” She demurred, tracing a pattern on the window. “Just the way they are together. The little looks. The way he says her name. It’s just… more intense than how he is with anyone else, don’t you think?”
Yunho stayed silent. He had noticed. Of course he had noticed. The way San’s entire posture shifted when you entered a room, the proprietary tone he used that went beyond brotherly teasing. But hearing someone else say it aloud made the vague unease in his stomach solidify into a cold, hard knot.
“They’ve known each other a long time.” He said, the statement feeling weak even to his own ears. “They’re just close.”
“How did that even happen?” Ann pressed, her tone dripping with innocent curiosity. “I mean, San was your friend first, right? How did Eunji get so… close to him?”
Yunho frowned, the question striking a chord he’d never bothered to pluck “San was friends with Wooyoung before me. When Eunji and Wooyoung became inseparable, I guess San just… came with the package.”
It had just happened. He’d never stopped to examine the logistics of your social circle, too busy trying to police its outcomes.
“So, she didn’t even know him through you?” Ann’s voice was a little too sharp, a little too eager.
She was pulling on a thread, and Yunho could feel the entire fabric of his understanding beginning to unravel.
“Why does it matter, Ann?” He asked, a weary edge creeping into his voice.
She leaned back, feigning nonchalance “I just like to understand the background of things before I make false assumptions.”
“Assumptions?” The word felt dangerous. “What assumptions could you possibly be making about their friendship?”
Ann let the silence hang for a moment, letting the word ‘friendship’ curdle in the air between them. Then, she delivered the blow, her voice a saccharine whisper.
“Friends don’t usually call each other ‘princess,’ do they? At least, not the way he says it to her.”
Yunho took a sharp, quiet breath. There it was. The very observation that had been needling him all night, now given voice by his girlfriend. It was one thing for you to have your rebellious, flirty dynamic with Hongjoong and Wooyoung—it was another thing entirely for San, his friend, to look at his little sister with that kind of fire in his eyes.
“Ann, stop.” He murmured, his jaw so tight it ached.
To his surprise, she did. She didn’t argue, didn’t pout. She just fell silent and looked out her window. And that, somehow, was more alarming than if she’d fought back.
Why did she yield so easily? Why was she so fixated on this? The questions swarmed in his head, drowning out the sound of the engine.
The rest of the drive passed in a thick, suffocating quiet, both occupants lost in their own treacherous thoughts. They were so absorbed that Yunho barely registered they had arrived until he was putting the car in park in front of her house.
“Well… we’re here.” He said, the words feeling hollow.
“Thank you for the ride, Yu.” Ann said, her smile bright and utterly false as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “See you tomorrow at service?”
“Yeah. See you, darling.” His returning smile was a tight, strained line that didn’t reach his eyes.
The moment her feet touched the pavement, her expression shifted. The saccharine sweetness melted away, replaced by a cold, gleaming triumph.
She didn't look back. She wasn't smiling because of the date. She was smiling because the first seed of doubt was planted. Now, it was time to water it.
She practically floated to her door, her fingers already itching for her phone. Locked in her room, she would create her weapon—a blank, untraceable Instagram account. The first message would be a single video attachment, a silent, damning confession.
The text below it would be simple, a ghostly whisper in your digital ear:
User2387: I know what you do when your boyfriend isn't watching.
Let the torment begin. You would squirm. You would panic. And if she played her cards right, you would eventually beg on your knees for her mercy.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
You woke with a soft whine, stirring as the blaring alarm shattered the peace. Saturday mornings were a sacred sin, and being forced out of bed for church service—especially after a blissful two-week break—was a special kind of torture.
You were already sick of reading that damn bible to the sweet, half-deaf old woman before you'd even opened your eyes.
A quick shower did little to lift your mood. You dressed the part: fitted pants, a matching crop sweater—respectful enough to avoid a scolding from the nuns, but tailored enough to remind anyone looking exactly what was underneath. After a swipe of makeup, you grabbed your bag and settled on the bed to wait for Yunho’s inevitable bang on the door.
You killed time on your phone. Replies to Seonghwa’s good morning text and Wooyoung’s chaotic memes. A satisfying check of your bank account, watching the deposits from your page stack up. A mindless scroll through Twitter. Bored, you tapped over to Instagram, and paused.
A new message sat in your requests. A blank, grey profile picture. A username of random numbers. A slow, curious smile touched your lips. You opened it and—
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
It was a video. Of you and San. Kissing passionately in Mingi’s bathroom last night. The angle was sly, taken from the hallway.
The caption beneath it was simple: I know what you do when your boyfriend isn't watching.
A laugh, low and incredulous, bubbled in your throat. Who did this? Your mind, sharp and calculating, ran through the list of suspects instantly.
Yunho? Mingi? Jongho? Yeosang? Ann?
Each had a reason. Each, at some point, had looked at you with a mix of desire and disdain potent enough to fuel this kind of cowardice. You wouldn't rule anyone out.
How pathetic, you thought, your ego flaring. Trying to blackmail you with a secret your ‘boyfriend’ already knew? This wasn't a threat; it was a game.
And you were so much better at it.
Whoever this little bitch was, you would find them. And you wouldn't do it alone. You had an entire arsenal of pretty, devoted boys at your disposal.
—
The moment your lunch break arrived, you snapped the bible shut, offered a sweet, hollow apology to the old woman, and all but floated to the cafeteria. You spotted your targets immediately.
You walked over to where Seonghwa and San were sitting, not breaking stride as you grabbed both their wrists.
"We need to talk. Now." Your voice left no room for argument.
You dragged them out to the secluded garden, the spring air a stark contrast to the tension coiling in the air.
"Okay, Ji, what's going on? You're kind of scaring me," San said, his usual flirty bravado replaced with genuine concern as he leaned against a wall.
Seonghwa just watched you, his dark eyes wide and searching "Angel?"
You didn't answer. You simply pulled out your phone and showed them the screen. The reaction was instantaneous. San jolted upright as if electrocuted, his face draining of color. Seonghwa made a choked sound, his hand flying to his mouth.
"Who sent this to you?" Seonghwa’s voice was a horrified whisper.
"Is that— last night?!" San hissed, snatching the phone to see it closer. "‘I know what you do when your boyfriend isn't watching’? What the hell?"
You plucked the phone from his trembling hand "Keep your voice down unless you want everyone to know about us." You snapped, but your tone wasn't panicked. It was cool, controlled.
San stared at you, looking genuinely wounded. Seonghwa’s expression was pure devastation, his boba eyes wide with shock.
"I don't know who it was, but it was someone at Mingi's." You stated, business-like. "The angle is from the hallway."
"Ann," Seonghwa said, the name a bitter certainty on his tongue.
"Maybe," You conceded with a casual shrug. "But I'm not discarding the others. Everyone in that house has at least one reason to hold a grudge." You offered no further explanation, and they knew better than to press.
Your history was a minefield they tread lightly around.
"So, what's the plan?" San asked, his gaze fixed on you, waiting for your command.
You hummed, the sound light and easy. You already knew.
"You two can handle Yunho, Yeosang, and Ann." You gave San a knowing look, then offered Seonghwa a sweet, reassuring smile. "While I handle Mingi and Jongho."
Both of their faces tightened instantly.
"They'll be more open with me." You reasoned, your voice dripping with false innocence. "I've known Mingi since we were kids, and Jongho is my friend now—"
"That you kissed. Twice," San reminded you, his jaw tight with a possessive jealousy that had Seonghwa frowning deeply.
"Like I said." You continued, tossing your hair. "Let my pretty face do the work."
"Sure. Just your pretty face," San muttered, the words laced with a frustrated resignation. He knew exactly what your "work" entailed.
"Angel..." Seonghwa took your hand, his thumb stroking your knuckles, a silent plea in his pout.
You squeezed his hand back, your smile radiant and utterly deceptive "Don't worry, babe. I'll just talk to them."
They both looked at you, their expressions a mixture of fear, devotion, and sheer exasperation. They knew better. They knew you were walking into a different kind of battlefield. But they also knew they could never, ever tell you no.
"Okay," Seonghwa finally relented, his voice heavy. "I'll talk to Yeosang and Yunho."
San let out a long, weary sigh, already looking sick to his stomach "And I'll deal with that fucking psycho."
You smiled. War had officially begun.
✮
You applied the last layer of gloss, a slick, innocent pink that belied your intentions. After a firm knock, you waited, shifting your weight to make the hem of your mini skirt dance just so.
Mingi opened the door, confusion etching his handsome features "Eunji? What are you doing here?"
"Are your parents home?" You asked, already brushing past him into the foyer, leaving a trail of your perfume in your wake.
"No, they're at mass. My father is reading today." He sounded flustered, his eyes tracking your movement as you made a beeline for the stairs. "I was actually about to head out—"
"We need to talk. Let's go to your room." Your tone brooked no argument, a command wrapped in silk.
He let out a disbelieving laugh but followed, his gaze a tangible heat on the backs of your thighs.
"Which one is it?" You paused at the top of the hallway, casting a faux-helpless look over your shoulder.
With a surge of courage, he closed the distance, his large hand enveloping yours.
"Here." He murmured, leading you to the last door and pushing it open.
His room was a surprise—spacious, immaculate, with a stand overflowing with books. It was all quiet order, a stark contrast to the chaos you were about to unleash.
"Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable." He said, gesturing to the edge of his neatly made bed.
You let your purse drop onto his desk with a soft thud. Then, instead of sitting beside him, you closed the distance and settled directly onto his lap, the move so sudden it stole the breath from his lungs. A choked sound escaped him, but his hands flew to your hips on instinct, anchoring you there.
"What—"
"Someone is trying to blackmail me with a video." You whispered, your voice a fragile thing as your fingers traced the line of his jaw, then tangled gently in the hair at his nape. You felt him stiffen beneath you.
"A video? What do you mean?" His voice was low, a rumble of protective anger. His grip on your hips tightened, possessive and firm.
You let your lower lip tremble, nodding as you looked down, the picture of violated innocence.
"I don't know who. Or why."
His face darkened "Who would do that? I'll kill them."
Your eyes, wide and shimmering with manufactured tears, lifted to meet his "It... it wasn't you, was it, Min?"
He looked genuinely wounded, his hands moving to cradle your waist.
"Eunji, no. God, no. I would never. I swear on my life." The conviction in his voice was absolute. "Here." He fumbled, shifting to pull his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and pressing it into your hands. "Check. Check everything."
You took it with feigned hesitation, performing a meticulous search through his gallery and social media. You already knew he was innocent, but the performance was everything. It cemented his loyalty and your victimhood.
"You're telling the truth." You finally conceded, handing the phone back and allowing a small, relieved smile. "Thank you."
"Of course I am." He breathed, his brow still furrowed in rage. "We're going to find who did this. That's so fucking low."
"I know." You sighed, melting against him, resting your head on his shoulder. The solid beat of his heart was a frantic drum against your ear. "Seonghwa and San are helping too."
He hummed, his arms wrapping tightly around you, his face buried in your hair "I'm so sorry, baby."
You let the silence hang for a moment, your fingers toying with the cool metal of his chain necklace.
"Mingi?"
"Yeah?" He murmured, his voice thick.
"I know you have questions... since Jeju."
You felt him swallow hard, his whole body tensing. He'd been living in that guilty, hungry limbo for too long.
"I do." He admitted, his voice rough. "Why... why did we...? You're with Seonghwa. And he's my friend. I feel so fucking guilty." His confession was a pained whisper. "But I can't stop thinking about it. I want to do it again."
A slow, secret smile curved against his neck "Wanna hear the truth?"
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours.
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him." You purred, your devilish smile finally breaking through the innocent facade. "If he doesn't find out, everything is fine, right?"
"But—"
"And besides." You cut him off, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's okay with it."
Mingi's eyes widened in pure confusion "What do you mean he's fine with it?"
You just smiled, enigmatic and alluring "I'll tell you soon."
You didn't give him time to process, to question. You leaned in and captured his mouth with yours.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a spark to a fuse, all the pent-up guilt, desire, and rage exploding between you. Mingi groaned, his hands flying from your waist to tangle in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. It was messy and desperate, a clash of teeth and tongue.
When you finally broke for air, he was breathing heavily, his forehead resting against yours.
"Whoever did that to you... they don't deserve to breathe." He growled, his voice raw. "Let me help you forget about them, even for a little while. Let me make you feel good, Eunji. Only good."
His words were a perfect echo of the excuse you'd hoped for.
"Please, Min." You whispered, your voice dripping with feigned vulnerability. "Make me forget."
That was all the permission he needed. He flipped you onto your back with a surprising strength that made you gasp, his body caging you in. But his touch was reverent.
"I've got you." He murmured, his lips tracing a burning path down your neck, his fingers deftly unbuttoning your blouse. "Just feel."
He worshipped you with his mouth, leaving attention on your breasts through the lace of your bra, his tongue flicking over your nipples until you were arching off the bed, mewling his name. He was a soft dom, as requested—utterly in control, but his every action was devoted to your pleasure.
"These are so pretty." He mumbled against your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt and panties, sliding them down your legs. "But they're in my way."
He knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed, his eyes dark with hunger as he pushed your thighs apart.
"I need to taste you. Now."
And then his mouth was on you, and all coherent thought vanished. He was relentless, his tongue a masterful instrument of pleasure, licking and sucking until you were writhing, your fists clutching his sheets, a litany of broken pleas falling from your lips. He held your hips down, pinning you in place, refusing to let you escape the wave of sensation he was building.
"You taste like heaven." He groaned against your core, the vibration pushing you closer to the edge. "Come for me, beautiful. Let go."
The command, so soft yet so absolute, shattered you. You came with a sharp cry, your body convulsing under his relentless mouth as he drank every last shudder from you.
Before you could even recover, he was sheathing himself in a condom and climbing over you, his chain necklace cool against your heated skin. He slid into you in one smooth, devastating thrust, filling you completely. The stretch was exquisite.
"Look at me." He breathed, his pace a slow, deep, punishing rhythm designed to wring every ounce of pleasure from your spent body. "You're mine right now. No one else's. Not the person who hurt you, not Seonghwa’s. Just mine."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting his thrusts.
"Yes." You gasped, the power of your performance and the intensity of the pleasure mingling into a dizzying high. "Just yours, Mingi."
He drove into you, his thrusts becoming faster, more frantic. His soft commands turned into ragged breaths, your name a prayer on his lips. When he finally found his release with a guttural groan, collapsing onto you, he was still murmuring promises.
"I'll find them for you, Eunji. I'll protect you."
And as you lay tangled together in the aftermath, you smiled up at his ceiling. The game was afoot, and you had just secured another loyal, devastatingly effective pawn.
—
You stirred first, the pleasant ache between your legs a testament to Mingi’s devotion. He was still wrapped around you, his breathing deep and even, his face peaceful in sleep. You carefully extracted yourself from his embrace, the cool air a shock against your heated skin.
He stirred as you stood, his eyes fluttering open "Eunji?"
"Shhh." You cooed, pulling your clothes back on with practiced efficiency. You smoothed your skirt and ran your fingers through your hair, the image of innocence expertly restored. "I have to go."
He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, his gaze hazy with adoration and lingering lust "Already?"
"I have another stop to make." You said, your voice light, as if you were mentioning a trip to the grocery store.
You leaned over the bed, cupping his jaw and giving him a soft, lingering kiss.
"I'll see you at school on Monday."
He kissed you back, deep and slow, his hand on the back of your neck holding you there for a moment longer.
