[I don't own these images credits to the original owners]
SFW
Synopsis: Just a cute little piece of domestic Yunho and y/n but with magic. I've wanted to do a Harry Potter AU for so long so I decided why not write one with soft Yunho.
Contains: fluff, husband! Yunho, father! Yunho, Harry Potter terminology, Yunho is a professional Quidditch player because I say so
[Word Count: 2k]
Y/N had been slaving away in the kitchen for most of the morning, preparing a large meal.
Her in-laws were visiting for Sunday lunch and she wanted everything to be perfect.
Her feet ached from standing for so long and even though she knew that she could cut the time it took for her to cook and bake in half with the use of her wand, she was determined to avoid using magic. She'd always firmly believed that food should be made by hand and with love.
As she finally placed the two pies she'd been working on (one of her signature apple crumbles as well as a beautiful blackberry pie) in the oven she felt arms snake around her waist.
She was pulled back into her husband's chest and felt him kiss her neck. She chuckled and turned around in his hold to wrap her arms around his neck.
"What's up? Are you missing me?"
He nodded, "You've been busy all morning. You know you don't have to go through so much effort, my love. My parents love you and would probably be satisfied with meat, rice and that amazing kimchi you always make."
"I know; they've said so before but I still want everything to be perfect. It's not often that they come to visit us in England."
He cupped her face in one of his hands and pecked her lips, "I love you."
She smiled and pecked his lips, "And I love you."
He grinned and pulled her tight against him, leaning in to kiss her properly. She sighed happily against his mouth as she returned the kiss.
They kissed slowly and softly, just enjoying the embrace of their lover and the faint music that Y/n had playing softly in the kitchen to keep her motivated as she cooked.
He ended the kiss all too soon and kissed her nose and then her cheek as he began to slowly rock them to and fro in time with the music.
She rested her head on his shoulder and let herself be swayed, listening to him hum softly to the music.
Their warm, loving bubble was pierced by loud, high-pitched cries.
Yunho and Y/n both sighed heavily at the sound.
"Looks like someone still doesn't like naps," Y/n muttered.
"I think she just gets lonely," Yunho chuckled.
He gave his wife a quick kiss, "You finish up in here, I'll go and take care of Haneul."
"Thank you." Y/n gave him a grateful smile. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, too busy attending to their eighteen-month-old daughter who was still unable to sleep through the night. Usually, she and Yunho took turns to go and check on her but he'd been dead asleep last night and she hadn't had the heart to wake him. Being a professional Quidditch player was taxing sometimes, and he was always exhausted after matches.
Yunho left her to finish up in the kitchen and disappeared down the hall to their daughter's nursery.
It wasn't long before she heard the wails of her baby be replaced with giggles. She smiled to herself; Yunho had always been so good with kids.
She wondered what he'd done this time to get her to stop crying. Last time he'd Accio-ed a chocolate frog into the nursery and set it loose. Not ideal but Haneul had found it very amusing.
She set a timer for the pies and took off her flour-dusted apron before making her way to her husband and daughter.
She'd expected him to be doing something silly like making her toys float around the room like he often did but instead she was greeted by the sight of him sitting on the carpet with Haneul in his lap as his Patronus lit up the room.
She gasped softly as she watched the golden retriever bound through the air, tail wagging and mouth open with silent barks, casting a white-blue glow over the room.
It was beautiful and something she hadn't seen in a long time.
Haneul was mesmerised by the imagery and her little mouth was open and curved into a big smile.
Yunho was smiling too, looking between his Patronus and his daughter's face to watch her reaction.
She'd never seen his Patronus so strong and stunning. It had always been something he struggled with back in the day in school, earning him subpar grades in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
It had never been a case of struggling to find a happy memory; he just had too many and could never really settle on one to focus on specifically. He would flip through his happy memories as if turning the pages in a photo album as he cast his Patronus and the constant changes in thought as he struggled to focus on one specific memory would cause the Patronus to flicker in and out of existence or have it fighting to stay lit up.
She wondered what had changed. Had he been practising or something?
He spotted her standing in the doorway and blushed. His Patronus faltered and then dissipated as he lost focus and looked at his wife.
Haneul let out a squeak of confusion at the sudden disappearance of the doggy she wanted to play with and she looked up at her dad.
He kissed her hair, lifted her and rested her on his hip as he walked over to his wife.
"Hey,"
"Hey," She responded with a soft smile, "That was beautiful, Yu."
"I… Thank you." He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, the tips of his ears red.
"And then? Why are you so coy all of a sudden?"
"Nothing. I suppose it's just been a long time since I cast a Patronus or since you'd seen it." He responded, bouncing Haneul gently on his hip.
"Why would you be shy about it though, darling?"
"I don't know… Your Patronus has always been so vibrant and unique, mine has never really been able to compete."
"Yunho."
"Yeah?"
"I'm not sure if you saw what I just saw but that was the most beautiful Patronus you have ever cast. You would have passed with honours in DADA with that creation."
"You think?"
"Yes, I do. And what do you mean yours could never compare to mine? Honey, my Patronus is a salamander, you know that. I think everyone would much prefer your puppy over mine."
She accompanied the last part with a chuckle and reached out to stroke his cheek.
He smiled softly at her, "But fire-dwelling salamander patronuses are so rare and beautiful."
She waved off his comment.
"I'm curious though, what's changed? You'd always struggled to keep your Patronus alight, but now it's brighter than half those nitwits we went to school with."
"I mean I haven't cast it since it happened but I found a new memory to focus on a few years ago."
"It must be a really beautiful one for your Patronus to manifest like that. Can I ask what you think of?"
His cheeks flushed slightly and his gaze softened as he looked at her. He always looked at her with such love and had ever since before they started dating in fifth year. It never failed to make her heart flutter.
"Our wedding night."
Her heart melted, "Which part?"
"Well, the whole thing I suppose. How beautiful you looked in that wedding gown and how I definitely didn't cry when I heard you say 'I do'. But also afterwards."
Her cheeks flushed. A certain someone had been conceived that night.
They both looked down at Haneul who was looking up at her parents with big doe eyes and her mouth hanging open.
Yunho looked up at Y/N again with a warm grin, "She is one of the best things to happen to us and I'm glad that we decided to have her."
She felt herself tear up, "Have I ever told you how much I love you, you big dummy?"
He gave her a cheeky grin and kissed her, "I don't know, maybe you should tell me again."
She rolled her eyes and gave him a quick peck, "Maybe later when your parents leave and a certain someone is asleep I'll show you."
"Oh?"
She ruffled his hair affectionately.
"Sweetheart, you've never told me what you think of when you cast your Patronus."
"Oh," It was her turn to blush, "Remember our first date to Hogsmeade?"
He grinned at the memories, "Yeah, we wreaked havoc in Zonko's before heading to The Three Broomsticks. How could I forget?"
"Well, I think of that. It was the first time you said 'I love you.'"
His grin widened as the memories came flooding back, "Yes! I remember. It was winter and your nose and cheeks were pink from the cold. You had taken a sip of your warm butterbeer and some of the foam stayed behind on your upper lip. You looked so adorable I couldn't stop the words from falling from my mouth."
She still got butterflies so many years later, "Our first kiss also took place that day. "
"Yup. I had to help you clean that foam up somehow.", He chuckled.
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Their nostalgia was cut short when Haneul decided she wasn't getting enough attention anymore and started crying again.
"Oh no, don't cry, princess." Yunho moved her to let her head rest on his shoulder and rocked her in his arms. She was getting bigger every day but she still looked so small in Yunho's arms.
"Do you want mummy to show you pretty lights like daddy did?"
Haneul probably had no clue what he meant but the soft voice of her dad calmed her a little and she looked up at him through her wet lashes.
Y/N rolled her eyes, "Drama queen."
But she took her wand out from her back pocket nevertheless.
"Expecto Patronum!" She said softly but firmly. Contrary to popular belief, you don't have to yell the spell out like your life depends on it, usually just being firm and having a strong intent works. Unless you're planning on visiting Azkaban anytime soon- yelling might be necessary there. Dementors don't discriminate.
No sooner had she spoken the words, a salamander appeared in the air in a brilliant blue glow.
It swam through the air and twirled as it did so, mock flames rising from it's skin. It was a pretty delightful sight. Haneul and Yunho thought so too, watching it with identical smiles and bright eyes. They looked so alike.
Haneul giggled and pulled Yunho's wand from his hoodie pocket. He took it from her just before she could stick it in her mouth. There were already a few teeth marks on the almond wood handle and his friends and teammates in his Quidditch team teased him every time they saw it.
He moved to hold her on his hip with one arm and held out his wand and conjured up his Patronus with firm words and a swish of his wand.
Haneul clapped her hands together in pure joy as Yunho's Patronus bounced through the air, silently barking as it chased Y/Ns.
Y/N couldn't help the laugh that escaped her as she watched her salamander scramble to get away from the big paws of the golden retriever.
Eventually, she started giggling so much that she lost focus and her Patronus faded away.
He stopped paying attention to his Patronus too, too busy lovingly gazing at his wife.
He wrapped his free arm around his wife, pulling her against his chest. He held both his girls in his arms and pressed kisses to each of their foreheads.
His little family would never lack in happy memories and he would make sure of it.
you feel yourself about to succumb to sleep, eyes heavy and breaths even and the worry that plagues your mind every wednesday night finally withering away.
he’ll be okay.
he always comes back okay.
he’s alive.
the sound of your apartment door slamming shut echoes from the hallway, rousing you from your sleepy state. you feel a sense of relief flood through you because he’s here but it does nothing to mend the knots in your stomach because a part of you knows he’s probably not okay.
heavy footsteps make their way into your room, a face peaking in and surveying your figure in the dark before making their way into the bathroom. you sit up in bed and sigh, raking your hands through your knotty hair before following mingi into the bathroom.
you heart drops when you see him, already shirtless and hunched over the porcelain sink full of red water. each of his knuckles are busted and swollen, the dried blood on them making you feel queasy. he hears you come in but keeps his head down, knowing his face is really gonna make you lose it tonight.
you lean your head against the doorframe, watching him silently as he cleans off his knuckles with just water.
“you should use the peroxide under the sink,” you suggest quietly, as if he hasn’t been tending to cuts and bruises his whole life.
his only response is a shake of the head and you bite your lip so you don’t pester him again to clean them properly. you watch as he roughly wipes the other hand, the white washcloth now stained red and you feel yourself grimace at the pain he’s probably in.
he shuts the faucet, draining the pink water out of the towel before turning around to throw it in the hamper. he stares blankly at the wall for five-seconds, not ready to face you and your reaction because he knows it’s gonna break him.
he finally turns and tears well up in your eyes almost immediately at the sight of his face. his left eye is nearly swollen shut, discolored and bloody with a bruise already forming on his right cheek.
your teary gaze surveys the cut on his eyebrow and it definitely could use a stitch or two.
he looks down at you and swallows the lump in his throat at the sight of you already on the verge of crying.
“hi,” he says simply, quietly, uttering his first words to you tonight.
Summary: Word spreads at your workplace that your husband of not even a year is cheating on you, but is he?
Warnings: MDNI!! 18+, mentions of cheating, mentions of divorce, angst, reader has anxiety, cursing, relationship fight, Somnophilia, make up sex, raw sex,cream pie with lots of cum
When you and Mingi first started dating, you introduced him to your coworkers who you wanted to consider as your friends but in actuality they were very much not. Since introducing him to them they always try to go out of their way to ruin your guys's relationship they always flirted with him, eye fucked him and practically threw themselves at him. He always made sure to remind them that he was yours and whenever he brought up how he didn't like what they did you simply brushed it off as them "being nice" you didn't really have many friends since you were quiet and shy and meeting Mingi was just by some miracle when you became friends with his best friend Yunho who was dating your sister who then introduced you to Mingi.
When you guys got engaged several years later, the tension in the office grew thicker as the girls who tried to steal him away only grew more bitter towards you. The following day after Mingi popped the question, they grabbed your hand to look at the ring, made snarky comments towards you. But since you were doing such a good job at work you refused to quit even after Mingi, your sister and Yunho tried to talk you into it. You insisted it was okay and that it was not hindering your work, but in reality it slowly was.
You and Mingi proceeded to get married despite the protests and he made sure that your coworkers were not there to ruin your special day. You soon moved in together and quickly before you knew it you were coming up on your one year wedding anniversary.
It was marked on the calendar with a little pink heart with yours and his initials as it was tomorrow. You both became extremely busy with work unfortunately that month so the conversation of what you wanted to do hasn't happened yet. Both you and Mingi got home at different times of the day or even sometimes at night depending on what held you up at your jobs. However, you still cooked him dinner and he did the same for you. Both of you never really had quality time recently or even had the energy to have sex since work was draining the both of you. You were outside enjoying coffee at work on the phone with your sister complaining about how the conversation hasn't happened about what you guys want to do in regards to your one year anniversary celebration when one of your nosey coworkers was eavesdropping on the conversation.
When the call ended she raced to the break room/coffee room to gossip about the phone call. "Oh he's definitely cheating on her." One of them said stirring their coffee "it's probably because they haven't had sex in so long so he decided to find a mistress" another said playing with her hair. After gossiping for a half hour, they soon left and decided to go to your office as you were typing aimlessly on the computer completely engrossed in work when they walked over to you one of them leaned against your desk catching your attention.
"Y/n we have to tell you something" you took your hands away from your computer crossing them furrowing your eyebrows not saying anything. "I over heard from someone at Mingi's job that the reason why he's actually coming home late is because he's hooking up with one of his female coworkers." One said casually looking at her overdue manicure as you glanced over at the other two women as they nodded in agreement confused but also thinking how much it makes sense because he never really told you what was going on with work he just simply said
"sorry, busy today won't be home till late"
and sometimes he wouldn't even answer his text messages. At least if you were going to be late you always texted him letting him know.