"Be careful." He murmured against your lips, his voice rough with a protectiveness you had expertly cultivated.
"Always am."
With a final, devastating smile, you slipped out of his room and down the stairs, leaving him surrounded by the scent of you and the memory of your shared sin.
The walk to Jongho's house was short, just two streets over. The summer sun was bright, a stark contrast to the shadows you were weaving.
You stood before his door, squaring your shoulders. The ghost of your almost-kiss in Mingi's kitchen yesterday hung between you, a promise he’d tried to ignore.
You knocked firmly. The door was opened by Jongho’s mother, her face warm and welcoming.
"Oh, Eunji! What a lovely surprise."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Choi." You said, bowing slightly, the picture of polite grace.
Jongho appeared behind her, his expression a comical mix of shock and panic.
"Eunji? What are you—"
"We need to talk." You interrupted, your voice dropping into an urgent whisper, letting a sliver of genuine-looking distress show. "It's important."
His mother looked between you two, her brow furrowed with concern. Jongho’s eyes scanned your face, reading the feigned panic. He was sharp; he knew something was wrong.
He quickly fabricated a cover, his voice impressively steady "It's about math class. I offered to tutor her before starting classes again" He glanced at his mother. "We'll be in my room. It's quieter."
His mother’s face softened immediately "Of course! Jongho is so good at math. Don't hesitate to ask him anything, dear." She beamed, so proud of her reliable, honorable son.
You offered a grateful, trembling smile "Thank you so much."
Jongho didn't meet your eyes as he gestured for you to follow him down the hall. The moment his bedroom door clicked shut, the polite facade vanished. He turned to you, his arms crossed, his body a wall of tense muscle.
"Talk." He commanded, his voice low. "And it better be good. What kind of trouble are you in now?"
"We have a problem." You whispered, your voice trembling.
His jaw tightened "We? There is no 'we'. Did you run out of other boys to torment?"
You rolled your eyes, leaning back against his door and meeting his glare "Someone recorded me yesterday. At Mingi's house."
His eyes narrowed "Recorded you doing what?"
You held his gaze, unblinking "Kissing San."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. He looked away, a storm of emotions in his eyes—anger, disgust, and that dark, possessive flicker you saw in the kitchen.
"And? What do you want me to do about it? Go cry to San."
"They sent it to me. Anonymously. With a threat to tell Seonghwa."
His eyes bored into yours, the memory of your kitchen confrontation—"Why, when you're with him?"—hanging palpably between you.
"And you came to me why? To see if I was the one who finally decided to expose you?"
"It could have been anyone." You took a step toward him, into the center of his tidy, disciplined room. "It could have been Yunho, Yeosang, Mingi, Ann… or you."
He looked genuinely offended, his brows furrowing deeply "Me? You think I would do something that pathetic? I confront you to your face, Eunji. I don't hide behind a damn screen."
"Prove it, then." You challenged, your voice soft but firm. "Let me see your phone."
He let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh "You're insane."
"Or are you scared I'll find something?" You pressed, moving closer until you were within arm's reach.
You were playing with fire now, poking the bear of his pride and his buried feelings.
"Fine." He bit out, yanking his phone from his pocket and thrusting it at you. "See for yourself. There's nothing."
You took it, your fingers brushing against his, and made a show of searching. Just like with Mingi, you already knew the truth. This was about the ritual of it, about forcing him to prove his loyalty. After a moment, you handed it back, your demeanor softening.
"It's not you." You let out a shaky sigh of relief. "Thank God."
The confirmation seemed to solidify something in him. The anger was now directed outward, at the faceless threat.
"This is low. What you do... it's your business. It's messy and it's wrong, but it's not some stranger's place to expose you like that." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "What are you going to do?"
"This isn't just about me." You whispered, taking the final step that closed the distance between you. You looked up at him, your eyes wide. "If this gets out, it won't just hurt me and Seonghwa. It'll cause a war. With Yunho. With everyone. And you'll be dragged into it, too. You know you will."
You were speaking his language now—logic, consequence, protecting the group's fragile ecosystem. And beneath it all, the unspoken truth: You're a part of this now, whether you like it or not.
“I’m scared, Jongho...”
He stood rigid, his fists clenched at his sides, fighting a war with himself. The memory of Jeju, of your mouth on him, of the taste of you, was a ghost in the room.
"You're always playing games." He ground out, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.
"This isn't a game." You whispered, placing a hand on his chest. You felt his heart hammering against his ribs. "I need... I need to forget about it. Just for a minute."
Your meaning was unmistakable. His resistance was a fortress, but you had just laid siege to its gates.
"Eunji..." It was a warning, a plea.
You rose onto your toes, your lips hovering just a breath from his "Make me forget, Jongho. Please."
That single, whispered "please" was the detonator. With a guttural sound of surrender, his control shattered. His hands shot out, gripping your hips and slamming your body against his as his mouth crashed down on yours.
This kiss was nothing like Mingi's worship. It was all the fury, confusion, and raw desire he'd been suppressing since Jeju. It was a punishment and a confession, a battle for dominance he was desperate to win. And as you kissed him back with equal fervor, tangling your hands in his hair, you knew.
The last pawn was secured.
He walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit his bed, and you tumbled onto the mattress, him following you down, his weight a solid, anchoring pressure. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his dark eyes blazing with a fire you’d only ever seen glimpses of.
“Is this what you wanted?” He growled, his voice rough and unfamiliar. “To finally break me?”
“You were already broken for me, Jongho.” You breathed, arching up against him. “You just didn’t want to admit it.”
A low sound rumbled in his chest. His hands were everywhere, clumsy yet determined—tugging at your blouse, fumbling with the button of your skirt. He was all frantic energy, a storm with no direction. You could feel the inexperience in his trembling fingers, and it was the most intoxicating thing you’d ever felt.
“Let me.” You whispered, your voice a seductive calm to his storm.
You guided his hands, showing him how to unbutton your blouse slowly, how to peel the fabric from your shoulders. His eyes were locked on every newly revealed inch of skin, his breath hitching.
When you were bare from the waist up, he just stared for a moment, his gaze reverent and hungry.
“God, Eunji…”
“Your turn.” You murmured, sitting up to pull his shirt over his head.
The defined planes of his chest and abdomen were tense, his skin hot to the touch. You pushed him back onto the bed and straddled his hips, leaning down to capture his mouth in a searing kiss as your hand slid down his stomach, past the waistband of his sweats.
He gasped into your mouth, his hips bucking off the bed as your fingers closed around him. He was thick and hard and velvety smooth in your hand. A strangled moan escaped his lips, and you quickly covered his mouth with your palm, your eyes locking with his.
“Shhh…” You purred, feeling the heat of his breath against your skin. “You have to be quiet. Your mom is downstairs.”
His eyes widened, the reality of the situation crashing into the haze of desire. But instead of scaring him, it seemed to ignite something darker, more possessive. In a swift, powerful move, he flipped you onto your back, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand.
“Then you’ll have to be quiet too.” He commanded, his voice a low, dominant rasp that sent a thrill straight to your core. He didn't know the word for what he was, but he was a natural.
He was your natural dom.
He kissed you again, deep and consuming, as his free hand began its exploration. He was eager but unsure, his touches too rough, his fingers clumsy.
“Here.” You guided him breathlessly, your own need coiling tight. “Softer… slower. Just… yes, right there.”
He was a quick study, his innate intensity channeling into a focused determination to please you. He watched your face, learning what made you gasp, what made you arch your back, his touch growing more confident with every shudder that wracked your body.
When he finally slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you cried out, and he smothered the sound with a deep, claiming kiss.
“You’re so wet for me.” He groaned against your lips, his rhythm steady and devastating. “All this… for me.”
“Yes.” You gasped, your world narrowing to the feel of his hand and the heat in his eyes. “Only you, right now. Just you, Jongho.”
When the first wave of your climax hit, you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle your scream, your body convulsing around his fingers. He held you through it, his own body trembling with the effort of his control.
Before you could even recover, he was sheathing himself with a condom you produced from your purse, his hands shaking. He hovered over you, his expression a mixture of awe and sheer, unadulterated need.
“I… I don’t know if I can…” He admitted, a rare flash of vulnerability in his eyes.
“You can.” You assured him, pulling him down for a soft, reassuring kiss. “Just let go. I’ll guide you.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, and as he pushed inside, you both gasped in unison. The feeling of him filling you, the tight, stretching pressure, was overwhelming. He was bigger than you expected, and for a moment, he stilled, his forehead damp against yours, his breath coming in ragged pants.
“Eunji…”
“It’s okay.” You whispered, rotating your hips, urging him on. “Move, Jongho. Please.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. He started to move, a slow, deep, tentative rhythm that quickly grew more confident, more frantic. He was a quick learner here, too, his body instinctively finding an angle that made you see stars. His thrusts became more powerful, more possessive, each one driving you higher.
“Look at me.” He breathed, his voice raw with an emotion you couldn't name. “I want to see you.”
You opened your eyes, meeting his intense gaze. In that moment, he wasn't the judgmental, resistant church boy anymore. He was a man, completely lost in you, claiming you with a fervor that stole your breath.
“You feel… I never knew…” He grunted, his pace becoming erratic.
He was close. You clenched around him, and his eyes rolled back, a choked, guttural groan tearing from his throat. You quickly covered his mouth with your hand again, feeling the vibration of his release against your palm as he spilled into the condom, his entire body shuddering with the force of it.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight a welcome heaviness, his face buried in your neck as he tried to catch his breath. You held him, your fingers stroking through his damp hair, a triumphant, sated smile gracing your lips.
After a long moment, he rolled off you, staring up at his ceiling in stunned silence. The air was thick with the scent of sex and their mingled sweat.
“So that’s…” He began, his voice hoarse. “That’s why.”
“That’s why.” You confirmed softly, propping yourself up on an elbow to look at him.
He turned his head, his dark eyes searching yours. The anger was gone. The judgment was gone. All that was left was a dazed, profound understanding.
He finally understood the power you held, the addiction you inspired. He understood why San and Seonghwa were wrapped around your finger. And he understood, with terrifying clarity, that he was now one of them.
You had his loyalty, his body, and a very large piece of his soul.
The game was yours to win.
✮
The atmosphere in Seonghwa’s house was deceptively light, a carefully constructed bubble of normalcy. The low hum of the game console, the scattered snack bowls, and the easy trash-talk between the three of them painted a perfect picture of a lazy Saturday afternoon.
“You’re absolutely cheating, there’s no other explanation.” Yeosang declared, throwing his controller down in mock outrage after Seonghwa’s character landed a flawless victory.
“It’s called skill, Sangie. You should try it sometime,” Seonghwa retorted, a lazy, practiced smirk on his lips. His eyes, however, were constantly tracking, analyzing.
Yunho laughed, a warm, open sound that seemed to fill the room “He’s just better than you, admit it.”
For the first hour, Seonghwa played his part perfectly. He laughed at the right moments, engaged in the mindless banter, and made sure the drinks were topped up. He was a gracious host, a nice friend.
But beneath the surface, his mind was a steel trap, waiting for the right moment to spring. The first opportunity came when Yeosang stood, stretching.
“Bathroom break. Don’t touch my settings.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Seonghwa said, his tone breezy. As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, his gaze dropped to the couch.
There it was: Yeosang’s phone, left carelessly between the cushions.
Perfect.
With a fluid, silent movement, he scooped it up. His heart was a steady drum against his ribs, his fingers moving with swift precision. He navigated directly to the gallery, scanning for any video from last night.
Nothing.
He checked hidden folders, recently deleted. Clean. A quick, risky check of his Instagram DMs and message requests—again, nothing but memes from San and a reminder from his mom to buy milk.
Yeosang was in the clear. Seonghwa placed the phone back in the exact same spot just as the toilet flushed.
One down.
Yunho was a trickier target. He was less careless, his phone often tucked in his pocket. Seonghwa waited, biding his time through another round of the game. Then, he manufactured his chance.
“Ah, damn it.” He muttered, patting his pockets with a convincingly frustrated frown. “I can’t find my phone. Yunho, can I borrow yours? I’ll just call it.”
“Too much winning scrambled your brain,” Yunho teased, not even looking up from the screen as he unlocked his device and handed it over. “Don’t blow up my spot, I’m about to beat Yeosang’s high score.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Seonghwa repeated, the same easy lie.
He stepped away into the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator masking his actions. He opened Yunho’s photo gallery first.
It was empty.
Not “almost” empty. Empty. A blank, digital void.
A cold prickle of unease ran down Seonghwa’s spine. What kind of 20-year-old has a completely empty camera roll?
He quickly navigated to Instagram. The profile was sparse. He followed their close friends, Ann, a few sports pages. Zero posts. No story archive. He searched for any other social media apps, any hidden folders but there was nothing.
It was meticulously, unnervingly clean. It was the digital footprint of a ghost, or of someone with something to hide.
The rational part of his brain reasoned that Yunho was just intensely private, or maybe he used a second device. But the protective, paranoid part that loved you screamed that this was suspicious.
A clean slate could be a blank canvas for secrets.
He quickly dialed his own number, heard his phone buzz from under a couch cushion, and ended the call.
“Found it!” He announced, walking back into the living room and returning Yunho’s phone with a grateful smile. “Must have fallen out of my pocket. Thanks, man.”
“No problem,” Yunho said, taking it back without a second thought, his focus entirely on the game.
Seonghwa settled back into his spot, the easy smile back on his face. But his mind was racing. Yeosang was clean. Yunho was… suspiciously clean. That leaves Ann as the prime suspect.
He needs to feed this information to San without raising suspicion.
He stretched casually, turned to Yunho "So, what are your plans for the rest of the day? Stuck with Ann?"
Yunho smiled completely unsuspectingly "Yeah, she's at that cafe downtown, 'Celeste'. I'm gonna pick her up in a couple of hours."
Yeosang looked up from his phone, chiming in with idle curiosity "Oh, the one with the weird mint coffee? I still don't get the damn hype."
Yunho laughed "That's the one. She swears by it."
Perfect.
Seonghwa files the name away. A few minutes later, under the guise of grabbing more drinks from the kitchen, he pulls out his phone.
Hwa: Target located. Celeste cafe. She's alone until Yunho picks her up.
He sends the message, a cold sense of satisfaction settling over him. The trap is set.
—
San read the message. A slow, cunning smile spread across his face. This required a different tactic—not aggression, but seduction.
He found her at the cafe, perched in an armchair like she was waiting for a photoshoot. He put on his most disarming, boyish grin as he approached.
“Ann? Fancy meeting you here.”
Her head snapped up. For a moment, she was too stunned to speak, her cheeks flushing “S-San? Hi!”
“Mind if I join you?” He asked, already sliding into the chair opposite her.
He turned the full force of his attention on her, his eyes crinkling. He asked about her drink, her day, leaning in as if her every word was fascinating. Ann, dizzy from the unexpected attention from her obsession, preened under his gaze. Her defenses, usually so sharp when it came to you, melted into nothing.
“You know.” He said, his voice a warm, conspiratorial murmur. “You look really good today. That light is perfect on you.”
She giggled, batting her eyelashes “You think so?”
“I know so, sweetheart.” He purred. He pulled out his phone. “Here, let me get a picture of you. We should make Yunho jealous.”
She laughed, flustered and eager, and posed for him. He took a few shots, showering her with praise.
“Stunning. Absolutely stunning.” Then he played his masterstroke. “You know, your phone probably has a better camera. Here, let me.” He held his hand out, his expression open and charming. “I’ll take a few with yours and send them to myself. I want to remember this.”
Caught in the haze of his attention, her critical thinking utterly disabled, she didn’t hesitate. She unlocked her phone and handed it to him.
“Okay!”
San’s smile never wavered. He stood, pretending to frame the perfect shot of her.
“Yeah, just like that… gorgeous.” His thumb, however, was a blur of motion.
He exited the camera, went straight to her gallery, and scrolled.
And there it was. The video. Right between a selfie and a picture of her coffee. His blood ran cold, but his face remained a mask of warm admiration.
He didn’t stop there. With swift, precise taps, he checked her Instagram. He found the second account—the one with the random numbers. He opened the direct messages and saw it, clear as day: the sent video, and the message to you.
Gotcha.
He quickly took two more fake photos, then walked back to the table, handing her the phone back as if it were a precious gift.
“Sent them to myself. You’re a natural model, Ann.”
She took the phone, her eyes dreamy “Thank you, San. This was… a really nice surprise.”
“For me too.” He lied smoothly, standing up. “I’ve got to run, but I’ll see you later, yeah?”
He left her there, floating on a cloud of delusion, completely unaware that he had just dismantled her entire scheme.
The moment he was out of sight, his charming facade vanished. He pulled out his own phone, his fingers flying across the screen.
San: Confirmed. It's her. Found the video in her gallery and the fake IG account she used to send it. The bitch has no idea we know. The game is yours, princess.
The hunt was over.
✮
The hot water had soaked away the lingering aches from Mingi’s worship and Jongho’s punishing intensity. Wrapped in a soft, plush robe, you felt clean, sated, and powerful.
You collapsed onto your bed, your damp hair fanning out over the pillows, and reached for your phone. The screen lit up, revealing San’s text.
You read it once, twice, then again.
A slow, incredulous smile spread across your lips, which soon bubbled into a soft, genuine laugh that filled the quiet of your room.
Ann. Of course it was her.
The sheer, pathetic audacity of it was almost impressive. She really thought a grainy video was a threat? She thought she could scare you? She was a little girl playing with a lit match in a room full of gasoline, and she had no idea you were the one who owned the refinery.
A cold, thrilling excitement coursed through you. She wanted to play the villain? She wanted you to be the scared little girl? Fine. You’d give her the performance of a lifetime.
You navigated to your Instagram DMs, to the message from the blank, anonymous account. You stared at the video thumbnail—a frozen moment of you and San, a moment of pure, selfish pleasure.
Your smile didn't falter. Your fingers danced across the screen, crafting a reply. You made your voice sound young, a little breathless, lacing the text with just the right amount of panicked curiosity.
You: Who is this? What do you want?
You hit send.
Then you placed your phone on your nightstand, the ghost of a smirk still playing on your lips. You curled into your blankets, the exhaustion of the day finally pulling you under.
But as you drifted to sleep, your final conscious thought was not of fear, but of strategy.
Let her have her fun. Let her feel powerful.
It will make her fall so much harder.
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Stream Of Sin...
16: Unholy Truth.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 10,5k
Synopsis: He loved the angel, but he chose the devil.
Warnings: Angst, detailed descriptions of a sexually explicit cam video being watched by multiple characters. Sexual obsession, complex/polyamorous relationships, sex work and camming, graphic depictions of sexual assault, victim-blaming amd slut-shaming, intense jealousy and possessiveness, religious guilt and shame, emotional manipulation, gaslighting and betrayal, psychological torment.
a/n: Next chapter wil be fire!! Love you muakk!
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Masterlist
The notification was a jolt of pure electricity. Holy JiJi posted a video.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he fumbled for his headphones, locking his bedroom door. The world outside ceased to exist. The screen lit up, showing only a familiar silhouette against moody lighting, the curve of a hip, the dip of a waist—a map he knew by heart but had never traced in reality.
FixOn: Welcome back, beautiful. Missed you.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, sending the message with an attached tip that was more than generous. It was a tribute. This was his ritual. For months, this had been his secret church, and she was his unholy goddess.
He watched, mesmerized, as she moved. Every sigh that slipped through the audio, every shift of shadow, was etched into his soul. He was in love with a ghost, a voice in the dark.
He sighs when he sees her pressed between three men like she was born to be worshipped, taken, ruined. One hand around her throat, someone against her shoulder, and more hands somewhere low enough to make Mingi’s vision blur.
“Fuck—” He whispers, but he doesn’t look away. He can’t.
Every wet sound, every whine she lets out, every breathless “please” she whispers—He feels it in his chest. In his stomach. In his spine.
His whole body reacts like she’s touching him, not them.
He shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t want her.
But he does…. God help him, he fucking does.
And when she arches her back on-screen, moaning someone else’s name, Mingi’s fist curls tight enough to hurt.
He wants to be one of them. He wants to be the one making her sound like that. He wants everything he is not allowed to want.
And he hates that he’ll replay the video again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.
Because wanting her feels like burning alive, and Mingi has always been terrible at staying away from the fire.
Only if he knew that this phantom was also the flesh-and-blood girl he’d finally held in his arms a week ago.
—
Jongho saw the notification and his stomach twisted with a familiar, gut-wrenching cocktail of guilt and want. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't.
But he clicked it anyway.
The video loaded, and he immediately minimized the window, listening to the audio first—the soft, rhythmic sounds, the whispered, teasing monologue. His face burned.
This was wrong. This was a sin.
Jongho feels the shame hit him instantly. He swallows, he should close it, he should stop. He should turn off the screen and pray, or breathe, or do anything except watch her fall apart on some expensive bed while those three touch her like they own her.
But he doesn’t.
Because the part of him that wants her—the part he tries to bury, the part he pretends doesn’t exist—rises like a wave and drags him under.
He imagines her turning her head toward the camera—toward him—and saying his name in that voice.
He imagines it too vividly. His chest hurts. His stomach twists.
“This is wrong.” He whispers to an empty room.
But he doesn’t press pause. Not even once.
Because he likes it, and he hates that he likes it. And he hates himself for both.
When the video ends, he closes his laptop with shaking hands and presses his palms over his face, breathing hard.
He’ll delete the page in the morning. He tells himself that every time.
But he never does it.
—
The phone lit up in the dark, silent room. The username SINNER99 logged in automatically.
There she was. Holy JiJi.
A quiet, almost imperceptible sigh escaped his lips.
This was a study in perfection. The cadence of her breathing, the specific arch of her back, the subtle inflections in her voice that promised both innocence and corruption.
He never used his real name. He never revealed a hint of himself.
In this space, he was just another sinner in her congregation. He analyzed every frame, every sigh, storing them away like precious artifacts. It was an obsession, clean and clinical in its execution, but an obsession nonetheless. He was captivated by the puzzle, by the woman who was a master of revelation and concealment in equal measure.
He didn't just want her; he wanted to understand the phenomenon of her.
SINNER99: I think I'm officially obsessed.
He sent the message, a cryptic compliment lost in the sea of more vulgar ones. It was enough. He just needed to let her know someone saw past the performance. He needed her to know he was watching, always watching, from the shadows.
He knows when she’s exaggerating. He knows when she’s faking. He knows when she’s overwhelmed.
Tonight, she’s overwhelmed.
And he likes it.
He watches the whole thing with the eerie stillness of someone who feels too much and shows nothing.
When the video ends, he doesn’t replay it. He just leans back, fingers steepled, eyes unfocused, mind replaying every sound she made.
He shouldn’t want her. He has no right to.
But that doesn’t stop the slow, dangerous curl of desire in his chest. Or the whisper of a thought he should not be having: One day, she won’t be behind a screen.
He closes the tab, deletes the browser history, and opens it again anyway.
Because she’s beautiful. Because he’s obsessed. Because he’s careful.
And because no one needs to know.
Not yet.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
The soft ching of incoming deposits was a steady, satisfying rhythm on your laptop. You scrolled through the comments beneath your latest video, a smirk playing on your lips.
BlessedBeTheThighs: Those thighs could save nations and damn souls. ChainNecklaceLover: I just want that necklace guy to fuck me too. FixOn: I just want to be one of them!! Do you accept subscribers on your videos? [Deposit: $270 – Subscriber Tip] [Deposit: $800 – Subscriber Tip]SINNER99: I think I'm officially obsessed.
The numbers were immense, a tidal wave of validation and cash after your brief hiatus. Your subscribers had been rewarded, and they were showering you in gratitude. Your boys deserved something special too; they were the stars of this sinful show.
But the smirk vanished as your phone screen lit up on the desk. Your stomach clenched. It had been a week of this—a constant, low-grade anxiety every time a notification appeared.
The only person who had been persistently trying to reach you was Seonghwa.
—
You’d built a fortress of silence around yourself. No read receipts, no answered calls, no glimpses of you at church or through your window. You’d become a ghost in your own house, surprising even your parents with your sudden, sustained presence. Your father had asked, with genuine concern, if you were ill. You’d brushed him off, claiming your friends were busy.
Then, on Wednesday, the fortress had been tested. You’d heard his voice downstairs, warm and hopeful, asking for you. Your mother’s saccharine tone as she directed him to your room. The agonizing pause. Then, the quiet click of the front door closing, followed by the sharp, deliberate click of your mother’s heels on the stairs.
She hadn’t knocked. She’d just stood in your doorway, her expression a familiar cocktail of disappointment and vindication.
“I knew you would hurt that good boy,” She’d said, her voice like ice. “You never change, Eunji. You should be ashamed.”
You’d taken it. You’d let the words wash over you, too numb and guilty to even muster a defense.
By Saturday, the numbness had curdled into a profound, aching loneliness. That’s when you broke. You called your best friend.
Hongjoong had arrived in under ten minutes, finding you curled on your bed, eyes puffy and raw. He didn’t ask questions at first. He just sat beside you, his presence a solid anchor in your swirling despair.
“What happened, pretty?” He’d finally asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Talk to me.”
You couldn’t form the words.
“Is it Seonghwa?”
At the sound of his name, the dam broke. A soft, broken sob escaped you, and hot tears traced fresh paths down your cheeks. You cried for the hurt in Seonghwa’s eyes, for the lies you’d woven, for the beautiful, fragile thing you were terrified you’d already shattered.
“Oh, baby… please don’t cry.” Hongjoong gathered you into his arms, his hand a steady, soothing pressure on your back.
He held you while you wept, your tears soaking into his shirt.
“I—I feel so terrible for lying to him.” You finally choked out, the confession tearing itself from you.
Hongjoong sighed, resting his chin on your head “I know, baby. I know.”
When your tears finally subsided into shaky breaths, you whispered the truth you’d been avoiding.
“I really like him, Joong.”
His arms tightened around you “You love him, Ji.”
He said it with a finality that brooked no argument. He’d seen it. He’d watched the obsession of your youth solidify into something deeper, something real. And it killed a part of him, that sharp, possessive part that saw you as his. But the part of him that truly loved you, the part that was your best friend before he was your anything else, won out.
He took a deep, bracing breath “You can tell him.”
You pulled back, looking at him in stunned disbelief “What?”
“If you don’t want to lie to him, and you really love him… tell him the truth.”
“But… what if he leaves? Just like—” Everyone else. The words hung unspoken.
“No.” He cut you off gently, taking your hand and pressing a firm kiss to your knuckles. “That bible sucker is in love with you. I see it in the way he looks at you, like you hung the damn moon. I hear it in his voice when he says your name.”
“I’m scared.” You admitted, your voice small.
“I know you are, pretty. But if you want to keep him, you have to build it on the truth, not the pretty lies.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was all comfort. “And if he’s stupid enough to walk away? Then he never deserved you in the first place. And you’ll still have us. You’ll always have us.”
The thought of Seonghwa walking away made fresh tears well in your eyes.
“Think about it,” Hongjoong murmured, kissing your forehead. “No pressure.”
You looked at him, at the man who commanded your submission and was now offering you the most vulnerable part of your heart to someone else.
“If I tell him… would you be okay with it?”
You saw the flicker of it—the jealousy, the bitterness—as his jaw clenched. The thought of sharing your heart, your time, with that “good boy” was a pill he’d have to swallow.
But he looked at you, at your tear-streaked face, and his expression softened.
“I will be.” He said, his voice rough with sincerity. Then, a ghost of his usual smirk returned. “He might get a welcoming punch like San did, but nothing to worry about.”
The memory was a stark contrast—San’s eager, unauthorized kiss during a group scene, Hongjoong’s immediate, territorial fist, followed by a cold lesson about the dynamics of your shared chaos.
When you were alone with one of them, rules didn't exist. But when they were all together, Hongjoong was the conductor. He owned the symphony of your shared desire.
And if Seonghwa was to be added to the mess, he would have to learn the music.
—
Looking back at your phone now, the glowing screen felt like a verdict. The money, the comments, the adoration—it was all a gilded cage. And Hongjoong, in his own fiercely loving way, had just handed you the key.
The only question was if you were brave enough to use it, and if the beautiful boy on the other side of those unread messages would still want you once the door was open.
With a final, shaky breath, you opened his chat. A cascade of unread messages flooded the screen, a monument to his desperation. You didn't dare read them; his pain would be your undoing. Your fingers flew across the screen before you could lose your nerve.
You: Let's talk tonight. My family will be out. 7 PM.
You dropped the phone like it had burned you, refusing to wait for a reply. Desperate for a distraction, you opened your laptop, scrolling through comments and online stores, trying to lose yourself in the mindless task of shopping for the boys.
For a few precious minutes, it worked. Then your door swung open without a sound of warning.
“You don’t know how to knock?” You asked flatly, not looking up from the screen.
Yunho stood in the doorway, his expression a familiar storm “What did you do to him this time?”
You finally met his gaze, the exhaustion seeping into your bones “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb.” He snapped, stepping inside and closing the door with a quiet, menacing click. “Seonghwa. He came to see you days ago and left looking like his dog died. He’s been blowing up my phone, asking if you’re okay, if he messed up. He’s a wreck. So, I’ll ask again. What did you do?”
The accusation, so ready and so certain, ignited a cold fury in your chest.
“Why is it always my fault? Why do you automatically assume I’ve done something bad? Why do you care so much about what I do?”
His jaw tightened “I don’t give a damn what you do. I care that you’re dragging my best friend into your drama. He’s a good person, Eunji. He doesn’t deserve your fucking games.”
The words landed like a physical blow. You stared at him, letting him see the raw hurt in your eyes for a fleeting second before you masked it. He saw it—and he chose to ignore it.
“What did you do?” He insisted, his voice a low growl.
You closed your laptop with a soft, definitive click “Have you and Ann ever had a fight?”
The question threw him “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Couples fight, Yunho. It’s normal. We had a disagreement. We both needed space. I’d be more worried if everything was perfect all the time.” You offered a brittle, fake smile. “That usually means someone isn’t being honest.”
You saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes, the tiny seed of insecurity about his own "perfect" relationship. You knew Ann would never truly challenge him; she was too busy playing the part of the ideal girlfriend just to be near San.
“That’s a pathetic excuse.” He muttered, but the conviction had left his voice.
“Just leave it alone, Yunho.” Your voice was tired, the fight gone out of you. “Stop trying to save everyone from me.”
He looked at you, a mix of frustration and something that might have been pity “Just… stop being an attention seeker for once in your life. Leave him alone if you can’t be what he needs.”
He turned and left, the door clicking shut much quieter than it had opened. The silence he left behind was deafening. You slumped back, the resolve you’d mustered crumbling.
Maybe he was right. Maybe the kindest thing you could do for Seonghwa was to let his angel remain a beautiful, distant memory.