You stood up from your desk feeling a lump forming in your throat glancing at the picture of you and him that you kept on your desk as your heart started to race and the words of your coworkers were making you feel sick as you quickly left the office hearing the faint sound of them laughing but ignoring and speed walking to your car since it was practically time to leave anyways.
While heading home, you got a text message from Mingi saying "Sorry i'm gonna be late again tonight." You glanced at it as tears prickled in your eyes. You quickly drove to your shared place with Mingi and decided to stay up to confront him. You couldn't eat and definitely couldn't sleep you tried to distract yourself with something on the tv but you couldn't shake the conversation you had with your coworkers.
You were spiraling trying to rationalize that marriage and relationships are about communication and trust but then again, if he WAS cheating, of course he wouldn't say anything.
You were interrupted from your thoughts hearing the sound of keys and the door opening and seeing your husband come in confused looking around his face looked like he hasn't slept in a while. "baby why are you still awake its 11pm?" He questioned slipping off his shoes making his way over to you on the couch you looked down refusing to make eye contact with him your head was spinning with so many different thoughts. He now stood beside you. "Babydoll? Whats the matter?" He gently pushed your hair out of your face noticing tears streaming down. You wiped your face as you exhaled shakily you looked down at your wedding ring without even thinking you took it off placing it on the coffee table. Mingi watched you doing so with a hurt look on his face "What's going on?"
"I found out why you've been staying at work late." You blurted out as he made eye contact with you confusion and hurt all over his face.
"You're seeing someone, right?" You sniffed getting up and making your way to the kitchen trying to pour yourself water as you were trembling from the emotions eating away at you. Mingi shook his head trying to process what he heard and followed you quickly. "You want a divorce then? The day before our one year wedding anniversary?" You barely even spoke above a whisper.
"I'm sorry, what?" He asked offended furrowing his eyebrows trying to read your face as you gripped tightly on the edge of the marble countertop.
You exhaled getting aggravated now
"Answer the question Ming"
Mingi was taking aback by your sudden accusation he was trying to process what was happening while also running on little to no sleep
"What are you even talking about? Why are you suddenly accusing me of cheating on you?!" He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands exhausted trying to understand whats happening
"The late nights, we barely even have time for each other, we don't even make love-" you exhaled as more tears ran down your face your throat felt like it was closing and your chest was in knots he stepped closer to you as you backed away from him.
"Y/n im sorry. I love you more than anything in this lifetime but whoever told you this information is wrong. The reason-"
"THE REASON WE STOPPED HAVING SEX IS BECAUSE YOU'RE BORED OF ME RIGHT?! YOU JUST NEEDED ANOTHER WOMANS PUSSY TO FEEL BETTER! IS THAT RIGHT?!" You yelled catching him completely off guard.
This was a complete shock to him you were always such a quiet soft spoken person you never really yelled unless you were truly upset. He never heard you get loud all the years that you've been dating he laughed in disbelief.
"Oh so you're laughing now?! Is this a joke?!" You spat with anger bubbling up inside you
"Y/n, you're being ridiculous, None of this is true at all!" Then it clicked he sighed rubbing his face "I wish you would stop listening to your stupid coworkers and letting them make me out to be the bad guy here. I'm your husband? They've been pulling shit like this for YEARS remember??" He said annoyed trying not to yell back
You scoffed shaking your head in disbelief as you left the kitchen to go to your room. He was right. But you were too angry to rationalize. he followed quickly but you grabbed his pillow and chucked it at him before slamming the door and locking it in his face. He sighed in defeat turning and making his way back to the kitchen to clean up then making his way to the living room tossing his pillow on the couch and flopping down. Staring up at the ceiling as he heard you quietly sob yourself to sleep sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair upset replaying the fight in his head.
What was said isn't true at all. Why did you believe them over him? I mean it makes sense, he was coming home from work late but it's because his boss keeps piling up work on him and he goes into overtime. And it makes sense because when he's focused on work he doesn't really text as much unlike you who always communicated as to why you were late. He drifted off to sleep before he knew it.
You woke up suddenly feeling cold and uncomfortable you and Mingi never slept without each other since you started dating but you slowly got used to it since he was coming back home by the time you were already asleep. The time read 2:00 a.m. as you got out of bed and went to unlock the door opening it crossing your arms from the cool breeze from the AC walking to the living room to hear Mingi breathing softly sleeping. You walked over to him shaking him gently as he stirred opening his eyes to your glossy eyes "I can't sleep without you." Your voice broke with guilt as your bottom lip trembled tears rolled down your face again.
Mingi sat up rubbing the sleep away from his face "Are we going to be able to talk about this?" He asked standing up you nodded as he grabbed his pillow and lead you to your shared room. You both crawled into bed still sitting up he took a deep breath "The reason why I've been coming home late is because my boss has been piling work on me and it ends up with me having to stay overtime which thankfully I get paid for it, but that doesn't mean I'm cheating on you. He explained grabbing your hand that formally had your wedding ring on it. You looked down feeling guilty about believing your stupid coworkers and not trusting your husband. "I-I'm sorry I reacted the way that I did." You said as he reached in his pocket and put the ring back on your finger. He pulled you onto his lap and kissed you gently "it's okay. I also should have communicated with you." he paused for a second "However, i think it's time we find you a new job though. These coworkers of yours are horrible." He stated you nodded in agreement "Yeah after tonight, I think it's best." You said sighing
There was a brief moment of silence as you both stared at each other. "You tired?" He playfully asked rubbing your thigh as you smiled you opened your mouth to reply when your stomach growled loudly causing your face to heat up in embarrassment. "Did you eat today?" Mingi cocked an eyebrow now in caretaker mode. You sheepishly shook your head "I just had a lot going on today-" you trailed off mid sentence as he got up to go into the kitchen you heard him rummaging through the fridge as he came back with two yogurts and a spoon "Eat" he commanded once you did, he led you into your shared bathroom to brush your teeth and then you both laid back in bed.
He glanced at the clock reading 4:30 a.m. the summer sun was slowly coloring the sky "it's so late" he groaned yawning looking back at you to find you completely knocked out sleeping. He crawled over pulling the blankets over the both of you as he pulled you close "I love you so so much" he whispered kissing your head.
That morning you woke up feeling something weird and wet between your legs. Did you get your period? A wet dream? You blinked focusing your vision not seeing your husband but hearing something under the covers and feeling a tongue on your pussy as you gasped as you took off the blanket to reveal Mingi in between your legs he looked up smiling tired at you kissing your thighs and then pinning you down to kiss you as you tasted yourself on his lips as you both moaned. "This is overdue, let me make it up to you baby." His voice was groggy and deep "I should be the one to. I caused the fight" you stated sitting up cheeks flushed
Mingi kissed you lovingly sliding his hand under your shirt your tongues dancing in each others mouths as you started to feel hot in between your legs. Mingi pulled away for air staring at you with swollen lips smiling lazily you got up and pushed him down so he's laying on the pillows you unbuckled his work pants revealing his bulge in his boxers he groaned desperately as you pulled his underwear down and his cock sprang up leaking precum twitching slightly. You quickly got to work on him jerking him off slightly before taking him in your mouth he groaned thrusting his hips upward into your mouth grabbing your hair to help guide you. "Baby-I-f-fuck its been too long I might cum" he whined as you pulled away with a pop leaving a string of saliva as you immediately got on top of him straddling his waist rubbing his angry tip against your slick folds hissing at the sensation before lowering yourself on him as you both moaned together. It's been too long since the both of you had sex together it almost feels like the first time again.
You slowly sat down further on his cock as Mingi grabbed your hips bottoming out inside you he held you steady as you rolled your hips and bounced on him riding him. Your eyes rolled back as he kept hitting that same sensational spot over and over. You clenched around him not wanting to cum yet as he was losing his mind his eyebrows furrowed trying to keep his control. He soon flipped you on your back putting your legs up on his shoulders as he plowed deeper into you causing you to scream in pleasure because you nor he thought he could go any deeper. His pace quickened as you clenched harder around him "Mingi... I-I can't keep holding on" you whimper as you felt yourself about to snap "Cum with me baby " Mingi breathed as his cock twitched inside of you rubbing your clit desperately as you cried coming undone all over him as he followed after spilling inside of you. You were catching your breath as he still was coming inside you cursing and panting. He stilled as you felt him leaking out of you. When he pulled out he looked as yours and his cum spilled from you more as he quickly went to get a towel cleaning you up. "You never did that before" you said surprised feeling extremely full. He laughed nervously "it's been a while" after he finished cleaning you up he collapsed next to you kissing your cheek. "Happy one year my love, what do you wanna do today?" He asked pulling you close "Can we just stay like this? In bed together?" You said looking at him "if thats what you want, sure we can order food!" He smiled
And thats exactly what you guys did. Watch tv, got diner food and made love over and over. After your anniversary, you and Mingi decided to figure out a better job opportunity for you, since that fight Mingi became more communicative even sent pictures of himself at work to reassure you that you didn't have to worry.
🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.
🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa
🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to friends to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)
🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, explicit language, crying, kissing, car accident, pet names (love, sugar, sweets), mentioned hospital, flashbacks, not beta read
🥊 Wordcount: 12.5K
🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). I just got off work (it's like 10 pm here), so I'm super tired and can barely keep my eyes open. Anyway, this is the last instalment of the Cherry Blossom March Event and while I'm sad it's over, I'm also happy because now I can focus on finishing my other stories!! A big thank you to everyone who took the time out of their day to read, leave notes and comments on my works <3 Btw I am no real estate agent and everything you read in this fic is based on excessive research (which could very well be wrong).
This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of minor injuries as well as matures themes. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!
AO3 Masterpost Moodboard
The arrow inside the plate on your wrist, no bigger than a lighter, irregularly traveled back and forth, going from one end of the meter to the other. For some, it would be worrisome and concerning, but for you, it was the opposite. You had yet to meet your soulmate. The person responsible for the occasional spike in your soulometer — the metal chip showing how much danger your soulmate was in. A mandatory procedure ordered by the government a couple of decades ago, probably one of the dumbest things the rulers of the world ever implemented into society.
“We have thought it over and… We’ll sign the contract!”
You were startled as the couple attending your showing returned from their not-so-private discussion on the other side of the kitchen. The faceless person you were supposedly destined to be with — as much as a machine could decide your destiny — occupied your thoughts more often than not, even while at work.
You put on your million-dollar smile and clasped your hands together. “Perfect. Shall we set a date for you to sign the papers then?”
The couple was expecting and in need of a bigger place than their flat, which could barely fit the two of them. After many buts and ifs, the newly wed pair eagerly agreed and a date was set. You didn’t usually have showings late into the night, but considering the husband worked early mornings until late evenings, and the wife wanted him to be present, you made an exception. Money was money, after all, and you were always in need of it.
Declining their offer to drive you home, you bid the happy couple goodbye and locked up after yourself. The apartment wasn’t too far from your place and you didn't think it would be necessary to order a cab for a ten minute walk despite it being quite late. The stiletto heels you decided to wear that morning made it feel like thirty instead and you quickly regretted being a cheapskate. Why did you have to make your life more insufferable than it already was? You only needed the sky to open up and let a waterfall of rain seep down on Seoul. At least you were smart enough to wear pants and a turtleneck instead of a dress or skirt. Despite it being late March where flowers decorated the bland parks and the trees grew out their long-awaited hair again, it felt like the start of winter.
“This is what you get for listening to Iggy Azalea,” you hissed to yourself as a familiar burn spread through your pinky toes and the back of your feet.
A crazed laughter cut through the chilly air and you automatically reached for the phone in your purse. Setting the ringtone as your best friend’s giggle was a good idea when you were still in high school and just recently turned eighteen. It wasn’t as fun when you were a woman of twenty-something-something years old with an image to uphold and your face plastered on a few boards all through town with your phone number scribbled beneath in big, bold font followed by a text literally begging people to reach out. You swore to change it every time someone called, but the thought always got lost in the shuffle of your other hundred tasks waiting to be done.
You braced yourself for it to be another client calling in the dead of night, but it turned out to be one of your saved contacts. Swiping right and putting the phone up to your ear, you answered with a tired, “Hello.”
“Finally! She answers!”
“Some of us still have work, Hongjoong. Do you know how many times I had to apologize for my ringtone?”
The identical maniac laugh recorded into your phone years ago, erupted from the device and you rolled your eyes.
“And yet you never change it. After all these years, you still have my voice as your ringtone… That’s quite romantic.”
“Watch it or I’ll have a wild Park come for my head.”
“Seonghwa would never do that.” You let the line fall silent and Hongjoong could hear your pointed look on the other side. “Okay, he probably would. Where are you anyways?! I can hear cars in the background.”
So the bass boosted headphones hadn’t ruined his hearing yet. All those times he ignored you were on purpose then. Good to know.
“I’m on my way home from work. Had a showing a few minutes ago and it went well actually.”
Another voice accompanied Hongjoong on the other line, but you couldn’t quite make out the words.
“Seonghwa is scolding you for not calling one of us to drive you home and I have to agree with him, sprout. It’s not safe to be out this late.”
The nickname sent you down memory lane dating all the way back to middle school, when you and Hongjoong were the shortest kids in class but didn’t let that hinder you from showing off your talents and wits. Hongjoong a smart kid who excelled in everything from math to musical history while you burned everyone in debates, presentations, speeches, basically anything relate to public speaking. Hence your choice of profession.
“I know, but it really slipped my mind and it’s not even that far from my flat, I promise. Like I’m almost there, just a few more minutes. I can practically see the building lights from here.”
“Good. Stay with me on the call until you enter though. Now, let me tell you about this guy who tried to steal my laptop…”
If he could, Hongjoong would have talked for hours which was quite rare. The man was usually drained from being cooped up in his studio all day, running on zero sleep and five iced coffees. It was in fact how you became friends.