Then, your phone lit up, casting a glow on your tear-streaked face.
Hwa: I'll be there, angel! Hwa: Thank you so much. I swear you won't regret giving me another chance.
The chasm between his hopeful words and your grim reality had never felt wider.
You were no angel. And tonight, you were going to have to show him the devil he was so desperate to forgive.
✮
The days since the fight had been a form of self-inflicted torture for Seonghwa. Sleep was a fleeting stranger, food tasted like ash, and even the familiar solace of prayer had abandoned him.
Every quiet moment was filled with the ghost of your face—the cold, empty look in your eyes as you told him to leave. He would have given anything to take it back.
So when your text appeared, a simple, stark message in the sea of his own unread, desperate ones, he thought he was hallucinating. He read it ten times, his heart hammering against his ribs, before his trembling fingers could form a reply.
She’s giving me a chance.
The preparation was a sacred ritual. A long, scalding shower to wash away the lingering shame. His best clothes, the ones you’d said made him look "devastatingly handsome." Two spritzes of the cologne you’d buried your face in with a happy sigh.
The entire drive to your house was a prayer. The flowers—a burst of vibrant colors you loved—and the perfectly iced matcha latte were not a bribe. They were a plea. A physical manifestation of the words he was so afraid he’d fail to say. He was prepared for you to slam the door, to throw the drink in his face. He would stand there and take it, hoping that once your anger was spent, a sliver of forgiveness might remain.
On your side of the door, the nerves were a live wire under your skin. For the first time in a long time, you hadn't performed. No glossy lips, no curated outfit, no scent of seduction. Just you. A messy ponytail, soft pajamas, and the raw, terrified girl underneath the persona.
If this was the end, he would see the real one. The one who was scared of losing him.
The doorbell was a death knell. For a wild second, you considered not answering. Let him believe you weren't home. Preserve the memory of his angel a little longer.
But you loved him. So you opened the door. And the sight of him almost broke you.
There he stood, impossibly perfect, his eyes wide and hopeful, holding out offerings like a man seeking absolution.
Fuck. He’s so perfect.
“Hi… Hi, angel.” His voice was a soft, hesitant murmur, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in your bare face and comfy clothes not with disappointment, but with a deep, aching tenderness. “How are you?”
You gave him a small, wobbly smile and stepped aside “I could be better.”
“Ji, please let me—” He began, desperate to launch into his apology.
“Let’s go to my room first.” You cut in softly, your voice barely a whisper.
He nodded immediately, his obedience a testament to his guilt “Sure, sure. Here, this is for you.” He pressed the bouquet into your hands.
“Thanks. You shouldn’t have.” Your hands trembled as you took them, the vibrant petals blurring through the unshed tears you refused to let fall.
You led him upstairs in a heavy silence, the air thick with everything left unsaid. In your room, you placed the flowers carefully on your vanity, their beauty a stark contrast to your somber mood, and sat on the edge of your bed. Seonghwa sat beside you, not too close, and held out the drink.
“I didn’t know if you’d want it, but… just in case.”
You took it, the condensation cool against your skin “Thank you, Hwa.”
Another silence descended, stretching taut between you. It was Seonghwa who broke it, his voice cracking under the weight of his remorse.
“I am so… so sorry, Eunji.”
You looked down at the cup in your hands, your heart aching. This was wrong. He was apologizing when he was the one who had been lied to, the one being led into a world that would inevitably hurt him.
“Why are you apologizing, Seonghwa?” You asked quietly, finally meeting his gaze. “Tell me. What are you sorry for?”
You needed to hear his truth, to understand the hurt in his heart, before you shattered it completely with your own.
Seonghwa took a deep breath, not because he didn't know the reasons, but because he needed to lay his heart bare in perfect, honest order.
“You gave me a chance to step into your world.” He began, his gaze fixed on his hands. “A world you love, with friends who are important to you. And all I did was judge it. I felt the tension, especially between you and Hongjoong. I saw how you reacted to him—a shiver, a look. It… it made me feel like an outsider. And then, after you spoke… I saw the mark on your neck.”
He finally risked a glance at you “It looked like a hickey. And in my jealousy and confusion, I assumed the worst. I accused you instead of asking you. I questioned your character and your friendships, and I had no right. I am so sorry for making you feel like you had to defend who you are and who you care about. I was a coward.”
You listened, your heart breaking because his apology was so sincere, and so utterly misplaced. He was apologizing for being human, for seeing the truth he wasn't meant to see yet.
“It’s okay, Hwa.” You said softly, stopping his spiral. “I understand why you felt that way.” You took a shaky breath, the moment of truth looming. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Of course, angel.” His eyes were wide, ready to accept any question.
“Why do you like me?”
The question surprised him, but his answer was immediate, flowing from him like a sacred vow.
“I like you for you, Ji. Your fire, your intelligence, the way you see the world. I love your confidence and the surprising softness you only show sometimes. I love the way you laugh at my stupid jokes, the way you listen like my words are the most important thing you’ll hear all day. I love… I love everything about you.”
He meant it. Every word. He was describing the beautiful, curated portrait of you he had fallen in love with, unaware of the dark, complex masterpiece that lay beneath.
“Everything?” You whispered, the word tasting like ash.
“Yes. Everything.” He reached out, taking your hand, his touch both a comfort and a condemnation. “I swear it. I love everything about you, and I will spend every day proving it if you let me. Just… please don’t shut me out again.”
The begging in his voice was your undoing. How could he say that? How could he love a ghost?
“Thank you for saying that.” You said, your voice trembling. You squeezed his hand, a final, fleeting connection. “But, Hwa… you say you love everything about me. But you don’t know me. You don’t know the half of it.”
Confusion and dread clouded his beautiful features “Angel, what are you talking about?”
“Do you know why Yunho treats me the way he does? Why do people whisper? It’s not because I’m just ‘confident’ or ‘charismatic’.” You pulled your hand back, the distance now a necessary chasm. “It’s because of who I became after everything broke.”
You looked him straight in the eye, your own vision blurring with unshed tears.
“The person you love… she was born from something ugly. And if you really want to love everything about me, you need to know where she came from. You need to know everything.”
The word hung in the air, toxic and heavy.
Seonghwa’s face, so full of devoted love just moments before, shifted. Confusion, then a dawning, horrified understanding.
"What do you mean, 'something ugly'? What happened?"
You took a shaky breath, the words feeling like shards of glass in your throat "When I was sixteen... a boy from school. He drugged me at a supposed group project. He filmed a... a clip of me. While I was unconscious."
The air left Seonghwa's lungs in a sharp hiss. His hands clenched into fists on his knees, knuckles white.
"He... what?" The words were a low, dangerous growl, a side of him you'd never seen. "Who? Did he—"
"He didn't go all the way. But it didn't matter. The video got sent around. Yunho saw it." You couldn't look at him anymore, focusing on a loose thread on your comforter. "He didn't believe me when I said I was drugged. He called me a liar. A whore. He told me we were strangers." The memory was a fresh wound, even now. "That's why he hates me. That's what broke us."
Seonghwa was silent, processing this nuclear truth. The foundation of his understanding of your family dynamic had just been obliterated. His best friend had abandoned his sister in her most vulnerable moment.
"I was... destroyed." You continued, your voice hollow. "My parents moved me to a new school. I was completely alone. And then... I met Hongjoong and Wooyoung."
A small, genuine smile touched your lips despite the pain.
"They were the first people who didn't look at me with pity or disgust. They saw I was broken, and instead of trying to put me back together like I was before, they helped me build something new. Something stronger. They helped me discover who I really was, without the shame."
Seonghwa listened, his anger at the unknown boy and Yunho now mixed with a complex, grudging gratitude toward the two boys he'd judged so harshly. They had been your lifeline. He let out a slow breath, thinking he was finally understanding the full picture.
"So that's why you're so close. They... they saved you."
"In a way, yes." You nodded, your heart hammering.
This was the precipice. You took a shaky breath and met his gaze, your eyes pleading for him to understand the impossible.
"And if I'm honest with you... our friendship didn't start in the common way. Let's say that with time we found out that… that we liked each other." The last part was a barely audible murmur, a confession that felt both freeing and terrifying.
The silence that followed was deafening. You watched the understanding in his eyes shift, recalibrate, and then shatter into pure, unadulterated shock.
He blinked, his brow furrowing as if he'd misheard "Liked each other?" He repeated, the words slow and deliberate. "You mean... you and Hongjoong? Or... you and Wooyoung?"
You held his gaze, unable to speak, your silence confirming the unimaginable.
"Both?" The word was a breathless exhale, laden with disbelief.
He looked down at his hands, then back at you, his world visibly tilting on its axis. The good church boy, raised in a world of clear lines and monogamous devotion, was being presented with a reality his mind had no map for.
"But... how? How does that even work? You can't... you can't be with two people. That's not... that's not how it works." His confusion wasn't accusatory, not yet. It was the genuine, bewildered struggle of someone trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. "Do they... do they know about each other?"
You nodded slowly, your throat tight "Yes. They know. It's... it's just how we are. It's not a formal thing. There are no labels. We just... care for each other. Deeply. In that way."
You watched him grapple with it, the concept so foreign it seemed to cause him physical pain. You saw the flicker of hurt—the natural, human reaction of someone who thought they had a singular claim on your heart. But beneath that, you saw the desperate attempt to understand, because the alternative—losing you—was clearly a greater fear.
"How?" He whispered again, his voice raw. "How can your heart... how can it be divided like that?"
And that was the million-dollar question, the one you'd asked yourself a thousand times. How could you explain that your heart wasn't divided, but rather, had simply expanded? That love wasn't a finite resource, but a boundless, chaotic energy that could take many shapes? How could you make him see that what you had with him was no less real, no less profound, just because it wasn't the only love in your life?
You were asking a man who believed in one God, one path, to understand a soul that worshipped at many altars. And you had never felt the chasm between your worlds more acutely than in this moment of heartbreakingly honest confession.
You reached out, not to touch him, but to gesture helplessly, your hands painting a picture in the air that words failed to capture.
"It's not divided, Hwa. It's... it's just how I'm built. I don't have a better answer. I don't follow a rulebook. I just... I listen to what my heart asks for, and it asks for a lot. It has a lot of room. What I feel for you isn't less because of what I feel for them. It's just how I love. It's just how we love."
You saw him trying to process it, the very foundation of his understanding of relationships crumbling. And you knew you couldn't stop there.
The whole truth, or nothing.
"And..." You began, your voice dropping even lower, bracing for the impact. "It's not just Hongjoong and Wooyoung."
Seonghwa's eyes snapped back to yours, a fresh wave of dread washing over his features "What?"
You held his gaze, your heart breaking for the blow you were about to deliver "San is a part of it, too."
The name hung in the air between you. San. His friend. The one he laughed with, prayed with, considered a brother.
For a moment, there was only stunned silence. You watched the shock register, the betrayal flicker in his eyes. But then, something else happened. The initial shock didn't solidify into pure disbelief. Instead, it melted into a horrifying, dawning sense of... recognition.
His mind, against its will, began replaying the memories.
The way San's eyes followed you in a room, not with casual friendliness, but with a focused intensity. The sharp, almost protective edge in San's tone whenever someone else flirted with you. The private, knowing smiles you two sometimes shared, even during your "fake" dates with Seonghwa. The way San had been so vehemently against this relationship from the start.
He had noticed. On some deep, subconscious level, he had always known. He had simply refused to see it, chalking it up to San's general possessiveness or his own insecurities.
He wasn't fully surprised. And that realization was somehow worse than a clean, sharp shock. It was a slow, sinking feeling that the betrayal had been woven into the fabric of his life for far longer than he'd ever imagined.
He looked at you, the girl he loved with every fiber of his being, and saw a constellation of connections he was only now understanding. You weren't just his. You never had been. You were a shared secret among your friends and his closest friend, and he had been the last to know.
The silence in the room was no longer just tense; it was suffocating, filled with the ghost of a thousand unspoken understandings and a friendship that might never be the same. Seonghwa looked utterly wrecked, his world view shattered. He stood up, pacing for a moment before stopping by your vanity, his back to you. His shoulders were tense.
"You have... all of them." He finally said, his voice hoarse. "Hongjoong, Wooyoung, San. The people I was so jealous of... you already had them. This whole time." He turned, his eyes red-rimmed but clear. "So what am I, then? Just the latest one? The good boy you're trying to corrupt?"
"No!" You said, standing up, your voice cracking. "You were never just anything, Seonghwa! You're the one I wanted for years! You're the one that felt different. With them... it's chaos and fire. It's passion. But with you... it's peace. It's coming home. You make me feel like I can be soft, and that's a gift none of them can give me."
He stared at you, your raw honesty disarming him. The anger seemed to drain from him, leaving only a profound, exhausted confusion. He was still listening. He hadn't left.
This was it. The final truth. The one that could truly break him.
"But you're right." You whispered, your voice trembling so badly you could barely get the words out. The panic was a live wire in your chest. "There's one more thing. The biggest part. You asked how I truly got my power back after that video. How I stopped being a victim."
You took a deep, shuddering breath, your eyes locked on his, silently begging him to understand.
"I created a name for myself. A name where I set the rules, where I am the one who is wanted, and worshipped, and... paid. Where my body is my business, and my art."
You saw his brow furrow, not in judgment yet, but in a struggle to comprehend.
"You want to know the real secret, Hwa? The one that ties all of this together?"
You paused, the name a bomb on your tongue. Your greatest fear was this moment—the moment the glass would overflow and shatter.
"Have you ever heard of Holy JiJi?"
The name landed in the quiet room. For a heartbeat, there was nothing. Then, you saw it. The flicker of recognition in his eyes. It wasn't just vague familiarity; it was a specific, sharp, guilty recognition. A faint blush crept up his neck. He knew. He knew exactly who Holy JiJi was.
And then, the reaction you feared most set in. The shock. It wasn't anger. It wasn't disgust. It was a pure, unadulterated, mind-breaking shock that rendered him completely silent.
He just stared at you, his mouth slightly agape, his mind visibly short-circuiting as it tried to reconcile the girl before him with the online persona.
The silence stretched, each second an eternity. Your bravado crumbled. The fear of losing him—the same cold terror you felt when Yunho looked at you with that same stunned silence before he called you a whore—crashed over you.
"I'm sorry." You choked out, the first tear falling. Then another. "I'm so sorry, Hwa. I shouldn't have... I knew it was too much. I knew you'd—"
Your apology triggered something in him. The memory of your story, of you being punished for a video you didn't consent to, of being abandoned for a lie, slammed into him.
He saw history repeating itself, and he refused to be the villain in your story. He moved in a rush, crossing the room and pulling you into a crushing embrace before you could finish.
"Shhh, angel, no. Stop. Don't cry." He murmured into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. He held you tightly, his hands stroking your back. "Don't apologize. It's okay. Just breathe."
You sobbed against his chest, the relief and the residual fear a turbulent storm inside you.
"It is?" You managed to gasp, your voice muffled by his shirt.
He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. His own eyes were wide, still full of shock, but there was no rejection in them. Only a desperate, fervent need to reassure you.
"Yes." He said, his voice firming with conviction. "It... it surprises me. God, it surprises me so much I feel like my brain is breaking. But I'm not... I'm not him, Eunji. I'm not Yunho. I would never... I could never look at you and see anything less than the strongest person I've ever met."
He took a deep breath, his gaze searching yours "You took something meant to destroy you and you built an empire with it. How could I ever be anything but in awe of that?"