The kid with round chipmunk cheeks and a menacing smile approached the girl sitting in the back of the class, not making a peep. Hongjoong kicked up a conversation by complimenting the pink bows in your hair — a little detail none of your other classmates had noticed, let alone found them pretty — and offering you a peanut butter cookie that you sadly had to decline because of your allergies. Instead of ending the interaction at your meek thank you, Hongjoong took it as an official proposition of becoming friends. Seven year old Hongjong refused to go back to his seat and even nearly threw a tantrum in class, leaving the homeroom teacher with no other choice than to make you seatmates.
You and Hongjoong quickly became a duo. Wherever you went, he followed. It marked the start of a long lasting friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world.
“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”
You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else.
Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.
“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”
“What? Why? What happened?”
“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”
“...You sure?”
“Yes, one hundred percent.”
“Okay. Talk to you later then.”
You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.
Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.
“Mingi?”
He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips.
“Long time no see, huh?”
Your eyes darted all over him. Red and blue blemishes covered almost the entire surface of his face and trickles of sweat ran down the side of his face. You didn’t want to think what hid beneath his clothes.
The last time you saw him was all the way back in high school. A scrawny boy with legs for days, but the coordination of a newborn foal and a smile that lit up your world. The man before you grew into his big features and lost the youthful look. The pointy nose and plump lips were still there, but accompanied by prominent cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a piercing gaze and a chiseled face that wasn’t the shape of a triangle. His hair, once black and short, was now a dark shade of brown and longer than ever, reaching below his nape and bangs falling over his brows. A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue.
Ignoring the bitterness pooling in your stomach, you decided to keep the conversation civil. A stark contrast to how your last encounter went.
”Are you… alright?”
“Yeah, no, I was on my way home, but just needed to sit down…”
You weren’t going to pry despite clearly seeing he was anything but alright. If he didn’t want to tell you, who were you to force him?
Offering him a light smile, you tried keeping the tone light. “What are the odds of you sitting on my doorstep, huh?”
“Yeah… How long has it been since…”
“Four? Five? Five years.”
Mingi whistled lowly and a silence occupied the street. Everyone decided to stay in as no cars or other people lingered around. You wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t pleasant either and you didn’t know what to do. Leaving him out in the cold wasn’t an option, but inviting him didn’t sound right either. After a long fight between your brain and heart, you decided to listen to the beating organ in your chest.
“Wanna… come up? To my apartment.”
Mingi looked up at you through his fringe and the soft roundness to his eyes teleported you back to high school. Keeping your composure, you hastily added on to the sentence.
“T-To, to clean up and maybe have something to eat?”
Had someone asked you five years ago what you’d say to Mingi if the opportunity presented itself, you surely wouldn’t have invited him to your home or offered him a free meal. The most he’d get out of you would be a one-finger salute. Fast forward one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days and Mingi was lent a helping hand instead. It was enough time for you to mature into a more rational woman who could, for better or for worse, put her feelings aside and think with her brain.
Mirrors surrounded the entire inside of the elevator, even on the doors, and you held back from laughing at the reflection. There couldn’t have been an odder pair than you two. Mingi, dressed in all black with colorful blotches decorating his intimidating face, and you, wearing designer from head to toe. Even your bags were opposites — his a dingy gym bag that was a thread away from falling apart and yours from the recent Louis Vuitton collection. It was quite a funny look, but not a bone in your body vibrated with glee.
As the elevator doors closed and the mechanism carried you up the many flights of stairs, the reality dawned upon you. A multitude of questions you hadn’t thought of before inviting Mingi inside popped up like mosquitoes during summer nights — annoying, but unavoidable. The poor attempt of convincing yourself it was just a kind gesture, a friend helping a friend, you couldn’t shoo away the nagging fact that nothing of your and Mingi’s past was platonic. Shame and guilt curled in the pit of your stomach. Knowing your soulmate was out there somewhere, probably waiting for you, while you were cozying up to a man who wasn’t meant to be yours in the first place was sickening.
The ding of your arrival sounded through the speakers and you quickly went first with Mingi hot on your heels. Unlocking your front door, you threw the keys in a bowl the shape of a fish — a housewarming gift from Hongjoong — and stripped your outerwear. It was first when you put your stuff aside that you realized Mingi was still standing by the door and hadn’t moved since crossing the threshold. The man was shamelessly taking in his surroundings and you wondered what he thought of your apartment. Was it to his liking? Did it suit you? Did he like it? Why did you care?
“Uhm, you can just hang your stuff here,” you gestured to the coat rack mounted to the wall, “while I get dinner ready.”
You didn’t wait around to see him subtly nod, instead you made an escape to the safety of your kitchen. It was weird having Mingi over. It was weird being civil to one another. The tension was still there since your last encounter, like static in the air that wouldn’t really go away. The soft pad of feet grew louder and you threw a look over your shoulder to see Mingi in the doorway, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes darting all over the place. Aside from his appearance, it seemed that his habits hadn’t changed — good as bad — but it wasn’t your place to pry. Not anymore.
“Is it alright if I… wash up now?”
A heat crawled up your neck and attacked your cheeks. “Y–Yeah, of course!” You cleared your throat and continued, “The bathroom is on the left of the hallway and there are towels in the cupboard above the washing machine.”
Mingi nodded, but didn’t budge from his spot. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and leaned against the doorframe to take on a relaxed posture, yet he looked anything but relaxed.
“I… I– Uhm, don’t… I kinda don’t have a spare set of clothes to change into…”
“Oh… Oh!”
“Yeah,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth, a low hiss escaping as he tried to ignore the stiff atmosphere.
“That’s alright! I think I have something you can use. Uhm, you can start washing up while I see what I can do.”
Rummaging through your closet for your brother’s clothes to lend Mingi wasn’t something you ever imagined doing in all your years of living, but here you were. Hunched over, searching like a madwoman for an extra hoodie and some basketball shorts or a pair of sweatpants that wouldn’t be too small on the giant currently occupying your bathroom. Your brother had been in your apartment a grand total of three times and by some stroke of luck, he’d left behind clothes he thought might come in handy for his next visit. Who knew they’d be useful for more than just that?
You didn’t find a hoodie, but you did spot a black compression shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants that would have to do. You just hoped they wouldn’t be too tight. To be on the safe side, you even snagged one of your brother’s boxers. It was one thing to share clothes and another thing to share underwear, but if you got to choose, you’d happily accept the fresh pair instead of reusing your sweaty undies. The choice was up to Mingi in the end. With the clothes neatly folded in your hands, you marched toward the bathroom and triple knocked on the door.
“Uh, I found some clothes you can use!”
The harsh drops of the shower abruptly stopped and you patiently waited for a response, but nothing came. You raised your hand, fingers balled into a fist, and as you swung it forward to knock again, the door suddenly opened. A cloud of steam escaped from the hot bathroom and Mingi’s very naked body appeared in the slight opening. His stomach was a perfect display of muscle, each of the six abs sculpted like marble. You would’ve ogled longer hadn’t the raspberry and plum colored blemishes covered a huge part of his toned skin. His hair dripped on the tiled floor and a white towel hung dangerously low on his hips. The warmth tickling your whole body evaporated into a numbing cold at the bruises. Swallowing nervously, you forced your eyes back up.
Mingi flicked his head sideways to move the wet strands from his face and his tongue darted out to lap at his dry lips, a motion you followed attentively. The raise of his brow, a silent question urging you to speak up, had you stumbling over your words.
“S–So, I... I, uh, found something you can… change into!”
The clothes were thrust harshly into his bare chest, and Mingi nearly dropped the towel in order to catch them. Before he could utter so much as a "thanks," you bolted back to the kitchen and whipped out leftovers from last night. Anything to keep you busy and distracted from the jaw-dropping image that refused to leave you alone. Mingi eventually joined you in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter beside the stove, where you guarded the kimchi stew from overheating, and crossed his arms over his chest. The already prominent muscles grew more defined beneath the tight fabric. It was difficult to ignore his gaze peering down at you, and you couldn’t decide if your cheeks flared from a natural bodily reaction or from the heat of the stove.
The circular table behind you was already set, with a pair of utensils and plates aligned opposite each other. You removed the pot and placed it in the center of the table, silently beckoning Mingi to take a seat. His hair was still wet, but not dripping and despite wearing clothes, you couldn’t muster up the courage to look him in the eyes. The late dinner was done in a deafening silence interrupted by the clink of utensils and lip smacking. Not able to bear the thickness in the air, you cleared your throat and asked the first thing to pop up in your mind.
“Um… do you... want me to treat your bruises?”
The confidence you spent years mastering and using in your daily life deflated like a dramatic balloon flying around the room until it fell limply on the floor. Mingi was mid shoving food into his mouth and froze as soon as the words reached his ears. His lips were parted enough for you to catch a glimpse of his slightly crooked front tooth and a wave of nostalgia hit you square in the nose. The man before you had changed so much, yet not at all.
Mingi took a bite of the kimchi and rice to buy himself time to think your proposal over. It wasn’t a bad shout as you did have experience treating his wounds considering you were the one tending to him back in high school. He slowly chewed and swallowed, and you were starting to regret ever opening your mouth.
“Sure,” he answered while giving his full attention to the bowl of stew before him and you couldn’t have been more relieved. He didn’t have to see the way you bit the inside of your cheek, tightly gripped your spoon or raised your brows to your hairline.
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence and for once, you didn’t care if it wrapped around your throat and suppressed the air from entering your lungs. This was all so surreal. There wasn’t a day where you thought you’d be eating left-over kimchi stew with your ex-boyfriend and then agree to treat his wounds — the thing that drove you apart all those years ago. The universe worked in a funny way. Instead of bringing you closer to your soulmate, it led you straight to the past.
Putting the bowls in the sink, you gestured for Mingi to return to the bathroom while you put away the dishes. It hadn’t dawned on you that by helping Mingi treat his wounds, you’d have to merge your personal bubbles into one and actually touch him, even if it was as much as a graze of your fingertips along his skin.
Rounding the corner of the hallway and stopping before the entrance to the bathroom with a medkit in your hands, you were caught off guard by the image before you. Mingi was seated on the toilet lid, hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs. You could see the top of his head — something you rarely did back in high school — as he faced the tiled floor. A swoop in your stomach urged you to run your fingers through his strands, but the impulse was quickly shut down. You stepped into the bathroom with feigned confidence. Mingi looked up as your sock-clad feet came into view, your big toes wiggling nervously. You placed the kit on the sink and grabbed the things you needed, starting with alcohol wipes. There wasn’t much you could do about the colored bruises already turning an ugly shade of yellow and purple, but the few cuts — like the one on his bottom lip and around his eyebrows — were easier to treat.
“This may sting,” you whispered, shuffling closer to him.
Mingi parted his legs to give you better access to his face. You put a finger beneath his chin and tilted it upward before gently dabbing the wipe against his brow ridge. A hiss filled the bathroom, but you didn’t stop cleaning the wound. Despite not being in this situation since high school, when Mingi would get his ass beat in the boxing ring and show up at your door with new cuts adorning his face every other weekend, you still remembered all the steps of the treatment. They were etched into your spine and controlled your limbs without a strain.
Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your brows almost touching from how deeply furrowed they were and Mingi wanted to smooth out the skin between them, but did no such thing. Instead, he diverted his attention elsewhere and focused on your lips, which he’d argue was the worse choice of the two. Scooping a generous amount of ointment on a Q-tip, you dabbed it on the cut and finished it off with a small band-aid that smoothly blended in with his hue. You tried to put off treating his lips, but apparently even Mingi had a limit to how many punches to the face he could take, and you eventually had to bite the sour apple and just get it over with.
It had been silent since you warned him about the sting from the alcohol wipes, broken only by a few of his grunts and hisses. Yet, the silence never felt as loud as it did in that moment when you cupped his chin in your left hand and stared intently at his plump lips. A determined heat swirled in your eyes and Mingi couldn’t look away. It took everything in him not to instinctively bite down on his bottom lip or run his tongue over it.
“Relax your lips,” you said, brushing your thumb along the bottom row.
You didn’t realize what you had done until a second later and Mingi couldn’t chuckle at your appalled expression, as he was equally frozen in place. Both of you were left wide-eyed, mouths hanging open and brains going haywire. A pleading sparkle glimmered in his dark eyes, but you refused to give in, keeping your focus on his lips — lips that were so kissable. Warmth washed over you and there was nothing you wanted more than for the ground to swallow you whole. The weight of his burning eyes was too heavy for you to bear, so you tried to redirect the attention by doing the one thing you did best — talking.
“Are you still fighting?”
It seemed to do the trick as Mingi broke out of the captivating spell. In an exhausted tone, the one you’d hear between a couple constantly bickering and reaching their end, he breathed out your name.
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
You hastily applied the ointment and retracted your hand, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed your wrist, his thumb landing on the soulometer in the quick act and an electric crackle burst where your skin connected. A beat or two passed before he decided to speak up.
“I am fighting, just not as much… I kinda feel bad for my soulmate.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint smirk and a chuckle followed at his poor attempt of easing the awkward air.
Your heart dropped into your stomach and you didn’t think it was possible for it to go any further from there, but hearing the rest of his sentence proved you wrong. Before the hollow feeling could reflect on your face, you forced the corners of your lips up in a fabricated smile. An identical smile to the one caught in a multiple of billboards all over Seoul.
“I wish mine would do the same. They always seem to find themselves in some trouble.”
A thick gulp ventured down his throat and the shaking panic in his eyes morphed into a forced calm. “I’m sure if they knew you were this worried, they’d stop running headfirst into danger.”
Five years had passed since the soulometer was injected into your wrist, enough time for your soulmate to change their ways, to stop giving their other half constant fear every night. Yet, it wasn’t the distance or the lack of knowledge about each other’s lives that weighed on your heart. The true reason lay deeper — your soulmate simply didn’t care enough to stop or perhaps they lacked the means to break free from the dangerous path they’d chosen. It was never about being physically apart, but about the emotional distance — the helplessness of knowing that, despite everything, they continued to surround themselves with danger. You didn’t have the heart to confide in Mingi about it, to express the quiet ache you carried, because saying it aloud would mean admitting that the person you loved was still caught in a cycle they couldn’t escape, or didn’t want to.
Truthfully, Mingi was also the last person you wanted to confide in about the matter.
“I guess so.”
The brief and accidental encounter with Mingi was supposed to stay a long lost media in your brain, cluttered together with other minor memories. That was what you told yourself as Mingi left your apartment, sweaty clothes in a trash bag and belly full of warm leftovers. The version of him you remembered from all those years ago still lived on in your imagination, the bitter note of how everything ended, a constant reminder as to why the encounter should just be that — short, consistent and insignificant. As the morning sun peeked from between the high buildings and the dark sky bleed out to a baby blue hue, you’d return to your everyday life of selling apartments while the dishwasher rinsed the memory of what occurred in the space of your four walls.
The open PDF on the computer screen illuminated your face and the bazillion numbers would’ve been overwhelming if your mind wasn’t occupied by the thoughts of a certain man with feline-shaped eyes and annoyingly juicy lips. Whatever you did — drown yourself in work, spend time with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, try out the new restaurant in town — nothing was good enough to forget Song Mingi and that night. The situation just felt so right. A domestic reality you yearned for since you graduated high school and moved into your own flat. The wish to have someone by your side, to stuff your face in greasy food, stay up late at night and watch a plethora of rom-coms while cuddled up to them, and sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Mingi re-awakened those feelings you locked away in a chamber behind your heart.
A stack of papers fell on your desk with a thud and pulled you out of your wishful thinking. Jongho, your freakishly strong colleague, plopped down on a vacant plush sofa that was mainly there for clients to use while discussing potential deals.
“You excited to get drinks after work?” He asked, tugging on his perfectly made necktie.
You massaged your forehead, completely having forgotten about the collective outing you and your co-workers had every month. “Is that today?”
“Whoa, don’t tell me you, the most unforgettable person I know, forgot about our end-of-the-month-party!? Woo is gonna have a blast when I tell him!”
Jongho didn’t question your sudden loss of memory at first. The younger agent found the situation perfect for a round of teasing or perhaps even as future blackmail material. Concern flashed in his eyes when you made no attempt to defend your honor and instead buried the rest of your face in the palms of your hands.
“Hey… is everything… alright?”
“Yeah… No? I don’t know.”
Something was really wrong because you were never tired. In fact, Jongho had never seen you without a smile or a spring in your step. You were always collected, whether it was your clothes, hair or mood. Fire alarms went off in his head and plans be damned if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was going on. It was easier said than done, though, because he didn’t know how to approach the topic and ended up sitting there with his mouth parted like a fish out of water. The overthinking was starting to trigger a headache, so he settled on the simplest, but hopefully, most effective question he could think of.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No.” Your reply was instantaneous. “I need to not think about it.”
A mischievous gummy smile spread across his face. “You just signed yourself up for regret, my dear friend.”
As you were about to ask to elaborate, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out for the biggest menace in the company.
“Wooyoung-ya!”
Albeit curious, the pair didn’t try to fish out context clues or the story behind your emotional state. Wooyoung lived up to Jongho’s promise of making you regret joining them for drinks and it didn't stop there. They both continuously visited your office throughout the rest of the shift. Wooyoung would nonchalantly enter the room as if he didn’t have anything up his sleeve, step up to the window and inspect the wilted plant burning up from being in the sunlight for too long, when he was actually throwing you curious glances from the corner of his eye. Then, before quickly taking his leave, he’d subtly slide you a packet of gummies and run as if his life depended on it. One would believe you were engaging in some shady transaction that would definitely make you both lose your real estate license.
Jongho was a different story. The youngest of the trio wasn’t good with his words, but the affection could be read through his actions. Although they were questionable. He, too, invaded your room in subtle fashion and touched everything that didn’t require human contact — your Sanrio figurines, picture frames, ornaments still up from Christmas. While it was annoying in the moment, their antics kept you from circling back to the one person who had made his grand return after five years of radio silence. Good thing you hadn’t planned on rekindling that flame ever again. But what was written in your calendar didn’t align with the universe.
The happy hour had ended a while ago, and while Jongho and Wooyoung made sure to get you home first, your stomach rumbled the second you stepped foot into the apartment. What better meal to have in a tipsy state than some ramen?
The trip to the corner shop was supposed to be quick and relaxing — a weak attempt to distract yourself from the headache blooming at the back of your head. Perhaps that was why you weren’t fully aware of your surroundings, stumbling into racks displaying different flavors of chips and accidentally knocking things out of place. You purposefully ignored the scorching gaze of the cashier and hastily moved to hide between the aisles. But what you didn’t expect was for another figure to round the opposite corner, causing you to bump headfirst into them. The ramen cups and energy drinks piled up in their basket tumbled to the floor, and you quickly crouched down to gather as many things as your arms would allow.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
The person didn’t say anything and you expected them to be very annoyed, but that wasn’t the case. The familiar face looking down at you with a tight-lipped smile caused you to freeze on the spot.
“Hey.” Mingi flared his fingers in what was supposed to resemble a wave, but it came off more awkward than intended.
A painful cramp fluttered at the back of your neck as the position wasn’t the most comfortable, your head craned uncomfortably as you looked up at him, the strain making it feel like it might snap at any moment. Yeah, the university wasn’t on your side.
“Here.”
He knelt down to be at your level, though it would never really match, and urged you to place the belongings in the basket. It was impossible to tear your eyes from him, but Mingi didn’t notice your stare as he gathered the unscattered snacks and drinks in the carrier. Once was a coincidence, twice is a pattern, you thought and swallowed thickly.
“Alright, let’s stand up.”
He rested his arm on his propped-up knee, while the other hand was held out for you to take. On a count of three, you both stood up simultaneously and your hand immediately returned to your side.
“What are you doing here?”
The question came off more like an interrogation than a casual inquiry and you winced at your loose tongue. Mingi didn’t seem to care though.
“Nothing much, just wanted a late night snack.” As if you didn’t understand, he grabbed one of the ten ramen cups in his basket and gently shook it. The contents rattling together and overpowering the whirring sound of the freezers. “What about you?”
“Ah, same here…”
Mingi glanced down at your empty hands and smacked his lips together, “Cool.”
“Yeah…”
The young cashier who couldn’t be older than a high school graduate nearly suffocated from the sudden thickness in the convenience store.
“Uhm, you gonna get anything?”
“What? Oh! Right! Let me just…” You trailed off and darted over to the refrigerators, grabbing the first thing that came into view.
You snagged a bag of shrimp chips on your way back too. Banana milk and shrimp chips, what a combination! The reasons for your late-night adventure had started with the craving for ramen, but somewhere between the aisle mishap and the distraction of other snacks, the noodles had been completely forgotten. In the meantime, Mingi moved over to the cashier register and patiently waited for the kid to scan his items.
You shuffled behind him and Mingi turned sideways, one of his brows cocked up. “Here, give me that.”
Before you could protest or dodge his advances, the items in your hands were stolen from beneath your nose and placed on the counter.
“Hey, no, I can pay for that.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Mingi–”
“I said don’t worry about it.” There was a certain finality to his tone that told you there was no point in further arguing. Mingi swiped his card as the cashier packed your things in two separate plastic bags.
Standing outside the Seven-Eleven, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, the handles of the bag clinging to your wrist. “You didn’t have to do that. I can pay for myself.”
Mingi’s breath escaped in a cloud of vapor, lingering in the cold air before it dissolved into the sky. The corner of his mouth lifted into a one-sided grin.
“I know.”
Never letting you pay for anything was just another addition to the long list of habits he still clung to since high school. Mingi really hadn’t changed, and you couldn’t deny the disappointment that settled in as you witnessed it.
“Good. Then I’m leaving now. Good night.” You turned on your heel and began walking in the direction of your home.
“W–Wait! Let me walk you home.”
You didn’t spare him a glance. “No need for that. This is one of the safest neighborhoods in Seoul, actually.”
Another ‘I know’ died on his lips. If anyone on this earth knew how out of danger you were, it would be Mingi.
“T–That’s good, but... it would help me sleep at night if I knew you got home safely.”
After all this time, you still had a hard time telling him no. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat, your resistance crumbling despite yourself. “Fine, you can walk me home.”
The walk was short, but lasted longer than ever and you were regretting your choices of not standing your ground against him. You would never admit it out loud, but his dimpled smile and two moles were your greatest weakness and there was no way you’d ever win against them.
Mingi cleared his throat. “What have you been up to? You know, since high school.”
“Have you thought about what college to apply for?” Mingi asked and intertwined his fingers across his abdomen.
“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully.
You lay on the grass, staring up at the night sky. The black canvas was dotted with a million, billion stars, leaving no space untouched. It had been Mingi’s idea to go stargazing, but considering neither of you had a driver’s license or the energy to trek up a mountain in the middle of the night, you figured the view wouldn’t be any different from your backyard.
He turned to you and followed the outline of your profile. God, you were beautiful. “Really? How come?”
“I don’t know. I feel like there are so many options, like how will I know what’s good for me.”
“Whatever you choose, sugar, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Now it was your turn to face him and he flashed you a reassuring smile.“Sometimes, the best choice is the one that feels right in the moment.”
“...Being with you feels right.”
Nothing could compare to back then. Sure, you experienced fleeting moments of happiness, but they didn’t last longer than the life of a snowflake. Did Mingi ask that to see if you were still stuck in the past? If your time together was the peak of your happiness? He didn’t get to do that. To slither his way into your heart and admire everything you had been through without him by your side.
“Nothing special. I’m a real estate agent, so I’ve been busy selling houses and apartments.”
“Nothing special my ass. That’s amazing. But what is expected of the smartest girl in our high school, huh? I always knew you’d achieve great things.”
Blood pooled beneath your cheeks, burning hotter than a fever of thirty-nine degrees, and you hated how, despite everything, he still turned you into a giddy high school girl who made eye contact with her crush. To be fair, it wasn’t too far from the truth and that was a scary realization on its own. All it took was a measly compliment and you turned to mush.
“What about you? What are you doing these days?”
A silence stretched between you far heavier than anything you had ever felt before. It was as if the question had torn through some fragile barrier, leaving him exposed. His eyes, once sharp and filled with glee, now seemed distant, as though searching for something lost. You could feel the weight of the pause, like a storm brewing in the space between you. What was he really doing these days? More importantly, what had he been doing all this time out of your reach?
“A little bit of everything. Anything I can get my hands on, really.”
“You didn’t study after high school?”
“You know school wasn’t my strongest suit. Stuffy classrooms and obnoxious teachers talking my ear off never got me anywhere, I mean, I barely passed high school. I was more comfortable with my hands in motion and figuring things out as I went. School was ever it for me. It always felt like I was waiting for something that never came.”
Mingi wasn’t wrong. Although he was a smart kid, staying awake studying until the dead of night and then working an underpaid nine-to-five job wasn’t for him. But you couldn’t shake away the bitterness of how he threw away the opportunity of a normal life with you for a bloody ring and a life of unpredictability. The punches he took in that world weren’t just physical — they hit somewhere deeper, somewhere you couldn’t reach. You had always wanted something more stable, something real to hold on to, but Mingi had chosen the chaos, the fight, over everything else. Perhaps that was why the universe decided not to tie your red string to his pinky, knowing it would hurt you more than his decision.
Coming to a stop outside your apartment, the memory of your first encounter after a few years still fresh in your mind.
“Like boxing?”
Mingi’s eyes softened, but he didn’t speak, his mouth pressing into a thin line. The silence between you both was heavy, filled with things unsaid. It was the kind of silence that made your heart ache, knowing that there was so much left unresolved between you, yet you couldn’t find the words to fix it.
“Good night, Mingi,” you finally said, taking a shaky breath as you turned back to your door again.
The finality in your tone hung in the air like a weight neither of you could lift. You didn’t look back as you reached for the door handle, but you knew Mingi was still there, standing in the same place, holding onto the same regrets.
Reaching your apartment, you flicked on the lights and quickly discarded your outerwear. You turned on the switches in every room and placed the bag of goods on the kitchen table.
Disappointment fueled every movement. Grabbing a pot from the lower cupboard, you filled it with water, not caring as it splashed everywhere. When you set it down on the stove, you didn’t bother being careful, letting it thud onto the surface. You waited — oh-so-patiently — for the water to reach its boiling point and shoved a hand into the plastic bag. The expected rustling of plastic and cold drinks didn’t come. Instead, you felt the hard, smooth texture of something else. Knitting your brows together, you took hold of the square object, no bigger than a container of pudding.
In your palm was a plastic box of peeled and cut oranges.
Your head rested on your folded arms, eyes cast on the baby-blue sky taunting you from behind the windows. It was a beautiful day. What a shame you were stuck in a room with thirty other kids and no air conditioning. Your homeroom teacher was late — an uncanny occurrence, considering she always emphasized the importance of being on time and never failed to follow through. Until today.
The door to the classroom slid open with a thud, but the class had yet to quiet down, and by that single reaction, you knew it wasn’t Ms. Choi who had entered. The previously loud chatter of your friend group turned into hushed whispers and skittish snickers that reached your ears, but you didn’t bother to see what had gotten them so giggly. It was probably Jihoon, the new boy in class, who effortlessly managed to twirl every girl around his finger with just a look. He wasn’t your type — you preferred them tall, lanky, and clumsy. Jihoon was on the shorter side and had muscles that seemed unnatural for a sixteen-year-old. Plus, you weren’t into soccer boys. No, your style was more martial arts.
A hand, twice the size of yours, appeared out of nowhere and placed a clementine — your favorite fruit — on your desk, just inches from your face. Your eyes widened, staring at the bright fruit in disbelief. Groggily, you pushed away from the comfortable spot against the desk, only to quickly notice the figure looming over you.
Song Mingi.
“You skipped lunch,” he stated nonchalantly, offering an explanation for the sudden appearance of the fruit.