The confession hung between you. He wasn't just accepting it; he was revering it. He saw the power in your truth, not the sin. In that moment, the last wall around your heart crumbled to dust.
He had seen every broken, messy, glorious part of you, and he was still here, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in his world. He pulled you back into his arms, his embrace tighter, more possessive than ever before.
"I don't care." He whispered, a new, raw edge to his voice. "I don't care about them. I don't care about the page. I just care that you're mine, too."
He was choosing you. All of you. And for the first time, you truly believed you were worthy of it.
—
The storm of confession had passed, leaving in its wake a profound, quiet calm. You were curled against Seonghwa’s side on your bed, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heart. His fingers traced lazy, soothing patterns through your hair, and for the first time in days, you both felt peace.
The silence was comfortable, but a tiny, lingering doubt needed to be silenced. You tilted your head back to look up at him.
“Are you really okay?” You whispered, your voice still a little raw. “With… all of it?”
Seonghwa’s hand stilled in your hair for a moment before resuming its gentle motion. He looked down at you, his gaze clear and unwavering.
“Yes, angel. I am.” He took a slow breath. “Will I be jealous? Probably. The thought of you with Hongjoong, or San… it twists something in my chest. But I’ll get used to it. Because the alternative—a life without you in it—is unthinkable.”
His honesty was a balm. He wasn’t pretending it was easy; he was promising it was worth it.
“And… the other part?” You ventured, your voice barely audible. “Holy JiJi?”
A faint, charming blush dusted his cheeks, but he didn’t look away.
“That…” He let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I should be scandalized. Part of me, the part that goes to church every Sunday, is screaming that I should be. But the rest of me…” His eyes darkened, holding yours with a new, intense heat. “The rest of me finds it the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever known.”
Your breath hitched “Yeah?”
He nodded, his blush deepening “I’ve… I’ve watched your videos. A lot of them.”
You couldn’t help the small, knowing smile that touched your lips “I know.”
He froze, his eyes widening in pure horror “You… what?”
“You’re ‘Silver Star’.” You said softly, reaching up to trace his jaw. “I know it’s you.”
He looked utterly mortified, burying his face in your hair with a groan “Oh, my God. I’m going to die. Right here.”
You giggled, the sound light and free “Hwa, it’s okay. It’s more than okay. You can keep watching. Whenever you want.”
He lifted his head, the embarrassment in his eyes slowly being replaced by that same blazing fascination from before. He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a husky, tentative whisper.
“Actually… I was wondering…” He took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “If… if you would want… to make one with me?”
You stared at him, certain you had misheard “You… you want to…?”
“Be in a video. With you.” The words were firm now, laced with a boldness you’d never heard from him. “For your page. If you want.”
The good church boy was not just accepting your world; he was asking to step into the spotlight with you.
The air left your lungs in a soft gasp. The image of him—devout, gentle Seonghwa—filming a video for Holy JiJi’s page was so blasphemously hot it short-circuited your brain.
Seeing your speechless reaction, a slow, wicked, truly sinful smile—the one you always knew was hiding under his saintly exterior—spread across his face. It was a promise of corrupted bliss.
Overwhelmed by a tidal wave of love, acceptance, and sheer, unadulterated desire, you surged up and captured his lips in a deep, searing kiss. It wasn’t frantic or desperate, but tender and profound, a silent vow sealing your fractured pieces back together into something new, something stronger, and infinitely more beautiful.
He kissed you back with equal fervor, his arms wrapping around you, holding the entirety of who you were—the angel, the devil, and everything in between—as if you were his greatest answered prayer.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
“Hello, prin—” San’s cheerful greeting cut off abruptly as he opened the door, his eyes landing on Seonghwa standing firmly at your side. A flicker of surprise, then a slow, knowing smirk. “Hey, man.”
You bit your lip to keep from laughing at the sudden shift in his tone.
Seonghwa offered a small, tentative smile “Hey, San.”
“Why are you talking to each other like you’re strangers?” You teased, nudging San playfully out of the way. “Move, Sannie. We have stuff to talk about.”
You breezed past him into Wooyoung’s house, finding Hongjoong already lounging on the couch like a king on his throne. His sharp eyes took you in, and a slow, genuine smile touched his lips.
“You look happy.” He observed, his voice a low purr.
“I am.” You sang back, leaning down to press a soft, grateful kiss to his lips. “All thanks to you, babe.”
“Me? I did nothing, pretty.” He murmured against your mouth, though his proud gaze said otherwise. “You were the brave one. I’m just glad it worked.”
“Thank you.” You whispered, the words full of meaning, before settling on the couch.
Seonghwa hovered for a second before sitting carefully beside you, his posture rigid with nerves. You immediately reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his in a silent show of support.
“Hello. Good afternoon,” Seonghwa greeted the room, his voice softer than usual.
Wooyoung emerged from the kitchen with a tray of drinks, a wide grin on his face “You don’t have to be so formal, pretty boy. You’re part of the cult now.”
“C-Cult?” Seonghwa’s eyes widened, darting to you in a mild panic.
San barked out a laugh, slinging an arm around Wooyoung’s neck “Don’t say that to my church friend, you idiot. You’ll give him a heart attack.”
“He’s joking, Hwa.” You reassured him, squeezing his hand.
“Okay,” Hongjoong began, his tone shifting to one of serious authority that made Seonghwa instinctively straighten up. “You’re here, so we assume you know everything now.”
Seonghwa gulped but gave a firm nod.
“Good. As Ji told you, what we have is complicated but real. It’s not one big relationship. We’re all friends, but we have separate, individual connections with her.” Hongjoong’s gaze was unwavering. “That’s the first thing to understand.”
“Yeah, think of it like… she’s the sun, and we’re all planets in her orbit. We’re in the same solar system, but we have our own orbits,” Wooyoung added with a cheerful wiggle of his eyebrows.
“And when we’re all together in the same room,” Hongjoong continued, reclaiming the conversation. “There are rules. If you want to stay, you need to know them.”
Seonghwa’s grip on your hand tightened. You gave him a soft, encouraging smile.
“As Woo so poetically put it, we have separate orbits. But when we’re together,” Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, “I am the one in charge. I give the orders, and you obey. You’ve already seen I can be… possessive when it comes to what’s mine.”
Seonghwa nodded silently, the memory of the club clearly fresh in his mind.
“So it would be in your best interest not to put on a show in front of me anytime soon. It… aggravates me.”
“Joong.” You warned, your voice gentle but firm.
He flicked his eyes to you, that familiar devilish smile playing on his lips “Just setting the ground rules, pretty. Same welcome we gave Sannie.”
At that, San groaned and buried his face in a cushion “Please don’t remind me. The worst fucking month of my life.”
“What kind of welcome?” Seonghwa asked, curiosity overriding his fear.
Wooyoung cackled “Oh, man. Joongie made his life a living hell. For a whole month, every time we hung out, he’d find a way to get between them. It was hilarious to watch.”
“But.” You interjected, your voice leaving no room for argument as you looked directly at Hongjoong. “That won’t be happening this time.”
Hongjoong arched a brow, a silent challenge.
“You already know him. You know he’s not a threat. He’s San’s friend, and unlike a certain free whore I know.” You said, shooting a look at Wooyoung, who gasped in mock offense. “He’s not going to be climbing the walls. So, just don’t be an asshole. He’s been through enough.”
Hongjoong studied you for a long moment, then his gaze shifted to your intertwined hands, to the way you were subtly shielding Seonghwa. He saw the genuine peace on your face.
Finally, he sighed, a reluctant concession “Fine. For you, pretty. No hazing.”
The tension in Seonghwa’s shoulders visibly melted.
“Great! So, welcome to the family, Hwa!” Wooyoung cheered, clapping him on the back. “The official, sinful cult of Eunji!”
San grinned, raising his drink “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
After a few more minutes of easy conversation, San leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“So, are you two gonna show your faces at Mingi’s little gathering tonight? Ann’s been asking about you nonstop.” He said, his eyes locking with yours. “She noticed you and Seonghwa were on the rocks and she looked so damn satisfied. Maybe you should show up and prove her little wish didn’t come true, baby.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across your lips. The idea was too delicious to resist. You looked at Seonghwa, your eyes sparkling with a challenge he knew all too well.
The game was back on.
✮
The golden light of a late evening bled through Yunho’s bedroom window, casting long shadows across his meticulously organized room. He stood before his mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt, but his hands stilled. His reflection stared back, but his mind was miles away.
Couples fight.
Your words from yesterday echoed in the quiet room, an unwelcome ghost at the feast of his perfect relationship. He’d brushed them off as a pathetic excuse, but now, in the stillness, they clung to him.
He tried to mentally scroll through the last month with Ann. The dates, the conversations, the quiet moments. It had all been… seamless. Effortlessly pleasant.
She always smiled, always agreed. If he suggested Italian, she loved Italian. If he wanted to see an action movie, she was excited for it. When he talked about his views, his plans, his dreams, she would listen with rapt attention and affirm every single one.
At first, it had been flattering. Reassuring. After the constant, exhausting tension with you, Ann’s placid agreement was a balm.
But now, your words twisted that balm into something unsettling.
It’s normal.
Was it? Was it normal that they had never, not once, had a single disagreement? Not a mild debate over music? Not a different opinion on a movie ending? Not even a playful argument over the last slice of pizza?
He tried to conjure a memory of Ann expressing a strong, contrary opinion. He came up empty. She molded herself to his preferences so completely it was as if she had none of her own.
The realization was a cold trickle down his spine. Didn't she have her own tastes? Her own beliefs? It was statistically impossible for two people to align so perfectly.
I’d be more worried if everything was perfect all the time.
A frown etched itself onto his face. Was he worried? No. That was ridiculous. He had a kind, beautiful, supportive girlfriend who adored him. This was what he wanted. This was… easy.
So why did "easy" suddenly feel so hollow?
His spiraling thoughts were shattered by the shrill ring of his phone. He snatched it from the desk, Ann’s name flashing on the screen. He took a steadying breath before answering.
“Hey,” He said, his voice softer than he intended.
“Hi, Yu!” Her voice was bright, syrupy sweet. “I’m all ready. You can pick me up whenever you’re ready for Mingi’s.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there in ten, darling.” He replied, his tone automatic.
“Perfect! I can’t wait to see you.” A brief pause. “Do you think I should wear the blue sweater or the pink one? You always know best.”
The question, so innocent and trusting, should have made him feel manly, decisive. Instead, it felt like the final, confirming piece of a puzzle he didn't like the picture of.
“The blue one.” He said, the words tasting like ash. “It… it looks better on you.”
“Blue it is! See you soon, Yu!”
The call ended, leaving him in silence once more. He stared at his phone, then back at his reflection. The doubt was now a fully formed entity in the room with him.
He was overthinking. He had to be. He had everything he thought he wanted.
So why, as he grabbed his keys and headed out the door, did he feel like he was walking into a beautifully painted set, and not a real relationship?
—
You took one last picture in the bathroom mirror, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across your glossed lips. Damn. The body-hugging mini dress, the sharp line of the cropped blazer, the lethal sparkle of your heels—you looked powerful.
You looked like you. After a week of hiding in pajamas and raw vulnerability, slipping back into this armor felt like a homecoming.
Perched on the edge of your bed, you were scrolling for a song for your Instagram story when the doorbell chimed. A moment later, your father’s voice called up. You gave your reflection a final, victorious glance before heading downstairs.
"Seonghwa's at the door, sweetheart. All good now?" Your father asked, a knowing twinkle in his eye as he took in your transformed appearance.
"Better than good." You sang back, your smile so genuine it made him chuckle.
"Have fun, darling."
You pulled the door open to find Seonghwa waiting, a vision in his own sharp, casual attire. His eyes widened, a soft, appreciative gasp escaping him as he took you in. In one hand, he held a lush bouquet of deep red roses.
"Hello, angel." He breathed, his voice full of awe. "You look... incredible." He offered the flowers, his other hand instinctively finding your waist, pulling you into the space he'd carved out just for you. "I love it."
A blush, warm and genuine, crept up your neck "Thank you, Hwa." You murmured, your earlier bravado softening under his reverent gaze.
He leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of mint and promise. It was sweet, tender, and everything you'd craved.
"Ready?" He asked, his voice a low hum against your cheek.
You nodded, letting him tuck your hand into the crook of his arm as he led you to his car. But the scene in the driveway gave you pause. San was leaning against the passenger door of Seonghwa’s car, arms crossed, jaw tight.
A flicker of something hot and possessive flashing in their depths before he masked it with a lazy smirk. He saw the flowers. Then he saw your lipstick slightly smudged.
His eyes narrowed "Well, don't you two look cozy." He drawled, pushing off the car.
Seonghwa's hand tightened almost imperceptibly on yours. This was the first test.
You rolled your eyes playfully “That’s because someone didn’t ring the doorbell with roses.”
San tried to hide it, but jealousy sat sharp in his voice “Yeah, well… next time I’ll bring a whole fucking garden.”
"You're just jealous you're not the one holding my hand, Sannie." You teased, releasing Seonghwa's arm to step into San's space.
"A little," San admitted, his smirk softening into something more genuine as he looked down at you. "Can you blame me?"
He didn't wait for an answer, dipping his head to claim your lips in a kiss that was the polar opposite of Seonghwa's—it was all confident, playful heat, a familiar brand of ownership.
Behind you, Seonghwa inhaled sharply. He wasn’t prepared—not really—for what it felt like to watch you kiss someone who wasn’t him.
It twisted inside him: surprise, curiosity, a strange flare of heat that went straight to his stomach. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his eyes on you, lingering longer than they used to.
“Okay,” Seonghwa said quietly, almost to himself. “So this is… how it’s gonna be now.”
His voice wasn’t upset—more like he was adjusting, rewiring, accepting something entirely new. And maybe liking it.
You pulled back from San with a soft laugh, giving his chest a playful pat "Okay, greedy boy. Let's go."
San, looking immensely pleased with himself, finally opened the car door for you with a flourish "Your chariot, princess."
As you slid into the passenger seat, you glanced back at Seonghwa. He was still holding the roses, a complex mix of emotions warring on his face—confusion, acceptance, and that new, dawning fascination.
He caught your look and gave you a small, slightly dazed smile, as if to say, 'I'm okay. This is our life now.'
He got into the driver's seat, the scent of the roses now mingling with San's cologne from the back. The engine purred to life, and as Seonghwa pulled away from the curb, the three of you headed towards Mingi's, a new, unspoken understanding settling inside the car.
It was going to be a very interesting night.
—
The drive to Mingi’s was a study in surreal tension. The soft jazz from Seonghwa’s stereo was a stark contrast to the thrum of unspoken words filling the car.
You sat in the passenger seat, one hand resting on Seonghwa’s thigh in a silent gesture of reassurance. His free hand covered yours, his thumb stroking your knuckles, a grounding rhythm.
In the back, San was uncharacteristically quiet. You could feel his gaze burning a hole into the back of your head, then Seonghwa’s, then dropping to where your hands were connected.
He wasn’t angry, not exactly. It was the simmering, possessive energy of a predator forced to share its kill.
“So,” San finally broke the silence, his voice a low rumble. “Everething is good between you two now?”
You squeezed Seonghwa’s thigh gently, letting him answer. Seonghwa’s grip on the steering wheel tightened for a second before he relaxed.
“Yes.” His voice was clear, firm. “We are good now.”
A slow, appreciative smirk was audible in San’s voice “Good. Took you long enough, man. I was getting tired of watching you and not being able to complain.”