The muffled squeals of your friends, combined with Mingi’s unexpected act of chivalry, sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered and unsure of how to react. Gift-giving and small acts of service weren’t foreign between you and Mingi. He always seemed to know your cravings, bringing you peeled fruit and sugary snacks without you ever having to ask. In return, you tended to his cuts, massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders after heavy training, and always seemed to find ways to care for him without words. But that was done in private, never in public. Especially not in front of your friends who were having a field day with his new revelation.
“Ah,” Mingi breathed out, picking up the orange once more.
Silently, he peeled off the thin skin, revealing the vibrant fruit hidden beneath. But he wasn’t done yet. With a casual movement, he stuffed the citrus-scented rind into the pocket of his school uniform before carefully removing the white pith wedged between the clementine’s segments. You didn’t like the white parts. His towering form caught the attention of the rest of the class and by now everyone intently watched the exchange.
The clementine looked bare now. He held out the fruit again, waiting for you to extend your hand, careful not to let it touch the surface of your desk. A yellowish stain colored his nails, a discoloration that wouldn't fade with just one wash, and the acidic smell lingered, even stronger now. It was the main reason you didn’t like peeling them in the first place.
Mingi, having heard your confession a few weeks ago, made it his mission to always give you peeled oranges. It warmed your chest to know he was keeping that promise.
Apparently, the universe wasn’t satisfied with your first and second encounters because the third one happened just a little less than a week later. You were meeting up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa at a nearby cafe to catch up on the hecticness of your lives — also known as gossip about your workplaces and bonding over the latest episode of When Life Gives You Tangerines. The name of the drama threw you down a steep hill of memories, but you stood up, dusted off your knees and trekked back up. You didn’t want to associate him with the family of fruit anymore.
The clock had just passed five-thirty AM and you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. It didn’t help that you hit every red light possible. At least the weather was nice. Not a single cloud occupied the baby-blue sky and the spring breeze scattered butterfly kisses along your body. It could’ve been worse. You thought of gloomy clouds and cold rain, and immediately shuddered. Yeah, it definitely could’ve been worse.
The breath caught in your throat as a bus sped by, just a little over the limit. You exhaled in relief as it passed, but that relief was short-lived when you locked eyes with none other than Mingi on the other end of the sidewalk. It felt as if the universe were laughing in your face, throwing everything you didn’t want right at you. You’d take gloomy clouds and rainy weather over seeing Mingi again. The worst part was that it was a lie because even in the stormiest times, he managed to light up your surroundings, and the erratically beating heart in your chest served as your witness.
A black hoodie swallowed his towering frame and a pair of chunky headphones covered his head. You couldn’t see him that well, but you assumed the shining reflection around his collar was from his stacked necklaces. The cuts along his face had healed nicely — in fact, they were completely gone — and you wondered if your last encounter had anything to do with it or if he had just gotten better at dodging flying fists.
You always seemed to end things on a bitter note, yet you ignored the sourness on your taste buds and raised your hand in a small wave. He returned it with a tight-lipped smile and a subtle tug of his headphones, letting them rest around his neck instead. Mingi bit down on his bottom lip, seemingly contemplating something. Coming to terms with his thoughts, he raised a finger, wordlessly telling you to wait and threw a quick glance at the red light as if it would hurry up from a single look. Although you had every right to ignore him, you just couldn’t. You had always been weak when it came to him, never really able to tell him no and it appeared some things just never changed.
Mingi’s face lit up as the light turned to green. The man was so eager to cross the street — to get to you — that he didn’t bother checking both sides before walking out. Unlike the others, he missed the speeding vehicle zooming through multiple red lights and showing no signs of stopping. You felt it before you saw it. The spike in your left wrist, the rush of the arrow sky rocketing from zero to a hundred. Your legs moved on their own before you could form the first letter of his name. One moment you were rooted to the ground, eyes wide and mouth parted, and in the next you harshly collided with Mingi, hoping your spurt of strength was enough to knock him off balance and away from the dangerous metal chunk on wheels.
The world didn’t stop spinning, but time slowed down as Mingi fell backward. His hand came up to cradle your head, while the other slithered around your waist. Your own arms were pressed against his chest from the push you gave him. The landing was harsh, but Mingi took most of it as his back slammed against the pavement and your face became buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. The passersby approached you with questions of worry and concern, their faces etched with confusion and anxiety at the entire situation. Everyone was a bit shaken up at the tragedy that could’ve been. Your body refused to cooperate and the only thing you could do was tangle your fingers into the material of his hoodie, clinging to it for dear life, trying to distinguish reality from imagination. How cruel — he had just returned to your life, only to almost be taken out of it again, permanently.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, his fingers massaging your scalp as the other hand scrunched up the back of your shirt.
A stutter of words slipped out, none of which Mingi could make sense of. He sat up, trying to get a better look at you, but you refused to part from the comfort of his chest. You didn’t need to see it to know your soulometer had calmed down — you felt it in every fiber of your being. Your soulmate was safe, and you were too, now that you were in the arms of a living, breathing Mingi.
“Please, sweets, I need to know if you’re alright.”
Desperation dripped from his voice like sticky honey falling from a dipper and it struck sharply in your core, bringing you back to the present.
“Okay,” you mumbled against his clothes, just loud enough for it to reach his ears and Mingi exhaled in relief. He pressed a kiss on your hairline and your heart fluttered at the domestic gesture.
A couple of strangers offered to call an ambulance, but Mingi waved them off, saying it wasn’t necessary and that no one was harmed — just a bit shaken up. He thanked them nonetheless and it did the trick as the crowd dissolved, the people returning to their everyday life, but with a story to slap down on the dinner table.
Mingi placed a palm beneath your left thigh as the other went around your waist to keep you sturdy as he got up from the pavement. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
It didn’t matter how much you wanted to tell him to let you down, that you could walk on your own and didn’t need a chaperone — the words wouldn’t roll off your paralyzed tongue. Feeling the stares of strangers burn into you, you hid your face in the crook of his neck and didn’t pull away until you were safely in your apartment. The entire journey home, you tried to wrap your head around the event: the near-death experience, your body taking over while your mind went slack, the sudden spike in your soulometer. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t reached Mingi in time — if you were just a second too late, if you hadn’t noticed the car. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pressed your lips together to distract yourself from the tears threatening to soak Mingi’s hoodie.
You needed a distraction from the what-ifs, and you needed one pronto. Trying to focus on something other than Mingi being flattened by that stupid car, you racked your brain for something, anything else, when it suddenly hit you. In all the seven years you had your soulometer, it had never even grazed, let alone pushed hard against the other end of the scale.
Back inside your apartment, you plopped down on the sofa and dropped your head into your hands. A throbbing ache pulsed through every part of your head, and the constant buzzing of your phone wasn’t helping. You had an inkling of who it could’ve been, and as you fished it out of your bag, the hundreds of messages and missed calls from both Seonghwa and Hongjoong confirmed your suspicion. You sent them a reassuring text, apologizing for bailing on them and blaming it on your headache. Mingi was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes never left your hunched form. He was waiting — for a call, a sign, something that would tell him when to reach your side and offer his help.
In another life, you’d be flustered — happy, ecstatic that he was there, worried for your well-being, wanting to make you feel better. But the nagging thought of the situation — too perfect to be a coincidence — wouldn’t let you go. What were the odds of your soulmate and Mingi both being exposed to danger at the same time? How was it that Mingi’s body was void of bruises just as your soulometer stopped acting up?
Licking your lips, you inhaled shakily and found Mingi’s gaze. The pull to be wrapped in his arms was strong, almost unbearable and you wondered if he felt it too. The need to run your fingers through his hair, to rest your forehead at the junction of his neck and shoulder while he soothingly rubbed circles in your back. The feelings were more intense than back in high school, now full of want and need that you couldn’t satisfy by being in his mere presence. However, you were willing to put it aside in exchange for your question marks to disappear and there was only one person who could give it to you.
Your voice was raspy and weak, breaking mid-sentence as the words struggled to escape. With every ounce of vulnerability, you asked him, “Are we soulmates?”
Mingi didn’t move for a moment. He looked to the side, his jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms and gripped the edge of the counter. It was inevitable, really. The question was bound to come up sooner or later, and he wasn’t a fool. Mingi didn’t live in a bubble separate from his worries. They were woven into his everyday life, especially since you’d crossed paths again after all these years, with you at the center of them. The anxiety hovered around you like planets orbiting the sun — always there, needing you to survive, but never able to get too close. Mingi never stopped thinking about you. Since your high school graduation, he’d found himself more often than not lying awake in the dead of night, thoughts circling back to you — wondering how you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. You had to be. Mingi only ever brought you pain and hurt, something he loathed himself for. The lies and secrets were the main reason behind it all, but the icing on the cake was his devotion to boxing, which had long surpassed his love for you. At least, in your eyes, because that was what he had allowed you to see — what he wanted you to think. It would make the end of your relationship easier, giving him a lie to hold onto instead of the truth.
But Mingi was tired of lying. He didn’t plan to re-enter your life to keep the same pattern in motion. He wanted to start a-new and whether he deserved it or not was up for debate, but he was going to try. For you. For himself. For your relationship.
“Yes.”
Then it all just stopped. The beat of your heart filled the silence of the world. The flicker of emotions was instant and irregular — shifting from relief and happiness to disbelief and anger. You couldn’t form a single thought, much less say anything. What could one say in such a moment? Realising your first and only love was more than that and had slipped away. The never ending fear and regret of losing the sole good thing in your life washing out to nothing, leaving you empty. It was good and bad. A war broke out in your head, scrambling to come to an understanding, but the tear between the two sides was so grave it was starting to hurt. The relief of finding your soulmate clashed with the idea that he was right beneath your nose this entire time, purposefully avoiding you for who knows how long.
A sting burned behind your eyes followed by a heavy pressure. Your throat closed up and yet you managed to get your question out.
“How… How long have you known?”
Mingi heaved in a breath. The weight of the situation pressed harshly against his chest as he realized the bear trap he set up years ago was beneath his foot.
“A little after the start of our third year in high school… When you were rushed to the hospital.”
You remembered it like it was yesterday. Someone thought it would be a funny prank to leave an opened peanut-chocolate bar in your locker, completely disregarding the gravity of the situation. That was almost a month after his eighteenth birthday — the day his soulometer was permanently injected into his body. Out of those three years, you dated for one and a half, and the last stretch of your relationship was apparently built on secrets and lies because he knew.
He knew and didn’t tell you.
You rose from your seat, your expression shifting from disbelief to frustration. Your brows furrowed, and your lips were pressed tightly together in fury. Mingi had never seen you so angry — not even when some older kids were making fun of Hongjoong for his height or liking boys.
“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me about it? Mingi, we broke up and you didn’t think to tell me we were, are soulmates?!”
Your voice jumped from a whisper to full-out yelling, loud enough for your neighbors above and below to indulge in the dramatics, and Mingi flinched at the sudden rise in volume. A fire spread from his core to the rest of his body, growing hotter and more intense with each passing second. Despite how familiar the sensation was, it wasn’t his. You were angry beyond salvaging and no amount of water could douse the flames.
Mingi’s chest tightened as the answer to your long-awaited question tumbled out of him. “Because you deserved a better soulmate!”
Like that, a weight lifted off his shoulders. There was a very long pause where you just stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.
“Excuse me?” It was meek, barely above a whisper as you spoke and a sharp, breaking sound echoed in Mingi’s heart, like porcelain shattering. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Mingi hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. You seized the opportunity to step in front of him. Unshed tears lined your waterline, one blink away from spilling over and kissing your burning cheeks. Mingi wasn’t any better. His eyes were glossed over and throat was dry. His fingers turned an alarming shade of white from gripping the counter, the veins in his hands more defined than ever.
“Why?”
“You weren’t happy with me…” Mingi’s voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to continue. “W–with me boxing… and I… I wasn’t ready to give up on that. I thought you d–deserved some happiness before you realized you were stuck with me f–forever.” His words came out choked, his chest heaving as the tears finally spilled over.
The salty tears extinguished the fire that had been brewing in you. What had felt like flames of hell now shrunk to nothing more than a spark, ready to fade. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, gently wiping away the tears that had fallen.
“You thought I wouldn’t choose you? Mingi, I was never asking you to give up on what you love. I just couldn’t stand seeing you put yourself in danger, not knowing if you’d come back to me… alive.” Your heart ached as the soulometer inside you throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of how deeply connected you two were.
Mingi had grown up in a boxing family. His father was a boxer, and his grandfathers on both sides were boxers too. It was only natural for the only child of the Song family to step into his relatives’ shoes and fall in love with the gruesome sport. However, it wasn’t the officiated matches or light sparring during training that had you worrying for Mingi. A little after Mingi turned eighteen, he realized that his talent could not only bring him medals, but money. A great sum of money, actually.
As the fortune started to come his way, you began to notice the change in him. He wasn’t just fighting for the thrill or the legacy anymore — it had become a business. The sport he had once loved, the sport that had connected him to his family, was now something more — something dangerous, something that had started to consume him. You watched as he took on bigger opponents, harsher training regimens and increasingly dangerous matches, all in pursuit of a prize that was slowly tearing away at the person you once knew.
You didn’t mean to put him in a tight spot, to choose between his first serious girlfriend and the illegal business that kept him independent. You also didn’t expect him to choose the latter. The decision stung more than you anticipated, the weight of it sinking in as you realized what it said about his priorities.
You were both young and foolish back then, believing the world was beneath your feet and that one wrong decision could crumble it all. Had you known you were bonded, tied together for all eternity, you would’ve approached him differently and you certainly never would’ve let him go.
“I didn’t know about the soulmate bond. I didn’t know you knew... and you still let me walk away. You were willing to let me go without telling me the truth? How could you think I’d leave you forever, knowing we were meant to be?”
“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I–I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. Every time I’d walk past your posters or hear about you from our mutual friends, I’d be one click away from calling you, but…”
The apology hung in the air like a weight, thick with guilt and regret. His voice trembled, each word choked back by the raw emotion clawing at him. The tears streamed down his face, unchecked. He turned his face slightly, the side of his cheek brushing against your palm, as if trying to hide from the pain, but your touch remained steady. You held him there, gently, as his sorrow poured out.