The unexpected support seemed to loosen something in Seonghwa’s shoulders. He risked a glance in the rearview mirror. “You… you’re okay with it?”
San leaned forward, his arms resting on the back of your seats, his face now close to both of yours.
“I’m not gonna lie and say the thought of you touching her doesn’t make me want to break something sometimes.” His eyes, dark and intense, met yours for a heartbeat before shifting to Seonghwa. “But I’ve seen what she’s like without me, Woo and Joong. I’ve seen what she’s like with you and she’s happier with you around. So, yeah. I’m okay with it. Just don’t make me regret it.”
It was as close to a blessing as San would ever give. Seonghwa gave a single, grateful nod “I won’t.”
“You better not,” San said, his tone light but his eyes deadly serious. Then he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, his whisper a hot, private promise meant for all three of you to hear. “And remember, princess. You’re still mine, too.”
He dropped back into his seat, leaving the air crackling. Seonghwa’s jaw was tight, but his hand on yours didn’t falter. He was learning.
—
The cozy hum of conversation died the instant San’s voice cut through the room.
“Hello, my dear friends!”
Ann’s head snapped around so fast a strand of hair stung her cheek. A reflexive, eager smile touched her lips for him, but it vanished as if wiped away. There you were, trailing in behind Seonghwa, your fingers laced with his. A cold knot tightened in Ann’s stomach.
Weren’t you two done? What are you doing here?
“Hey, Eun!” Yeosang greeted, his warmth a stark contrast to the sudden chill in the air.
Your name acted like a spell, fracturing the room into a spectrum of reactions. Yunho’s brow furrowed, his gaze darting from your intertwined hands to Ann’s tense profile. Your words from the other day echoed in his head: “Couples fight, it's normal.”
Across the room, Mingi and Jongho shared a look of pure, unguarded relief. Two weeks without you had felt like a lifetime. Jongho’s mind raced with a dozen questions left over from Jeju, while Mingi’s fingers twitched with the memory of your touch, a desperate urge to bridge the distance.
But then they saw it—the possessive way Seonghwa held your hand, a silent, claiming flag. They hesitated. He was their friend. You were his girlfriend. The unspoken rule held them back, even as the hypocrisy of it all screamed in their heads.
They needed answers.
“Hi, long time no see.” You said, your voice a sweet, familiar melody that everyone but Ann seemed to lean into. You offered the group a dazzling smile, the one everyone loved.
“You’ve been MIA,” Mingi said, the words laced with a hurt he couldn’t quite mask.
You gave a casual, elegant shrug, tossing your hair over your shoulder “Yeah, well. I’m back.”
“And looking good as always,” San added, his admiration plain as day.
You shot him a knowing, intimate smile that made Ann’s jaw clench. She felt a surge of bitter triumph. You have the power to crash and burn, she thought, her eyes narrowing. One word to Seonghwa about you and San, and your entire perfect little world shatters. But she would wait.
A predator playing the long game.
Now she knew you’d done something to Yunho, too. If she could just uncover all your secrets, she could make them all see the real you—the one she saw, and then you’d be alone.
“Okay, let’s get started!” Mingi clapped his hands, forcibly gathering everyone’s scattered attention.
You turned a perfectly sculpted look of confusion up at Seonghwa “What are we doing, exactly?”
He laughed, a low, fond sound, and pressed a kiss to your temple “You’ll see, angel.”
You let a delicate frown play on your lips, your mind already dismissing the scene. The only plans these church boys ever made involved dusty Bibles, sanctimonious movies, and maybe—if they were feeling particularly wild—a bottle of soju.
You were just here to be seen on Seonghwa’s arm, a living reminder to Mingi and Jongho of what they’d been missing for two weeks.
When Mingi proudly revealed a television setup with Mario Kart and a spread of snacks, you suppressed an internal eye-roll. How fucking nerdy. But you simply leaned closer to Seonghwa, a vision of patient grace, ready to play your part.
You settled onto the couch, legs crossed, posture impeccable—a goddess who had deigned to visit a nerd convention. Seonghwa slid beside you, his hand resting possessively on your knee. The touch was casual for him, but it sent a silent, electrifying shockwave through the room.
The scene was a study in tension. Mingi plugged in cables with the frantic energy of a golden retriever. Yeosang distributed sodas, his pretty smile not quite reaching his observant eyes. San was "helping," but his gaze kept drifting, lingering on the line of your legs. Jongho kept clearing his throat, his attempts not to stare a complete failure. Yunho sat stiffly, his eyes flickering between you and the floor as if it held the answers to his confusion.
And Ann was perched on an armchair, arms crossed, glaring daggers at your very existence. Typical.
“Okay,” Mingi said, handing out controllers. “Teams or free-for-all?”
“Free-for-all,” Jongho answered too quickly. He then glanced at you and blushed, the memory of Jeju apparently flashing behind his eyes in vivid detail.
You allowed a slow, knowing smile to touch your lips. San took a seat directly on the floor in front of you, leaning his back against your knees. The move was too casual, too familiar.
Seonghwa’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on your thigh. He noticed.
From her armchair, Ann’s eyebrow twitched. She noticed, too.
“You ready, Eun?” Mingi asked.
“I suppose.” You murmured, turning the controller over in your hands as if it were a strange, ancient relic.
San laughed softly, tilting his head back to look up at you “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you, baby.”
You arched a single, elegant brow “Teach me?”
“Yeah. Here—” He reached up, his fingers deliberately slow as they brushed against your wrist to adjust your grip.
It was a bold, completely unnecessary touch.
Seonghwa’s jaw clenched. This was the part he was still getting used to. The open understanding with Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and San was one thing, but seeing San's teasing play out in front of everyone was a test of his composure.
Ann inhaled a sharp, audible breath.
Mingi was so distracted he paused the game. Jongho stared at the interaction, frozen. The air grew thick.
Seonghwa leaned in then, his lips pressing a firm, deliberate kiss to your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth. It wasn't just affection; it was a territorial claim. She is mine.
“Pretty sure she can handle it on her own.” He said to San, his voice a blade wrapped in silk.
San just smirked, the picture of innocent mischief. “We’ll see, man.”
He loved this. He loved getting a reaction, loved the secret thrill of their shared claim over you.
Mingi restarted the match. You picked Princess Peach. Obviously.
The game began, but the real competition was happening off-screen. San leaned back further, his shoulder blade pressing against your knee with every exaggerated turn.
Seonghwa’s thumb stroked slow, possessive circles on your thigh, his jealousy a quiet, simmering counterpoint to San’s open provocation.
And you, nestled between their silent war, felt a thrill course through you. This was the game you loved most.
At some point, you sighed loudly and tossed your controller into your lap.
“I’m bored.”
Every head in the room swiveled toward you.
Seonghwa chuckled under his breath, a low, adoring sound. He loved this about you—your refusal to pretend.
“You don’t like it?” He asked.
“No.” You said honestly, twirling a piece of your hair between your fingers. Your eyes, however, slid from Seonghwa’s face to San’s. “But you both look so cute when you’re competitive… so I suppose I’ll survive.”
Mingi nearly fumbled his controller. San’s smirk deepened into something triumphant. Jongho’s ears turned a brilliant shade of red. Yunho’s heart gave a painful clench.
And Ann? She looked like she had just swallowed glass.
But Seonghwa? He saw the look you shared with San, and instead of anger, a new, dark heat flickered in his gaze.
The night, it seemed, was just beginning.
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All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.
Stream Of Sin...
15: Man On Fire.
Pairing: "Church" boys Ateez xFem!Reader
Genre: +18, Smut, Dark academia, Pschological Angst, Slow-burn Mystery, Love triangles, Tangled emotions, Obsession-heavy connections.
wc: 7,8k
Synopsis: A night at the club shatters illusions as possessive desire collides with pure love, forcing a heartbreaking choice between a sinful sanctuary and a sacred one.
Warnings: Angst, jealousy, possessiveness, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, lying, severe emotional conflict, heartbreak, betrayal, identity crisis, polyamory vs. monogamy conflict. Smut (MDNI!!) M/M/F/M, unprotected sex, intense Dom/Sub dynamics, rough and primal sex, hair-pulling, biting, marking, spanking, filming, double penetration, intense, raw language and probably even more stuff.
a/n: The moment everyone was waiting for is finally here!! Enjoy my little angels ❤️❤️
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Materlist
She is mine, she is mine, she is mine, she is mine, she is mine, she is mine, she is mine.
She.Is.Mine.
The words were a primal drumbeat in Hongjoong’s skull, syncing with the club’s bass. He moved on the dance floor, a beautiful girl grinding against his back, another whispering filth in his ear, but he was a ghost.
His entire being was a laser focused on the VIP booth, on you, and on what was taking you so fucking long.
Wooyoung, catching his eye, laughed and slurred to San, "Joong's about to blow. This is gonna be fun."
Fun.
Hongjoong’s patience snapped. He shoved past the anonymous bodies, his stride cutting through the crowd like a shark. He owned this space, he owned this night, and he owned the girl who was testing every last one of his limits.
Stepping into the booth was a mistake. The sight hit him like a physical blow.
You and the bible sucker. Kissing. Not a chaste peck, but a deep, claiming kiss. Seonghwa’s hand was tangled in your hair, yours on his jaw, and you were melting into him like he was your entire world.
A red haze descended over Hongjoong’s vision. You could play your games, but this? This looked real.
"Having fun, pretty boy?" His voice was a low, venomous purr that cut through the intimate bubble.
His dark, sober eyes scanned the scene—your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the forgotten joint in the ashtray. He didn't look at you. His gaze was a cage, locking Seonghwa in.
"The dance floor's that way." He continued, deceptively smooth. "Unless you two were planning on giving the whole club a show."
Seonghwa flinched as if struck, his eyes darting to the floor in shame and fear. He looked like a boy caught with a stolen treasure.
“We were about to go, Joong.” Your voice was silk, trying to weave calm into the storm.
"Can we talk, pretty? Alone." It wasn't a request. It was a command that made a shiver of pure anticipation roll down your spine.
"Wooyoung and San are still on the dance floor," Hongjoong said, his eyes never leaving Seonghwa, dismissing him with a flick of his gaze.
Seonghwa looked at you, lost. You gave a small, reassuring nod, and he left with one last worried glance, the lamb fleeing the lion's den.
The moment he was gone, the air thickened. Hongjoong closed the distance, each step making your heart hammer with a thrilling, addictive fear.
You took a shaky sip of your drink, not from thirst, but for courage.
Hongjoong sighed, a sound of immense restraint, as he sat beside you. He took the joint, inhaled deeply, and then his hand landed on your bare thigh.
The touch was soft, but it was a brand. A claim.
"Are you having fun, pretty?"
"Yeah." You tilted your head, a defiant gesture.
"Good. Because later, you won’t."
"Is that a threat?" You teased, a smirk playing on your glossy lips.
His smirk was a mirror of yours, but his eyes were black pools of wrath "No. It is a fact."
You scoffed, tossing your hair "I don't even know why you made me invite Seonghwa if you're just going to be a jerk."
"I wanted to show him your other side." He murmured, his hand sliding higher, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. "But I guess he liked it. Everyone falls for the devil in an angel's skin."
You stared into his eyes, trying to decipher his next move, but Hongjoong was a locked box of beautiful chaos.
"So? Why are you so mad at me this time?" You asked, genuinely curious.
His wicked smile widened "You tell me."
"I prefer direct things, you know that, babe."
"Okay, then." He moved with predator's speed, his arm caging you against the back of the couch, his lips a breath from your ear. His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "A little bird told me that Saint Choi Jongho’s been added to your collection."
You didn't deny it. Instead, a slow, taunting smile spread across your face.
"Jealous, Joongie? Worried you can't keep up?"
That was the final straw. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
"Keep up?" He snarled, his hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat. "You belong to me. You've always belonged to me, Ji."
His mouth crashed down on yours in a kiss that was pure punishment and possession. It was rough, demanding, and tasted of weed, whiskey, and raw fury. You kissed him back with equal ferocity, your nails scraping against his scalp, a battle for dominance you knew you would happily lose.
He broke the kiss only to manhandle you, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him. The grinding started instantly, a frantic, desperate rhythm against the hard ridge of his jeans. His hands were everywhere—on your ass, pulling you harder against him, under your top, palming your breast, his thumb circling your nipple through the lace of your bra.
"You forget your place, pretty." He growled against your neck, biting down on the sensitive skin. "Let me remind you."
You moaned, grinding down harder, lost in the storm of him.
"Aww, get a room, you whores!" Wooyoung's voice sliced through the haze. He stood at the entrance of the booth, grinning like the devil he was, holding his glass. "Or at least save some for later. The night's still young."
Hongjoong didn't stop, his lips trailing fire along your collarbone "Fuck off, Woo."
Wooyoung just laughed, snatching his jacket "Don't do anything I wouldn't do! Which is nothing, so carry on!" He disappeared back into the crowd.
Hongjoong’s grip on your hips tightened, slowing your frantic movements. He looked up at you, his eyes still dark with lust, but the control was back, icy and absolute.
"Get up." He commanded, his voice rough. "Let's go dance with your bible sucker, give him one last pretty smile. Then we're leaving." He leaned in, his final words a hot promise against your lips. "You have a punishment waiting for you at my place, honey."
Hongjoong’s command hung in the air, a promise and a threat woven together. The frantic, punishing energy between you cooled into something far more dangerous: a calculated, shared mission.
He smoothed your hair with a possessiveness that was almost tender, his thumb brushing over the mark he’d left on your neck.
“Fix your lipstick, pretty.” He murmured, his voice still rough. “We have a performance to finish.”
You did as you were told, pulling out your gloss with slightly trembling hands. The reflection in the compact showed a girl thoroughly claimed—flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark with a mixture of fear and thrill.
You were his masterpiece of beautiful ruin.
He stood, offering you his hand. It wasn't a request for partnership; it was a tether. You took it, your fingers lacing with his, and let him lead you out of the booth and back into the pulsating heart of the club.
From across the dance floor, Seonghwa’s eyes found you instantly. A wave of relief washed over him when he saw you emerge, until his gaze dropped to your joined hands. His smile faltered.
It’s just how friends are, he tried to rationalize. Wooyoung is always touching you too.
But as you got closer, the relief curdled into a cold, sickening confusion. You slipped your hand from Hongjoong’s to slide your arms around Seonghwa’s neck, offering him a smile.
“Sorry that took so long, Hwa.” You said, your voice a little too bright.
Seonghwa’s arms came around your waist automatically, but his focus wasn't on your eyes. It was locked on the side of your neck. A dark, blooming bruise was stark against your skin.
A hickey. He was certain it hadn't been there five minutes ago when he was kissing you.
His eyes snapped up, searching for Hongjoong. He found him instantly, dancing with a careless grace between San and Wooyoung. And Hongjoong was already looking right back at him.
Their eyes met across the swirling, colored lights and gyrating bodies. Hongjoong didn’t look away. Instead, a slow, deliberate smile spread across his lips.
It wasn't a friendly smile. It was the kind of smile a victor gives a rival. A smile that said, "I know something you don't." A smile that said, "I did that."
The pieces, once disconnected and confusing, slammed together in Seonghwa’s mind with brutal force.
The proprietary nicknames—pretty, baby, babygirl.The way Hongjoong commanded you, despite your brattiness, ultimately obeyed. The sharp, territorial tension that had crackled around the table. The joint offered not as a shared vice, but as a test of loyalty.
And now this. The mark on your neck, placed there in the few minutes you were alone, and this man was now smiling about it.
They didn't treat you like a friend. They treated you like you were theirs.
A cold knot of jealousy and fear tightened in Seonghwa’s stomach. He held you closer, burying his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent that was now tainted with the faint, lingering smell of Hongjoong’s weed.
He loved the thought of having you for himself. He loved the soft, sweet girl who laughed at his Lego sets and nerd games.
But the woman in his arms, the one who smoked joints and carried another man’s mark so boldly… who was she? And how many other parts of her belonged to someone else?
The music pounded, but all he could hear was the deafening silence of his own heartbreak, as he held you tight, trying to cling to an angel who was slipping through his fingers, pulled back into the devil’s orbit.
“I think we should go, angel.” Seonghwa’s voice was a soft, strained murmur in your ear, a stark contrast to the club’s roar.
You pulled back to look at him, your brow furrowed in concern “How come, babe? Are you feeling uncomfortable?”
Yes. I feel like I’m watching the girl I love be pulled apart by wolves, and I’m just standing here with a smile.
“No, it’s not that.” He lied, his eyes darting to where Hongjoong was now dancing with a brunette, a performance that felt as hollow as his smile. “I just feel like a fish out of water.”
You nodded, your expression softening with genuine understanding “It’s okay, Hwa. We can leave if you want.”
“Really?” The hope in his voice was pathetic, even to his own ears. “I don’t want to ruin your night.”
“You won’t, baby.” Your giggle was a balm, and the soft kiss you pressed to his jaw was a brand of its own. “If you don’t feel good here, we can leave. It’s really okay.”
His heart ached. How could you be so tender with him minutes after… after whatever happened in that booth? The ghost of that hickey on your neck felt like it was burning him.
He loved you so much it was a physical pain, a desperation that made him want to ignore every screaming warning sign.
“Let’s say goodbye to those freaks.” You said with a playful eye-roll, taking his hand.
He let you lead him, a silent spectator in your world. You found Wooyoung attached to Hongjoong’s side like a tipsy shadow.
“Babes, I’m leaving.” You announced over the music.
“What?! Why?!” Wooyoung whined, slinging an arm around your shoulders.
Seonghwa’s jaw tightened.
“It’s not even past eleven,” Hongjoong scoffed, his eyes—sharp and sober—cutting straight to Seonghwa.
“Yeah! What’s wrong with you, babe?!” Woo pouted.
“Nothing! Just want to go.”
“Fine. But let me tell you something, pretty.” Hongjoong grabbed your arm, pulling you from Seonghwa’s grasp with an effortless ownership that made Seonghwa’s blood run cold.
He watched, helpless, as Hongjoong leaned in, his words a private, venomous whisper meant only for you. He saw the shiver that wracked your body.
“Text me when you’re home,” Hongjoong murmured. “I’ll pick you up to give you your punishment. Be ready.”
Another shiver. Holy shit—he was serious.
“Sure, Joong.” You whispered back, wearing that sweet little fake smile. “Bye, Woo.”
“Bye, you boring bitch!” Wooyoung cackled.
You flipped him off lovingly and slipped your hand into Seonghwa’s again like nothing had happened. The transition was so natural it made Seonghwa feel sick.
He opened the car door for you, silent, rigidly polite. The drive was a cavern—dark, heavy, suffocating. You watched the tense line of his jaw flashing under passing streetlights. You thought he was upset about the weed, or the club, and guilt crawled up your throat.
“Hwa, I’m really sorry if tonight was too much, I—”
“Are you and Hongjoong more than friends?”
The question slammed into you like a brick.
“What?” You blinked, confused.
Silence. Painful. Loud.
You stared at him; he stared at the road, fighting every thought clawing at his skull.
“Hwa…” Panic crept into your voice. “What do you mean?”
He exhaled sharply, hands clamping around the wheel “I’ve noticed the way your friends behave with you is… strange.” He finally said, voice trembling. “That’s not how friends act.”
You swallowed hard. Fuck.
“Hwa, they’ve been my only friends since high school. We’re close. We trust each other.”
True, but dressed up in the thinnest lie imaginable.
You were too close, more than friends should be. Wooyoung literally sent you his porn page after the first time you met, Hongjoong shoved you against a wall the second day you met, and San flirted with you when he saw you with those two.
So yeah… the dynamic was never normal.
“I’ve had friends for years,” Seonghwa muttered. “And I have never… never seen people act like that.”
You frowned “What do you mean?”
“You’re telling me it’s normal for a friend to call you pet names? To touch you like you belong to them?”
You scoffed incredulously “So now I can’t call my friends cute nicknames? You’ve never hugged or held hands with a friend?”
“Hugged? Yes.” His voice was bitter, pained. “But holding hands? That’s intimate.”
Your laugh died instantly and your anger sparked hot—fear wrapped inside it.
“Why are you saying all that?”
“Because your friendship group is weird, Eunji! Even San acts so fucking weird around you every time we are together. How the hell do you explain that?!”
The name. Eunji. It wasn't the gentle "angel" or the soft "Ji." It was a slap. It was Yunho's voice, your mother's voice—it was every person who had ever looked at you and seen a problem.
You didn't scream. You didn't yell. A cold, terrifying calm settled over you. Your laughter was a short, sharp, disbelieving exhale.
"Stop the car." You said, your voice dangerously level.
"What?" The anger in Seonghwa’s voice was already faltering, replaced by confusion.
"Stop the fucking car, Seonghwa. Now." The command in your tone was absolute.
He swerved, pulling over onto a dimly lit, deserted side street. The moment the car stopped, you unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out, slamming the door with a finality that echoed in the silent night.
The sound shattered him. Panic, cold and immediate, flooded his system, washing away the jealous fury in an instant.
What had he done?
"Angel, wait!" Seonghwa scrambled out of the car, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Baby, I'm sorry!"
He reached for you, but you flinched away from his touch as if burned, your fingers already flying across your phone screen.
"Angel, please, I'm sorry." He begged, his voice cracking. He could see the reflection of his own desperate face in your dark, unreadable eyes. "I wasn't thinking, I shouldn't have said that. It's not my business, I don't know them, I'm so sorry, baby."
You ignored him, holding the phone to your ear.
"Yes, pretty?" Hongjoong's voice came through, a lifeline and a sentence all at once.
"Can you pick me up, please? I'll send you my location." Your voice was flat, devoid of the warmth he cherished. "Hurry up, please."
"Coming, pretty."
"Angel..." Seonghwa's plea was a broken whisper.
"Hongjoong is picking me up. You can leave." You didn't even look at him.
The words were a physical blow. He felt the air leave his lungs.
"No, please. Don't go with him. Not like this. Get in the car, please. I'll take you home. I'll do anything, just please don't shut me out."
Tears welled in his eyes, blurring your beautiful, cold face. He was crumbling, the perfect facade of the gentle, patient boyfriend dissolving into the raw terror of a boy about to lose the one thing that made his world make sense.
You finally turned your head, and the look you gave him was worse than any scream. It was empty.
"Seonghwa. Leave."
He stood there, frozen, as you leaned against a lamppost, a statue of beautiful indifference. The begging died in his throat. He had pushed too far, and the angel had retracted her wings, leaving only ice.
With a sob he couldn't suppress, he finally turned, got back in his car, and drove away, the image of you standing alone in the cold seared into his mind.
—
The black car pulled up exactly seven minutes later. The passenger window rolled down to reveal Wooyoung's concerned face and San's curious one from the back. Hongjoong was driving, his sharp eyes taking in your posture, the rigid set of your shoulders.
"You good, pretty?" He asked, his usual teasing tone noticeably absent.
You just opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, pulling the seatbelt over your chest with a definitive click.
"I'm fine."
The car was silent for a moment as he pulled back onto the road. Wooyoung and San exchanged a look, wisely saying nothing.
Hongjoong glanced at you "So, the bible sucker finally—"
"Not now, Joong." You cut him off, your voice quiet but leaving no room for argument.
You stared out the window, watching the city lights blur. The anger was gone, replaced by a hollow ache. But beneath that, a different kind of anticipation was coiling in your stomach.
The punishment.
Hongjoong didn't mention it again. He didn't have to. The weight of it hung in the air between you, a shared, unspoken truth. He knew you knew. And you, staring into the night, knew that whatever awaited you at his place wouldn't be about pain.
It would be about erasure. It would be about him rewriting the night's hurt with a claiming so absolute, you'd forget your own name.
And a treacherous, hungry part of you was already waiting for it.
The silence in Hongjoong’s car was a thick, heavy blanket, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the distant thrum of the city you’d left behind.
No one spoke. Wooyoung and San, for once, understood the gravity in the air, the storm brewing behind Hongjoong’s calm focus and your icy stillness.
When you arrived at his house, it was dark and quiet, his parents thankfully absent. The familiar scent of his home, clean linen and something subtly metallic, wrapped around you.
Hongjoong didn’t lead you straight to the special room. Instead, he went to the kitchen, pouring a deep, blood-red wine into a single glass and handing it to you.
“Drink.” He said, his voice a low command. “Then you’ll tell us what the fuck happened.”
You took a slow sip, the rich liquid warming the cold hollow inside your chest. Leaning against the counter, you told them. The drive, the silence, Seonghwa’s questions, his accusations, the way he’d called you “Eunji” like a curse.
You didn’t embellish. You didn’t need to.
Wooyoung whistled lowly “Okay, I get it. From his pew-sitting perspective, we’re a fucking cult.”
“He’s not entirely wrong,” San added with a dark chuckle, but his eyes were on you, assessing the damage.
“He doesn’t get it.” Hongjoong said finally, voice quiet but firm. “He doesn’t get us.”
He took the wine glass from your hand and set it aside, his movements deliberate. He stepped into your space, caging you against the counter, his hands resting on either side of you.
“And he doesn’t have to,” Hongjoong stated, his voice dropping to that lethal, possessive purr that made your knees weak. “He only needs to know one thing. Tonight, you’re mine. His name doesn’t get to live in your head while I’m with you. I’m going to fuck every thought of him right out of you. Understood, pretty?”
A shiver of pure, undiluted anticipation raced down your spine.
“Understood.” You whispered.
He turned his head, his gaze slicing to Wooyoung and San, who were watching with rapt attention.
“You two can watch. But you don’t touch. Not until I say so.”
They both nodded, a silent pact sealed in the dim kitchen light. This was Hongjoong’s show. Then, a wicked smirk played on his lips.
“It’s been a while since we gave your subscribers a show, pretty. Feel like giving them a little… punishment video?”
The idea was a spark on gasoline. To take the night’s frustration and anger and channel it into something powerful, something that proved exactly who you were and who you belonged to.
A slow, defiant smile finally broke through your cold exterior.
“I’d love to, Joong.”
That was all the confirmation he needed. He took your hand, his grip firm and sure, and led the way to the special room. Wooyoung and San followed, the audience to your consecration.
As Hongjoong set up the camera on its tripod, adjusting the angle with a critical eye, the air in the room shifted. The tension was no longer about Seonghwa, or the fight, or the hurt.
It was about the promise. The promise of oblivion. The promise of a punishment that felt more like a reward than any heaven Seonghwa could ever imagine.
Hongjoong turned to you, his eyes black and burning with intent.
"Ready, pretty?"
You met his gaze, every bit of your own chaotic energy rising to meet his.
"Always."
The red light on the camera glowed to life, a single, unblinking eye. Hongjoong didn't rush. He approached you like a collector approaching his most prized artifact.
His hands, which could be so brutal, came up to cradle your face, his thumbs stroking your jawline with a reverence that made your breath catch.
"This mouth." He murmured, his voice a low thrum for only you and the microphone to catch. "It was made for sin."
He kissed you then, not with punishment, but with a devastating, consuming sweetness. It was a kiss that tasted of expensive wine and absolute ownership, a kiss designed to rewire your brain, to make you forget any other lips had ever touched yours.
His hands slid down, mapping your body through your clothes with a slow, worshipful heat. He peeled the shimmering top from your body, his lips following the path of his hands, placing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulders, the swell of your breasts, his tongue flicking over your nipples through the lace of your bra until you were arching into him with soft, pleading sounds.
"This body." He whispered against your stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt. "It was made for my hands."
He knelt, pulling the skirt and your underwear down your legs in one smooth motion, leaving you bare and trembling before him, before the camera. He kissed the inside of your thigh, a soft, promising press.
"And it's going to remember who it belongs to tonight."
The shift was instantaneous. The worship melted into pure, unadulterated dominance.
He stood, his eyes darkening "On the bed. On your hands and knees. Now."
You scrambled to obey, the plush comforter soft beneath your palms. From the couch, you heard Wooyoung's sharp intake of breath and San's low, appreciative groan. You didn't look at them. Your entire world had narrowed to Hongjoong's commanding presence behind you.
"You let another man think he could have you," Hongjoong stated, his voice cold and clear for the camera.
His hand came down on your ass with a sharp, stinging crack that echoed in the quiet room. You gasped, the pain a bright, sharp bloom that quickly morphed into a throbbing heat.
"That's for forgetting your place." He growled.
SMACK.
Another, harder spank landed on the other cheek.
"And that's for making me wait."
You cried out, your body jolting forward, but his other hand was already on your lower back, holding you firmly in place. The sting was overwhelming, but the arousal pooling between your legs was undeniable.
You loved this. You loved the way he reduced you to a shivering, wanton thing, completely at his mercy.
You felt the blunt, slick head of his cock press against your entrance. He didn't push in. He just teased, circling your clit with his tip, making you whimper and push back against him, desperate for the fullness.
"Beg for it, baby." He commanded, his voice rough. "Tell your audience who you need."
"Please." You choked out, your composure shattered. "Please, baby. I need you. I need to feel you."
That was all the permission he needed.
He drove into you in one brutal, deep thrust, stealing the air from your lungs. A broken scream was torn from your throat as he filled you completely, stretching you to your limit.
"Who do you belong to?" He grunted, setting a punishing, relentless rhythm from the start, each thrust jarring and deep.
"You! I belong to you!" You sobbed, the words torn from you with every powerful surge of his hips.
He fucked you with a single-minded intensity, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises, his pace never faltering. It was rough, overwhelming, and exactly what you craved.
The world dissolved into a haze of pleasure-pain, the sound of skin slapping against skin, his ragged breaths, and your own helpless, wanton moans. The coil in your core tightened impossibly fast, whipped into a frenzy by the sheer force of his possession.
"I'm— I'm gonna—"
"Come." He snarled, pounding into you with a final, devastating thrust that hit a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. "Come all over my cock. Show them."
Your orgasm ripped through you, a silent, seizing convulsion that milked his length and pulled a guttural groan from his chest. You collapsed onto the bed, boneless and oversensitive, as he spilled himself inside you with a final, shuddering thrust.
But he wasn't done.
Before you could even catch your breath, he was flipping you onto your back. His eyes were wild, his body glistening with sweat. He pushed your legs up and apart, holding them firmly as he plunged back into your slick, sensitive heat.
You cried out, the overstimulation a sharp, electric shock "Too much... it's too much!"
He ignored your pleas, his rhythm becoming shorter, harder, more focused. His thumb found your swollen clit, rubbing it in firm, demanding circles.
"You can take more. You'll come for me again. You'll scream for me."
The dual assault was merciless. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on agony, a tidal wave building from the very depths of your overstimulated core. You thrashed beneath him, sobbing, completely at his mercy.
"Please... I can't—"
"You can." He growled, his voice raw. "Now, baby. Let go for me."