“Don’t hold back, Mingi. I’m not going anywhere, not now, not tomorrow, not ever… So please, talk to me.”
His chest hitched as he struggled to breathe, the weight of the words, the silence and the years of unsaid things crashing over him. Mingi knew he owed you this. An explanation, a reason for his sudden pull back all those years ago. He heaved in a breath and allowed the truth to spill.
“I just… I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Every time, I’d think about it and then–then I’d back out. I thought it was better this way. I thought maybe you’d be better off without knowing… that I wasn’t good enough, that I’d only mess things up. Jongho said you were ha–happy and I didn’t want to ruh–ruin that. ”
“You could never–”
“But I would!” He didn’t mean to shout, but the frustration and sadness, locked up for so long, didn’t hesitate to seize the first opening it saw. “I was still fighting… I never stopped. It only got worse after… after we broke up. The money was good, but the loneliness,” his voice wavered, “the loneliness was unbearable. The only time I ever felt anything was when I saw your face... or when I got beaten to hell.”
Your eyes darted around his face. Jumping from his eyes and lips to his nose and cheeks as if seeking a pressure point that would make all of his suffering evaporate into thin air. Mingi avoided your gaze and you massaged the apple of his cheek to catch his attention again. You never intended for the downfall of your relationship to put its claws in his back and leave a wound so grave it couldn’t heal on its own. In fact, you were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t think to take a moment and wonder how it would affect him. The guilt festered in your bones like a leech refusing to let go.
“I never realized how much you were carrying… I thought I was the one who was struggling, but maybe we both were. I’m sorry, Mings.”
“No.”
He shook his head in disagreement and your hand fell from his face. The loss of warmth was close to painful and Mingi, not wanting to be apart from you any more than necessary, grabbed your hand and guided it down to his chest, placing your palm above his beating heart — the organ that pulsed in rhythm to your own. Your fingers twitch to grab his shirt, to claw out his heart and keep it in the safety of your hands. To shield it from hurt and pain and agony. You never wanted him to feel such anguish again and you certainly didn’t want to be the reason behind it either. It tore you from within and the emotion wasn’t even yours to begin with.
“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”
“Mingi–”
“Stop it. You know if I’d just listened to you, if I’d stopped getting involved in stupid shit, none of this would’ve happened. There’s no one to blame but me.”
Tears still rolled down his cheeks and clung onto his lashes, though his eyes were sharp and firm as if daring you to challenge his words. If there was one thing you’d learned during the few years you dated Mingi, it was that once his mind was made up, nothing could change it.
“We are both at fault, love.”
The pinched expression on his face crumbled at the familiar call of endearment. His mouth parted slightly, and a constellation twinkled in his eyes — a sight you had missed incredibly. A twinge of hope flickered to life — hope that you could once be again, despite his careless acts of selflessness. His focus shifted between your eyes and with shaking hands he gently cradled your face, his touch not lighter than a ticklish flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Your own hands found purchase on his waist, fingers looping through the pouch of his hoodie as you instinctively leaned into the gentle pressure of his caress.
Mingi wetted his lips and brows scrunched together in a pleading demeanor. Something was plaguing his mind again and you could feel the train of thought reach out and graze your own, as if wanting you to get a glimpse. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It felt full, crowded.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Mings?”
“…You.” He took another breath, steadying himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… May I… I want to kiss you.”
Perhaps you should’ve said no. Perhaps you should’ve ignored him sitting on the steps of your apartment. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him back into your life at all. But the thought of telling him no — robbing yourself of the feel of Mingi’s lips against yours — burned like hot acid in your stomach. So you did the one thing you were best at when it came to him, you gave in to your heart's desire.
“Then kiss me.”
Mingi didn’t need to hear you say it twice before he pulled your face up to his, lips smashing together as a flood of emotions erupted with the kiss — the kind of feeling only a romantic gesture like this could bring. You rose onto your toes, your hands gripping his wrists as if to anchor yourself in the moment. A low rumble vibrated from the back of his throat and you pushed harder against him. The kiss was intoxicating, yet liberating at the same time. You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and he wasted no time parting them for you. The heat between you both deepened and each moment felt like it stretched on forever, the world around you fading into the background. His fingers grazing the side of your face, pulled you impossibly closer, as if there was no space left for anything but this shared intimacy.
The pounding of your heart filled your ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the urgency of his touch. You were caught in the gravity of the moment, caught between the need for air and the undeniable pull to stay, to keep kissing him like nothing else mattered and nothing mattered. Just you and him.
You felt one of his hands slither down your spine, a trail of firecrackers following the wake of his fingertips and sending shivers down your body. You couldn’t pull away — not yet. Not when everything inside you was screaming for more. Mingi pushed you closer to him, chests touching and hips meeting in a delicious press, that radiated between you both, causing every nerve in your body to hum with anticipation.
It was the need for oxygen that eventually broke you apart before the heated situation could be taken to the bedroom, with you pushed against the soft sheets and your legs tangling together. Your chests rose and fell in synchrony, trying to steady the breath that had been stolen in the heat of the moment. A crackle of electricity snapped around the room, the atmosphere still charged with the energy of your kiss, but both of you knew you couldn’t rush past this — there was so much more to say, the fact that you were soulmates, for one.
Mingi rested his forehead against yours, his breath was warm against your skin, quick and shallow, mirroring your own racing pulse. His eyes searched yours with a mix of intensity and vulnerability. He whispered your name, as if unsure how to bridge the distance between the desire in his chest and the emotions that were beginning to surface.
“We are soulmates,” you whispered before he could say anything else. It was more of a statement, a wake-up call for you than a fact. Your gaze dropped to the strings of his hoodie, the intensity of his stare made your knees feel weak.
Mingi didn’t reply. He rubbed gentle circles over your blouse on your lower back, a relaxing motion. You didn’t need to hear him say the two worded apology, you felt it in his soft touches.
“It was you… every time my meter went up… it was you fighting.”
He nodded, a solemn smile gracing his swollen lips. “Yes.”
“...But it hasn’t… gone up since–”
“Since you found me outside your apartment,” he finished for you. “I stopped shortly after that. I– uh, I realized that I wanted you. Or, well, I always knew, but that… that confirmed it. Mmm, I knew, though, that if I wanted us to be together, I’d have to change– stop! I’d have to stop doing the thing that made me lose you in the first place.”
“So… what does that mean for us?”
“It means… that if you want me to, I’ll peel your oranges for the rest of our lives.”
You wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “Even the white bits?”
The corner of his lips curled up in a grin, giving a glimpse of his crooked front teeth, and his eyes lit up like the night sky in the countryside.
Genre : dark romance, angst with happy ending, slow burn, mafia au, fbi au, suspense, eventual smut.
Pairing : mafialeader!mingi x fbiagent!reader
Synopsis : Her mission was simple: infiltrate his empire, earn his trust and kill him. But falling in love with the city's most dangerous mafia boss was never part of the plan.
The rhythmic drumming of the storm filled the fortified briefing room as silver rain washed down the panoramic windows, blurring the sprawling metropolis into a distorted canvas of fractured neon.
From the heights of FBI Headquarters, the city lost its illusion of greatness. Y/N stood motionless before the chilled glass, her hands buried deep inside the pockets of her dark cashmere coat. She had been summoned to the Director’s office without a preliminary briefing, an anomaly that set her instincts on edge. Behind her, the reinforced mahogany door clicked open with deliberate precision.
"You came quickly." The voice carried the quiet authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.
She turned slowly, her expression settling into a carefully crafted mask of indifference. The Director entered with measured steps, his charcoal suit impeccably tailored. He stopped near the panoramic window, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
"I have a job for you." His voice was calm, completely devoid of inflection. A heavy-stock manila file landed on the polished desk with a dull thud. Unlike every classified dossier she had ever seen, this one was completely unmarked, except for a single pitch-black chess king embossed into the center of the cover.
Y/N stepped forward, her fingertips grazing the raised emblem. "I have never seen this symbol before."
"You weren't supposed to." The Director's gaze lingered on the black chess piece. "We have been trying to eliminate him for a decade. Poison. Snipers. Deep-cover infiltration. Every operation has ended the same way, in failure."
She opened the file. A high-resolution surveillance photograph showed an impossibly tall, broad-shouldered man emerging from a black armored Maybach. His features were striking, but his dark, bottomless eyes were entirely predatory.
SONG MINGI
Chief Executive Officer
Billionaire
Philanthropist
The next page stripped away every illusion.
Organized crime
Covert arms trafficking
Contract killings
He was the undisputed leader of the city's most powerful Mafia syndicate, but legally, he remained an untouchable CEO.
"He is disciplined and patient." The Director watched her study the file. "His inner circle has never been breached."
"So what do you need me for?"
"For the first time in six years, he has fired his executive assistant." He reached inside his jacket, sliding a thicker folder across the desk.
Inside was the flawless blueprint of a fabricated life. A forged passport. An Ivy League diploma.
"Starting today, you stop being Agent Y/N." The Director stepped closer. "Your name is Evelyn Park. You will become the woman Song Mingi chooses to trust. You will manage his schedule, pour his coffee and stand beside him until your presence becomes second nature. You will embed yourself so deeply into his life that he will no longer remember what it was like before you."
The rain hammered relentlessly against the windows.
"If earning his trust requires deception, then deceive him. If it requires seduction, then seduce him." He commanded without hesitation. "And when the moment comes..." His gaze hardened into steel. "You kill him."
***
Morning arrived with deceptive tranquility. The storm that had swallowed the city had vanished without a trace, leaving clear skies and gleaming skyscrapers that reflected the early sunlight like polished mirrors. From a distance, the financial district looked pristine, but Y/N knew better.
She stood across the street from Song Industries, her eyes traveling slowly over the towering glass façade. Forty-three floors. Three public entrances. Two underground parking levels. Eight visible security cameras surrounding the main entrance.
The hidden ones were the ones that mattered.
She adjusted the strap of her leather handbag, before glancing at her reflection in the tinted window of a parked black car. Gone was the FBI agent. Her dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders. A cream silk blouse disappeared beneath a tailored beige blazer. Minimal jewelry. Light makeup. Everything about Evelyn Park had been carefully engineered to be forgettable.
The revolving doors welcomed her into a lobby that radiated understated luxury. White marble stretched beneath her feet and an enormous crystal chandelier hung overhead. Employees hurried from one elevator to another, but no one looked at her twice.
The reception desk occupied the center of the lobby. A woman dressed in an immaculate navy suit offered her a polite smile.
"Good morning. How may I help you?" She asked.
"I am here for the executive assistant interview." Y/N replied.
"Your name?" The receptionist prompted.
"Evelyn Park." Y/N answered.
The receptionist typed for a few seconds, before nodding. "May I see your identification?" She requested.
Y/N handed over her forged driver's license without the slightest hesitation. Never move too quickly. Never move too slowly. People noticed both.
"Everything looks good. Please wear this visitor badge." The receptionist returned the card. "Thirty-seventh floor. Conference Room B."
As she turned toward the elevators, she became aware of the eyes. Two security guards stood near the entrance, pretending to converse, but they were discreetly watching every movement in the lobby. Security. Watching without appearing to watch.
She stepped into the elevator alongside four other candidates. One woman nervously adjusted her résumé. A young man wearing an expensive suit bounced his leg impatiently. Y/N simply watched the floor numbers climb, before the doors opened onto the executive floor.
Dark walnut panels lined the corridor, the atmosphere changing immediately. Downstairs had felt like a corporation, but up here felt like a fortress. A woman with silver-framed glasses approached the group.
"Good morning. My name is Ms. Han." She offered a practiced smile. "Mr. Song values punctuality above almost everything else. You are all early." Nobody answered. "Please, follow me." She gestured toward the conference room.
Eight candidates took their seats. Y/N chose somewhere in the middle. Forgettable. Exactly where Evelyn Park belonged. Ms. Han distributed identical folders across the table.
"The first assessment is simple." She announced.
Y/N opened hers, before her heartbeat slowed. Typing exercises. Scheduling conflicts. Executive correspondence. Nothing difficult, but one page caught her attention. A color-coded weekly calendar. It was exactly the same format the Bureau had shown her less than twenty-four hours earlier. It wasn't just a test of organization. It was the first glimpse into the life she intended to infiltrate.
Y/N lowered her eyes to the page. She couldn't afford to look like someone who had already memorized half of his schedule, so she did what Evelyn Park would do. She picked up her pen and made her first deliberate mistake.
The conference room fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the quiet scratching of pens gliding across paper and the occasional turning of a page. Every candidate leaned over their assignment with varying degrees of confidence. Y/N resisted the instinct to finish first. She had already identified every scheduling conflict hidden within the exercise during the first thirty seconds. Instead, she deliberately slowed her pace. She cross-checked every appointment.
She occasionally paused long enough to appear uncertain, before continuing. Competent, but not exceptional. Capable, but not intimidating. She signed the last document and quietly placed her pen beside the folder.
Across the table, a nervous brunette released an audible sigh, before rubbing at her temples. The young man seated beside her had already begun bouncing his leg beneath the table, his fingers drumming impatiently against the polished wood.
Ms. Han glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. "You have five minutes remaining." She announced clearly.
The atmosphere shifted almost instantly. Several candidates hurried to review their answers, but Y/N remained perfectly still.
Then the conference room door opened.
No one had knocked. Conversation ceased before it had the chance to begin. Every head turned toward the entrance. A man stepped inside wearing a perfectly tailored black three-piece suit beneath a charcoal overcoat draped effortlessly across his shoulders. His presence alone seemed to alter the temperature of the room. He didn't speak, but he didn't have to.
An expensive watch disappeared beneath the cuff of his crisp white shirt as he adjusted it with absentminded precision. His dark hair had been styled neatly away from his forehead, exposing sharp features that looked almost sculpted beneath the morning light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The photographs had failed to capture him. They had documented his appearance, but they hadn't documented his absolute presence. There was something unnervingly composed about him.