With a final, grinding thrust and a ruthless circle on your clit, he forced a second, more violent orgasm from you. It wasn't a wave; it was a detonation. A gush of warm liquid released around his cock as a broken, keening wail was torn from your throat, your body convulsing uncontrollably beneath his.
He held you through it, his own release triggered by the feel of you squirting around him, his name a prayer on your lips as he emptied himself inside you once more.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged, shared breaths and the soft hum of the camera. He collapsed beside you, pulling your trembling body into his arms, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your sweat-damp forehead.
From the couch, Wooyoung let out a low whistle "Fuck. My turn."
Hongjoong didn't even look at him, his eyes only for you.
"The camera stays on." He said, his voice a husky whisper. "But you rest for a minute, pretty. We're not done with you yet."
Hongjoong’s command hung in the air, a promise of more. He gently shifted you onto your side, his hand stroking your hip as he looked over at Wooyoung. The red light of the camera was a silent witness.
“Your turn, Kitty,” Hongjoong said, his voice a low, approving rumble. “Be good to our girl.”
Wooyoung didn’t need to be told twice. He slid off the couch, his movements fluid and eager, a bratty smirk playing on his lips.
“Don’t I always, hyung?”
He crawled onto the bed, his eyes dark with a mix of reverence and pure lust as he looked at you, splayed out and still trembling from Hongjoong’s claiming. He didn’t go for your mouth or your breasts. He moved down, settling between your legs with the focus of a man about to receive communion.
“Look at you.” He murmured, his breath ghosting over your oversensitive flesh. “So pretty and ruined for us already.” He glanced up at you, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Let me make it better, babygirl.”
Then he lowered his head. His tongue was a flat, wet stroke through your slickness, lapping up the evidence of Hongjoong’s release mixed with your own. A shocked, broken gasp tore from your lips. The sensation was filthy, intimate beyond words, and it sent a fresh, violent jolt of arousal through your spent body.
“That’s it, baby.” San groaned from the couch, his hand stroking himself in a slow, tight rhythm. “Taste her. Taste what Joongie left for you.”
Hongjoong watched, his own hand moving lazily over his cock, his expression one of rapt, possessive approval.
Wooyoung moaned against you, the vibration making you arch off the bed. He wasn’t just cleaning you; he was worshiping you. His tongue delved deep, then focused on your clit with an artist’s precision, circling and sucking until your whimpers turned into desperate, pleading cries. His fingers joined, two sliding inside you, curling expertly to find that sweet spot.
“You taste like heaven and sin, Jiji.” He gasped, coming up for air, his lips glistening. “I could do this forever.”
“Don’t stop.” You begged, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to you. “Please, don’t stop.”
He dove back in with renewed fervor, his tongue and fingers working in a perfect, relentless rhythm. You were hurtling toward another climax, your body bowing off the mattress, your cries echoing in the room. Just as you were about to break, Wooyoung pulled back, his eyes glinting.
“Not without me.” He panted. He looked over at San. “Sannie. Now.”
San was on his feet in an instant. He moved behind you as Wooyoung lay back against the pillows, his hard cock standing proud. San’s hands, large and rough, gripped your hips, lifting you effortlessly and guiding you down onto Wooyoung’s length. You sank onto him with a choked cry, the feeling of being filled so soon after your last orgasm was overwhelmingly intense.
Before you could adjust, you felt the blunt pressure of San at your other entrance. He didn’t ask. He used the slickness from Wooyoung’s mouth and your own arousal, pushing into your tight, back channel with a low, guttural groan that was pure bliss.
You screamed, the dual fullness stretching you beyond anything you’d ever felt. You were completely speared, held between them, a beautiful, writhing sacrifice.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” San grunted, his hands digging into your hips as he began to move, setting a deep, punishing pace that rocked you forward onto Wooyoung.
Wooyoung’s eyes rolled back, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples. “God, baby, you feel incredible.”
The sensation was all-consuming. Every thrust from San pushed you down harder onto Wooyoung, and every roll of Wooyoung’s hips met San’s drive. You were the center of their universe, the nexus of their shared desire.
You reached out a trembling hand toward Hongjoong, who was watching from the edge of the bed, his fist pumping his cock, his eyes black with lust.
“Joong… please.”
He moved forward instantly, kneeling beside you. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking him in time with the frantic rhythm of the bodies joined with yours.
Then the kissing started.
Wooyoung pulled your face down to his, capturing your mouth in a deep, messy kiss, his tongue mimicking the thrusts below. You could taste yourself on his lips, a dark, erotic flavor that made you moan into his mouth.
San leaned over your back, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your shoulder, biting down as he drove into you.
“My turn, beautiful.” He growled, and he turned your face to the side, claiming your mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and dominance, a stark contrast to Wooyoung’s.
Then, the most breathtaking thing happened. Wooyoung, his eyes locked on yours, tilted his head up and found San’s lips. They kissed over your shoulder, a hot, open-mouthed clash of tongues, a visual representation of their shared ownership of you, of their deep bond with each other.
The sight of it, feeling them move inside you while they kissed, pushed you to the very edge of sanity.
“Oh my god… I’m gonna— I can’t—” You sobbed, your body trembling violently.
“Come on, baby,” Wooyoung urged, breaking the kiss with San, his breath hot against your cheek.
“Let go for us, baby.” San grunted, his pace becoming frantic.
Hongjoong’s hand covered yours on his cock, his thrusts into your fist becoming jerky “Do it. Come for them. Show me how beautiful you are when you fall apart.”
The command, the feeling of being so utterly filled and claimed by three men who loved you in their own chaotic ways, shattered you. Your third orgasm of the night was a cataclysm. It wracked your entire body, a silent, seizing explosion that made your vision whiten. Your inner walls clamped down on Wooyoung in violent pulses while clenching around San, milking them both.
Feeling you come undone triggered their own releases. Wooyoung cried out your name, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside you. A second later, San let out a guttural roar, his body slamming against yours as he followed, filling you.
The sight and feel of it was too much for Hongjoong. With a final, choked groan, he came, his release hot and thick over your hand and stomach, his eyes locked on the beautiful, debauched mess you all had become.
For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged, shared breathing of four people and the soft. They held you there, suspended between them, a tangled, sweaty, spent heap of limbs and utter satisfaction.
Wooyoung was the first to speak, his voice wrecked “Holy fuck.”
San chuckled, a low, exhausted sound, and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder blade “You’re a fucking goddess, Ji.”
Hongjoong finally moved, grabbing a cloth to gently clean his release from your stomach and hand. His touch was tender, his earlier dominance replaced by a deep, sated affection. He looked at the three of you, a slow, proud smile spreading across his face.
“Now.” He said, his voice husky. “No one is thinking about that bible boy, are they?”
You let out a weak, breathless laugh, collapsing fully onto Wooyoung’s chest. No. The only names in your head, the only feelings in your body, were theirs.
You were theirs.
And in that moment, there was nowhere else you would rather be.
✮
Seonghwa didn’t remember getting back into the car.
One moment you were staring through him like a ghost, the next the door was shutting, and suddenly he was inside a silent, suffocating metal box with his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
He gripped the steering wheel, his fingers were trembling, his vision blurred. A sound crawled out of his throat—half gasp, half sob.
“Fuck… fuck… what did I do…?”
He backed the car up, barely seeing the road. Not because it was dark, but because his eyes were spilling tears faster than he could blink them away.
He had never cried like this. Not in front of anyone. Not alone.
Not ever.
But the image of you standing under that lamppost—cold, hurt, done with him— kept replaying, stabbing deeper each time.
How could he have said those things? How could he have let jealousy—ugly, irrational jealousy—twist his tongue into knives?
You weren’t his real girlfriend. You weren’t his to question. And still he had acted like he had a right to you.
“I’m so fucking stupid.” He choked out, wiping at his face uselessly as more tears came. “I hurt her. I hurt her. I hurt her…”
His chest caved, a raw sob forcing its way out. He pulled over again—he couldn’t drive like this—and buried his face in his palms.
You had trusted him. You had called him sweet names and kissed his jaw and laughed against his neck. You had held his hand like it belonged there.
Instead of protecting that softness, he had crushed it between his insecurities.
“They’re her friends.” He whispered shakily. “She loves them. They’re important to her. And I—God, I made her feel ashamed for that.”
Your voice echoed in his head, cold and steady: “Seonghwa. Leave.”
It shattered him all over again.
“I’m sorry, angel…” He whispered into the dark. “I’m so sorry…”
He clutched the steering wheel again, knuckles white, fighting the urge to turn the car around and beg on his knees for another chance.
You deserved better than the poison he’d spat.
He knew it. He felt it in every jagged piece of his heart. And still… Still, he loved you.
More than was safe. More than was rational. More than he should.
A helpless, desperate admission slipped from his lips: “I’d walk through flames for you…”
The truth burned hotter than the jealousy ever had.
He would. He’d burn himself down to ashes if it meant keeping you warm. He’d strip himself of pride, of ego, of every last defense he had if it meant earning back even a piece of your forgiveness.
He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel “I’ll fix this.” He whispered, voice shaking but resolute. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix us. Just… just don’t leave me behind.”
But you already had. You were in Hongjoong’s orbit now, already being swallowed back into that dangerous, magnetic world of theirs. And he had pushed you right back into it. The realization sent another sob tearing through him.
“I’m sorry, angel… please don’t hate me…”
He sat there in the dark for a long time—crying, breaking, loving you too much—before finally forcing the engine back to life.
The drive home was a blur of streetlights and guilt, each passing glow illuminating the same promise:
He would walk through flames for you. He already was, and he’d keep burning until you let him back in—or until there was nothing left of him but smoke.
·:*¨♱✮♱¨*:·
A soft groan escaped your lips as the morning light filtered through the curtains, painting your eyelids a warm pink. Every muscle ached with a deep, pleasant exhaustion, and your mouth felt like cotton. You were desperately thirsty, ravenously hungry, and so, so tired.
You whined softly, shifting on the mattress—which felt strangely, achingly empty compared to the solid, warm presence that had been wrapped around you all night. But then you felt it: a heavy, warm arm tightened around your waist, pulling you back against a firm chest.
"Morning, babe." San's voice was a sleep-roughened murmur against the back of your neck.
You turned in his embrace, and the sight of him melted the last of your resistance. His eyes were still closed, long lashes fanning over his cheeks, his lips slightly parted in a sleepy pout, his hair a beautiful, chaotic mess.
A soft smile touched your lips, and you couldn't resist leaning in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to his mouth. He hummed, smiling against your lips without opening his eyes.
"Someone woke up in a good mood." He teased, his voice still thick with sleep.
You just hummed in agreement, stealing another soft kiss "Where are those two?"
"Making breakfast." He mumbled, stretching his long limbs with a groan that was pure, unadulterated comfort. "Or trying to. Probably burning the house down."
"And why aren't you helping them, lazy man?" You whispered, tracing the line of his jaw.
He scoffed, finally cracking open one eye to look at you "They didn't want to leave you alone. My job was to be the big spoon. I take my duties very seriously."
"Mmm, sure." You teased, snuggling closer.
"Really. So, let's get you moving. Bath, then food. You had a heavy night, babe." His voice was gentle, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back.
The memory of the fight with Seonghwa tried to surface—the slammed car door, his desperate, tearful pleas—but you consciously pushed it down, focusing on the safety of San's arms.
"Can you help me up?" You asked with a small laugh. "I feel like my bones have been replaced with jelly."
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours "Of course, princess."
In one fluid motion, he swung his legs out of bed and then turned, scooping you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing.
The bath was a quiet, sacred ritual. He ran the water, testing the temperature with his wrist before helping you in. There was nothing sexual about it; it was all tender care. He washed your hair with a focus usually reserved for his most intricate routines, his fingers massaging your scalp until you were boneless with relaxation.
He handed you a loofah and a bottle of body wash, letting you wash yourself while he simply sat on the closed toilet lid, watching you with a soft, contented smile, making sure you were okay.
Afterward, he dressed you in a soft, oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts that belonged to Hongjoong, before pulling on a pair of Hongjoong's sweatpants himself.
Downstairs, the scent of coffee and pancakes filled the air. Wooyoung was at the stove, flipping a pancake with expertise, while Hongjoong leaned against the counter, sipping from a mug.
"There she is." Hongjoong said, his sharp eyes softening as you entered. He set his mug down and crossed the room, cupping your face and pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your forehead. "Morning, pretty."
Wooyoung abandoned the pancake to swoop in, wrapping you in a hug and smacking a loud, playful kiss on your cheek.
"Sleeping Beauty is finally awake! We made you food, your highness."
They ushered you to the table, a plate of perfectly golden pancakes and a fresh cup of coffee appearing in front of you as if by magic. They talked and laughed around you, telling you about the chaos of their morning, their voices a comforting, familiar symphony.
"About the video from last night," Hongjoong said casually, refilling your coffee mug. "I'll edit it today. The lighting and angle was perfect, it'll do great on your page. I just have to cut some parts, edit Woo’s face and mute our names."
You nodded, a real smile finally gracing your lips "Thanks, Joongie."
It was perfect. They were perfect. This was the unconditional, chaotic love you craved.
The rest of the morning passed in a warm, hazy blur. Wooyoung fed you bites of pancake, San refilled your coffee, and Hongjoong’s hand never left your knee, a steady, grounding pressure.
Their love was a fortress, loud and unapologetic, built on a foundation of shared sin and understood chaos. It was home.
But the notification on your phone was a ghost at the feast.
Hwa: I'm so sorry, angel. Please, let's talk.
The word "angel" felt like a shard of glass in your heart. He saw a version of you that only existed in the quiet spaces—the girl who laughed at Lego sets, who blushed at his temple kisses, who he believed was pure. He had no idea that his "angel" had fallen long ago, and had rather enjoyed the descent.
You loved him.
The realization was a quiet, devastating truth amidst the morning's noise. You had liked him for years, a secret flower growing in the dark, and having him by your side felt like a miracle you’d never deserved.
His love was different. It wasn't a fortress; it was a sanctuary. It was gentle, reverent, and it made you want to be better.
But that was the problem, wasn't it? He was a sanctuary. And you… you were a battlefield.
How could you possibly explain to him that your heart wasn't a single throne, but a round table? That you loved the fierce, possessive fire of Hongjoong, the playful, devoted chaos of Wooyoung, the raw, understanding intensity of San? That these loves didn't diminish what you felt for him; they were just… different.
They were parts of the whole, fractured, magnificent mess that was you.
But Seonghwa was too pure. Too fragile. His world was built on scripture and structure. Yours was built on shattered glass and the beautiful things that grew from the cracks.
Keeping him meant lying. It meant hiding the videos, the clubs, the joints, the way your other lovers looked at you. It meant forcing his beautiful, trusting heart to live in the shadows of your life, constantly wondering, constantly insecure.
He didn't deserve that. He deserved a girl who would wear his necklace and only his, who would blush when he held her hand, whose world was as clean and bright as his.
Letting him go felt like tearing out a part of your own soul. It meant giving up the softness, the safety, the one person who made you feel, against all odds, like you could still be good.
The phone screen dimmed, then went black, reflecting your own conflicted eyes back at you.
You were trapped in the wreckage of your own duality. To keep your sanctuary, you had to poison it with lies. To set it free, you had to break your own heart.
And as you sat surrounded by the men who knew every sinful, glorious part of you, you had never felt more alone in your life.
The choice was before you, and there was no right answer—only different kinds of pain.
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