Without hesitation, Ms. Han straightened. "Good morning, Mr. Song." She greeted him with deep respect.
The other employees standing near the wall immediately lowered their heads. Every candidate followed a heartbeat later. Y/N did the same. Not too quickly. Not too slowly. Exactly as everyone else had.
Song Mingi acknowledged them with the faintest inclination of his head, before allowing his gaze to drift across the room. His expression revealed nothing. His eyes swept from one candidate to the next with clinical indifference, lingering on each person for no longer than a second.
Until they reached her.
Y/N felt it before she saw it. His gaze stopped, only for an instant. Barely long enough for anyone else to notice, before it moved on. Her heartbeat remained perfectly steady, but inside, every instinct sharpened. He observed people the same way predators observed unfamiliar territory. Silently. Patiently. Searching for something out of place.
Mingi walked toward the head of the table.
"I wasn't planning on sitting in." His voice was deep and remarkably calm, carrying through the room without ever needing to rise. "But apparently the hiring process has become entertaining." He rested a hand against the back of the empty chair. "I have one question." He stated. "Why do you want this position?"
Several candidates exchanged uncertain glances, before they offered rehearsed answers.
"It would be an incredible opportunity for my career." One candidate said eagerly.
"I have admired your company for years." Another added quickly.
Each response sounded polished and utterly forgettable. Mingi listened without interruption, but offered no visible reaction. Finally, his gaze returned to Y/N.
"And you?" He asked.
The room suddenly felt much smaller. Y/N lifted her head calmly, meeting his dark gaze for the first time. There was an unsettling intelligence behind his eyes, one that seemed to dissect every expression, before deciding whether it deserved another glance.
"I don't believe people become indispensable by chasing impressive job titles." She offered a polite smile.
A flicker of interest crossed his face so quickly it might have been imagined.
"I believe they become indispensable by making someone else's life easier." She continued without breaking eye contact. "If I do my job properly, you will never have to think about whether your schedule is accurate, whether your meetings are prepared or whether your time is being wasted. My success would be measured by how little you notice I am doing my job."
Silence settled over the conference room once again. For the first time since entering, Mingi's expression changed. The corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. "Interesting." He murmured.
He straightened slowly.
"You claim your success would be measured by how little I notice your work." His voice was calm enough to be mistaken for polite. "So let's see how observant you really are. I walked into this room less than two minutes ago. Tell me everything you noticed."
Several candidates visibly stiffened, but Y/N remained perfectly composed. She allowed herself a brief pause.
"You entered exactly one minute and forty-three seconds after Ms. Han announced there were five minutes remaining." She began. "You didn't bring your phone and your watch is running twenty-three seconds fast." Mingi remained completely expressionless. "The knot of your tie has a faint crease where you loosened it before tightening it again." She continued smoothly. "And the folder you are carrying hasn't been opened. The corners are perfectly aligned."
The room had become unnaturally quiet. Mingi finally spoke.
"You have done your homework." He observed.
"I prepare for interviews." She lied flawlessly.
Without warning, he removed an expensive fountain pen from his inside pocket, before placing it on the table.
"What brand is it?" He challenged.
"I don't know." She answered simply. Mingi folded his arms.
"Most people would have guessed." He pointed out.
"If I start inventing details when I don't know the answer, eventually I will invent one in a situation where it actually matters." She met his dark gaze evenly.
For the first time, genuine interest flickered behind his eyes. Not because she had answered correctly, but because she hadn't played his game. He reached into his pocket, before placing a sleek silver keycard on the table.
"The position is yours." He declared softly. "You start now."
***
By two in the afternoon, the executive floor had settled into a deceptive quiet. Then, the private elevator chimed.
A man stepped out onto the marble floor. His suit was expensive, but it lacked the tailored discipline of Mingi's attire. He carried himself with an arrogant swagger that instantly set Y/N's instincts on edge. He was not corporate. He was cartel. He walked straight toward the CEO's office, before Y/N stood up from her desk.
"Excuse me." She spoke clearly, stepping directly into his path.
"Move aside, sweetheart." He sneered. "I have a meeting with Mingi."
"Mr. Song is currently on a confidential call and you do not have an appointment." She replied, her tone perfectly even.
"I don't need one." He took another step forward, but Y/N did not retreat a single inch.
She held her ground, before raising a hand to block his path. "No one enters without an appointment." She stated firmly.
He scoffed, reaching out to roughly grab her arm.
Years of lethal combat training screamed at her to snap his wrist, to drive her heel into his knee, but Evelyn Park was just an assistant.
She forced herself to freeze, preparing to play the victim, before the heavy oak doors behind them suddenly swung open.
The temperature in the corridor seemed to plummet instantly. Mingi stood in the doorway, his expression completely devoid of visible anger, but the suffocating stillness radiating from him was far more terrifying than any raised voice.
"Remove your hand." His voice was barely a whisper, echoing through the silent corridor with the precision of a scalpel.
The man scoffed, but the arrogant swagger in his posture faltered immediately. "Mingi, your new guard dog was getting in my way." He attempted a familiar smile, dropping Y/N's arm roughly, before trying to take a step forward.
"Who gave you permission to put your hands on my assistant?" Mingi stepped out of his office.
The visitor swallowed hard. "She wouldn't move." He defended himself, but his voice lacked its previous confidence. "It was just a warning."
"A warning..." Mingi repeated smoothly. "Let me make something exceptionally clear to you. You bypassed my lobby security, approached my private office and laid your hands on my employee. If you ever touch her again, I will have your hands removed." Mingi stated the threat with casual indifference. "Leave, before I decide you have wasted enough of my time."
The cartel boss practically sprinted toward the elevator, before the metal doors slid shut. Mingi watched the indicator light drop, before finally turning his attention back to Y/N.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, looking at the faint red mark blooming against her wrist.
"No." She replied evenly. "I was handling it."
"Come inside." He instructed, before walking back into his office.
Y/N followed him, closing the heavy oak doors. Mingi poured amber liquid from a crystal decanter into a heavy glass, before offering it to her.
"Drink it." He said. "It helps with the adrenaline."
"I do not have any adrenaline, Mr. Song." She answered, but accepted the glass anyway to avoid arousing suspicion.
Mingi stepped back, leaning against the edge of his desk. "The man who just left is named Kang." He began, his voice dropping into a strictly professional register. "He controls the shipping routes in the south. You need to know the difference between a corporate rival and a man who will slit your throat in a parking garage." He pulled a thick, unmarked ledger from his drawer, before sliding it across the desk toward her. "I need you to audit these accounts before tomorrow morning." He added.
Y/N picked up the heavy book. It was hand-written, filled with encrypted abbreviations and massive numerical transfers. It was exactly the kind of evidence the FBI had spent a decade trying to find. "If I find discrepancies?" She asked.
"You bring them directly to me." He leaned forward. "Do you understand?"
"Perfectly." She closed the ledger.
That night, the fabricated apartment of Evelyn Park felt colder than usual. Y/N set the heavy ledger on her kitchen island, before dialing the Director's direct line on her encrypted satellite phone.
"I have his financial records." She reported. "They are written entirely in code."
"It's a test, Y/N. He expects you to steal the information, but you are going to bring every discrepancy directly to him." The Director noted.
"Exactly." She agreed. "He expects me to fail, but I am going to prove my absolute loyalty."
"Do not photograph a single page." He ordered. "Do not attempt to transmit any of the data, but memorize as much of the cipher as you can."
Y/N lowered the phone, before picking up a pen. She forced herself to focus, hunting for patterns in the chaos. She found three discrepancies before the clock struck four in the morning. Two of them were obvious bait. Small, deliberate math errors hidden deep within the offshore routing columns. The third mistake was different. It was a massive diversion of funds from the southern ports, buried beneath a layered shell company. It wasn't a test. It was theft. Someone was siphoning millions from Mingi's distribution network and based on the dates, the thief was Kang.
***
Song Industries was already buzzing with quiet energy, before she stepped out of the private elevator at eight in the morning. At exactly eight-thirty, Song Mingi walked onto the floor. His presence instantly silenced the surrounding chatter.
"Good morning, Mr. Song." She greeted him calmly, before standing up from her chair.
"Bring it inside." He acknowledged her with a slight nod, his gaze drifting toward the heavy ledger.
She followed him into the expansive office, before placing the ledger precisely in the center of his desk. "I audited the accounts." She stated smoothly. "There are three discrepancies."
"Show me." He commanded.
"The first two are administrative errors." She pointed to the offshore routing columns. "They look like intentional stress tests for a new accountant."
A dangerous, satisfied gleam sparked in Mingi's dark eyes. "And the third?" He murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
"The third is not an error." She met his gaze directly, but her expression remained perfectly neutral. "It is a hemorrhage. A shell company registered under the southern distribution network has been over-reporting operational costs. Someone is stealing from you, Mr. Song and they are using the southern ports to do it."
The silence that filled the office was absolutely lethal. Mingi stared at the numbers, his jaw ticking faintly, before he slowly lifted his head to look at her. "Kang." He stated the name like it was a death sentence. "The dates align with his operational oversight."
Y/N confirmed, before stepping back slightly.
"You found this in one night." He noted, his voice dangerously soft. "My previous accountants reviewed these records for a week, but they found nothing."
"Your previous accountants were either incompetent or they were paid to look the other way." She replied evenly. "I am neither."
A slow, dark smile finally spread across Mingi's lips. It was a smile that promised absolute violence for Kang, but offered something entirely different for her.
"No." He agreed quietly, stepping around the desk until he was standing just inches away from her. "You are certainly not."
He reached out, his long fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the ledger, but his eyes never left hers.
"You have just saved this company millions of dollars, Evelyn." He said softly. "And you have just signed Kang's death warrant."
Y/N held her breath, before offering a polite nod. "I am just doing my job, Mr. Song." She replied.
"Your job is about to become significantly more complicated." He stepped back, picking up his phone to dial a private number. "Cancel all of my meetings for the morning, then call my head of security. Tell him to assemble the cleanup crew."
"Understood."
***
Two weeks passed, but the air on the executive floor never lost its heavy, electric charge.
Y/N became a permanent fixture in the shadow of Mingi. She managed his empire with flawless precision, anticipating his needs before he even had to voice them. She learned the subtle shifts in his mood. A tightened jaw meant a hostile takeover. A tap of his expensive pen meant someone was lying.
They fell into a quiet, dangerous rhythm. Late evenings in the office blurred into silent negotiations of space. Y/N would bring him his black coffee, placing the porcelain cup on the edge of his desk.
Sometimes, his fingers would brush against hers. Just a fraction of a second, but the heat of his skin would linger on her hand long after she retreated to her desk.
He watched her. She felt his bottomless eyes tracking her movements, heavy and calculating. He didn't look at her like an employer analyzing an assistant, but like a predator studying a puzzle he desperately wanted to solve.
One evening, the rain lashed against the panoramic windows, leaving them isolated in the towering fortress. Y/N stepped into his office to deliver the final quarterly reports, before turning to leave.
"Evelyn." His deep voice stopped her near the heavy oak doors.
"Yes, Mr. Song." She turned slowly, her posture perfectly straight.
Mingi leaned back in his leather chair, the dim light casting sharp shadows across his features.
"You have been here for exactly eighteen days, but you haven't made a single mistake." He observed quietly. "You do not panic. You do not ask unnecessary questions. You simply execute."
"I told you I was efficient." She met his gaze, her heart beating a fraction faster, before she forced her pulse to steady.
"You are an anomaly." He murmured, standing up from his desk.
He closed the distance between them with slow, measured steps, stopping just close enough that she could smell the expensive cedar and scotch clinging to him. He reached out, his hand hovering near her face, before his knuckles lightly grazed a stray lock of dark hair resting on her shoulder.
"An anomaly I intend to keep." He promised softly.
Y/N held her breath, the FBI operative inside her screaming to step back, but the woman beneath the disguise remained completely rooted to the floor.
The next morning, a sleek black garment box appeared on Y/N's desk.
She stared at the velvet lid, before glancing toward the heavy oak doors of the CEO's office. The executive floor was completely empty, but the air felt impossibly heavy. She opened the box. Inside lay a midnight-blue silk gown and a diamond necklace that cost more than a federal agent made in a lifetime.
"Put it on." Mingi's voice broke the silence.
He stood in the doorway, his usual charcoal suit traded for a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. He looked like corporate royalty, but he radiated pure, unadulterated danger.
"There is a charity gala tonight." He stepped out of his office, his polished shoes making no sound against the floorboards. "But the public event is merely a front. The real meeting takes place underground."
"Am I taking notes, Mr. Song?" She asked smoothly, keeping her hands neatly folded.
"No." He walked closer, his dark eyes trailing over the silk gown, before meeting her gaze. "Tonight, you are not my assistant, Evelyn. You are my partner. The men in that room are vultures. If they believe you are just an employee, they will try to use you. If they know you belong to me, they will not dare to look twice."
Y/N held his intense gaze, before offering a slow nod. "I understand." She replied.
An hour later, Y/N stepped out of the executive washroom. The dark gown clung to her curves like a second skin and the diamonds rested cold against her collarbone. She looked like a woman born into unimaginable wealth, but she was a weapon wrapped in silk.
Mingi waited near the private elevator. When he saw her, his breath hitched for a fraction of a second. It was the first time she had seen his iron composure slip, but he recovered instantly.
"You look acceptable." He murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerously low register.
"Thank you, Mr. Song." She replied.
"Call me Mingi." He instructed, before pressing the elevator button. "And stay close to me."
The armored Maybach carried them through the rain-slicked streets, before descending into a highly secured subterranean parking facility beneath a luxury hotel. Armed guards stood at every concrete pillar, their eyes scanning the shadows, but they lowered their weapons the moment Mingi stepped out of the vehicle.
He walked around the car, before offering his hand to Y/N. She hesitated for a split second, before placing her palm against his. His grip was warm, firm and entirely possessive.
They entered a cavernous ballroom hidden far beneath the city. Crystal chandeliers cast a dim, golden glow over the room, reflecting off polished marble floors. There was no press and there were no cameras. It was a gathering of the most ruthless syndicate leaders in the country, but they all fell silent when Song Mingi walked through the gilded doors.
Y/N kept her posture perfectly straight. Mingi released her hand, but he immediately placed his palm flush against her bare lower back. The heat of his touch burned through the thin silk of her gown. It was a clear, territorial claim meant for everyone in the room to see.
"Smile, Evelyn." He whispered against her ear, his breath sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "They are watching us."
"I am always smiling." She murmured back, before turning her head slightly toward him.
A man with silver hair and cold, calculating eyes approached them from the crowd. He held a glass of champagne, but his gaze was fixed entirely on Y/N.
"Mingi." The man greeted smoothly. "I heard you cleaned house in the south. Kang was a loud dog, but he was useful."
"He forgot his place." Mingi replied calmly, his hand tightening slightly on Y/N's waist. "I simply reminded him."
"And who is this beautiful creature?" The silver-haired man smiled, before stepping uncomfortably close. "I did not know you were taking on new pets."
Y/N felt the immediate shift in Mingi's posture. The relaxed confidence vanished, before absolute lethality took its place.
"Evelyn is not a pet." Mingi's voice was deadly soft, cutting through the ambient noise of the ballroom. "She is the reason Kang is dead. I suggest you address her with the respect she deserves, before I decide to clean house in the north as well."
The man paled instantly, before offering a stiff, hurried bow. "My apologies, Ms. Evelyn." He muttered, retreating quickly into the crowd.
Y/N watched him leave, her pulse racing beneath the heavy diamonds on her neck. Mingi had just elevated her status from an assistant to a highly dangerous player in his empire. He was integrating her into his inner circle, but he was also placing a massive target on her back. She was no longer just the woman pouring his coffee. She was the woman dismantling his enemies.
"Was that necessary?" She asked quietly, leaning closer to him so the surrounding cartel bosses could not hear their conversation.
"It was essential." He answered, taking two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. He handed one to her, his fingers brushing against hers. "If they think you are weak, they will try to break you to get to me. I will not allow that to happen."
Y/N looked up into his eyes.
The FBI Director's voice echoed loudly in her mind. "Earn his confidence. If it requires seduction, then seduce him."
She was supposed to be playing a calculated role, but the protective intensity in Mingi's gaze felt terrifyingly real.
"I do not break easily, Mingi." She took a slow sip of the champagne, maintaining direct eye contact.
"I know." He stepped closer, eliminating the remaining space between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his chest. "That is exactly what makes you so dangerous."
The music swelled around them, drowning out the murmurs of the syndicate leaders. Mingi guided her through the room, his hand never leaving her waist. Every introduction was a test and every conversation was a battlefield, but they moved together with flawless precision.
For the first time since her mission began, Y/N realized she was no longer just infiltrating his world. She was becoming a part of it and the line between Agent Y/N and Evelyn Park was blurring into something she could no longer control.
***
The heavy steel doors of the subterranean garage closed behind the armored Maybach, sealing the echoes of the underworld gala away in the dark. The luxury vehicle ascended onto the slick streets of the financial district. The city above was drowning in another relentless downpour.
Inside the spacious cabin, the silence was thick, but it was no longer cold. Mingi sat beside her, his tuxedo jacket unbuttoned, the stark white of his dress shirt catching the fleeting glow of the streetlamps. The space between them on the soft leather seat was minimal, closing entirely with every sharp turn of the heavy vehicle.
Y/N stared out the tinted window, watching the blurred neon lights streak past the wet glass, but her senses were entirely anchored to the man beside her. The faint scent of expensive cedar, aged scotch and the lingering, metallic trace of gunpowder filled the confined space, wrapping around her like a physical weight.
The heat radiating from his body was a terrifying distraction. Every time the Maybach swayed, his shoulder brushed against hers, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight through her meticulously built defenses. The heavy diamond necklace rested against her collarbone, feeling less like a prop for Evelyn Park and more like a permanent brand marking her as his.
She felt a sudden, suffocating wave of panic. It had absolutely nothing to do with the cartel bosses they had just left behind and everything to do with the fact that she felt completely safe in the dark with him. The FBI operative was supposed to be hunting a monster, but the woman sitting in the quiet cabin realized she was dropping her guard entirely.
"You played your part perfectly." He said softly, his deep voice breaking the quiet rhythm of the tires humming against the asphalt.
Y/N swallowed hard, forcing her racing pulse to steady, before she turned her head to look at him. "It wasn't a difficult role, Mingi." She replied, desperately trying to keep her tone even. "Everyone in that room was too busy fearing you to question me."
"They should fear you too." He observed quietly.
He shifted closer, the leather sighing under his weight. His dark eyes studied the sharp profile of her face in the dim light, tracing the line of her jaw with an intensity that made it genuinely difficult to breathe.
"You stood in a room full of wolves, but did not flinch once." He continued, his voice dropping into a low, hypnotic register.
Y/N finally met his gaze. The remaining air in the cabin seemed to evaporate instantly. "I am just an assistant." She stated calmly, though the lie felt impossibly heavy on her tongue.
"We both know that is a lie." He leaned closer, eliminating the last fraction of space between them. The heavy, electric tension was absolute, pulling her completely into his orbit. "You are far more dangerous than anyone I employ."
Before she could answer, before she could surrender to the magnetic pull of his gaze, the world outside the Maybach erupted into blinding white light. A deafening shockwave slammed into the passenger side, violently throwing the heavy vehicle off its course.
The blast was absolute chaos. The Maybach skidded across the rain-slicked asphalt, spinning wildly out of control, before slamming into a reinforced concrete barrier with a bone-shattering crunch. Metal screeched in agony and shattered glass rained down inside the cabin. The reinforced windows held their shape, but the immense impact left Y/N's ears ringing with a high-pitched, disorienting whine.
"Get down." Mingi commanded, his voice slicing through the ringing in her ears with absolute authority.
He grabbed her shoulder, forcing her lower against the leather seat, just as a hail of heavy caliber gunfire ripped into the reinforced glass.
The bullets spider-webbed the windows instantly, leaving brutal white scars across the tint, but they did not penetrate the armor. Outside, the two black SUVs escorting them were already engulfed in towering flames. Men dressed in tactical black body armor swarmed the flooded street, moving with the coordinated precision of a highly trained hit squad. This was not a random cartel dispute, but a heavily funded, militarized assassination attempt.
"Northern syndicate." Mingi stated coldly, reaching beneath his seat, before pulling a sleek, matte-black semiautomatic weapon from a hidden compartment. "They brought mercenaries."
The driver of the Maybach slumped against the steering wheel, a dark, expanding pool of blood soaking through his crisp white collar. The armor-piercing rounds had finally found the structural weak point in the windshield. They were trapped inside a stationary metal coffin and the integrity of the ballistic glass was failing rapidly under the relentless barrage.
"We cannot stay here." Y/N said, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
"The glass has thirty seconds before it shatters completely." Mingi checked his loaded magazine, his face a flawless mask of absolute, lethal focus. "When I open this door, you run for the alleyway where the shadows are deep. Do not stop and do not look back."
"I am not leaving you." She refused instantly, her voice steady despite the terrifying chaos surrounding them.
Mingi turned to look at her, his dark eyes flashing with genuine, unbridled anger. "Evelyn, this is not a negotiation." He warned fiercely.
"I know." She shot back, her civilian persona slipping just a fraction, revealing the hardened operative beneath the silk gown.
Before he could force her out of the vehicle, the heavy, wet thud of combat boots landed squarely on the hood of the ruined Maybach. A masked mercenary aimed a high-powered assault rifle directly at the fractured glass beside Mingi's head. Time seemed to drag into a suffocating crawl. Y/N saw the mercenary's finger tighten against the trigger. Her FBI training screamed at her to draw her concealed weapon, to drop the man with a single, flawless shot to the cranium, but she could not blow her deep cover. Evelyn Park did not know how to kill a man with tactical precision. Evelyn Park was just a civilian trapped in a war zone.
Instead of drawing her weapon, she relied on pure, reckless adrenaline. "Mingi!" She screamed, throwing her entire body across the center console.
She slammed heavily into his chest, knocking him backward against his door just as the ballistic window finally gave way. A deafening spray of shattered glass and lethal, high-velocity bullets tore through the exact space, where his head had been a fraction of a second earlier. The terrifying roar of gunfire filled the confined cabin, mixing with the smell of burning rubber and copper.
Y/N felt a sudden, sharp burn tear across her upper arm, but she ignored the searing pain, refusing to let him take the hit. Mingi did not hesitate for a microsecond. He raised his weapon over her trembling shoulder, firing three rapid, deafening shots through the broken window. The mercenary on the hood collapsed instantly, his blood washing down the ruined windshield in the heavy rain.
"Move." Mingi roared, kicking his heavy armored door open into the violent storm. He grabbed Y/N by the waist, pulling her out of the ruined vehicle and into the freezing downpour.
The street was an absolute war zone. Gunfire echoed violently off the towering concrete buildings, mixing with the crack of thunder overhead. Mingi fired with lethal, terrifying accuracy, dropping two more mercenaries in the street before they could flank their position.
Y/N scrambled beside him, keeping her head down, acting the part of a terrified civilian, but her sharp eyes tracked every shooter, every tactical angle and every available exit.
"Into the alley." He ordered, pushing her behind the solid cover of a brick wall, just as another volley of bullets chipped the wet masonry inches from her face.
She forced herself to stumble forward, letting him drag her into the suffocating darkness of the narrow passageway. They ran through the labyrinth of alleys, slipping on the wet, uneven pavement, putting desperate distance between themselves and the burning wreckage of the convoy.
Her lungs burned with the physical exertion, but she did not slow her pace. Sirens began to wail in the far distance, cutting through the drumming rain, signaling the impending arrival of law enforcement.
Mingi finally stopped behind a rusted industrial dumpster, pulling her deep into the pitch-black shadows. His chest heaved as he scanned the perimeter, his weapon raised and ready. His pristine tuxedo was ruined and his hands were stained with blood, but he was alive. The immediate threat had passed, leaving them alone in the freezing, torrential rain.
He turned to Y/N, his dark eyes wide with a frantic, protective intensity she had never seen him display before tonight. He dropped his weapon to his side, his hands immediately gripping her bare shoulders, frantically checking her for fatal wounds.
"Are you hit?" He demanded, his voice rough and breathless.
"I am fine." She lied, gasping for air, clutching her injured arm tightly against her side to hide the evidence.
"You are bleeding." He countered, his sharp gaze dropping to the dark, torn silk of her midnight-blue gown. A deep, jagged graze marred her upper arm. The blood was mixing with the cold rain, running rapidly down her pale skin in dark crimson rivulets. Mingi's expression darkened into something entirely terrifying. It was not the cold, calculated anger of a mafia boss, but the raw, unhinged fury of a man who had almost lost something irreplaceable. The impenetrable mask of the untouchable CEO had shattered completely.
"I am fine, Mingi." She repeated softly, trying to step back, but his iron grip on her shoulders remained unyielding.
He ignored her words entirely. He stripped off his ruined tuxedo jacket, wrapping the heavy fabric tightly around her shivering shoulders to shield her from the freezing rain. His hands lingered on the silk lapels, his bruised knuckles brushing gently against her bare throat.
The proximity between them was suffocating, charged with a heavy, dangerous electricity that had nothing to do with the residual adrenaline of the firefight.
"You saved my life." He whispered, his face hovering mere inches from hers, the heavy rain plastering his dark hair against his forehead.
"You would have done the same." She breathed out, trapped entirely in the magnetic pull of his intense gaze, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
"No." He corrected her, his voice dropping into a lethal, heavy vow that vibrated in the narrow space between them. "I would have burned the entire city to the ground before I let them touch you."
***
The safe house was hidden deep within the industrial district, concealed behind the rusted steel doors of an abandoned warehouse. Inside, it was a fortress of polished concrete, dark leather and state-of-the-art security monitors.
The storm battered the reinforced skylights, drumming a relentless rhythm above them. Mingi locked the heavy deadbolt, the metallic clack echoing through the silent room. He discarded his ruined suit jacket over a chair, his white dress shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, completely soaked with freezing rain and blood.
Y/N stood near the center of the room, shivering slightly as the adrenaline finally began to drain from her veins. Her midnight-blue silk gown was ruined, torn at the shoulder and stained with dark crimson. The heavy diamond necklace felt like a collar of ice against her skin.
"Sit down." He ordered, pointing toward the heavy leather sofa in the center of the room.
She obeyed, sinking into the dark upholstery, her eyes tracking his every movement. Mingi disappeared into the adjoining room, returning a moment later with a black medical kit. He knelt on the floor directly in front of her, where the sterile white lights above cast sharp, unforgiving shadows across his bruised features.
"Take off the dress." He commanded quietly.
Y/N hesitated, her pulse spiking for an entirely different reason.
"The silk is fused to the wound, Evelyn." He elaborated, his dark eyes meeting hers with unwavering intensity. "I need to clean it, before the infection sets in."
She swallowed hard, reaching for the hidden zipper at the side of her gown. She slipped the ruined silk off her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist. The cold air hit her bare skin, but the heat radiating from Mingi was absolutely suffocating.
He moved closer, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he opened the medical kit. He soaked a sterile gauze pad in antiseptic. Y/N watched him, her breath catching in her throat. These were the hands of a ruthless mafia boss. Hands that authorized executions, dismantled rival empires and controlled the dark underbelly of the entire city. Yet, as he reached for her, his touch was agonizingly slow and meticulous, as if she were made of fragile glass.
He pressed the damp gauze carefully against the jagged graze on her upper arm. Y/N hissed in pain, her muscles pulling taut, but she did not pull away. His bruised knuckles brushed against her bare shoulder, sending a devastating shockwave of heat straight to her core. Her internal monologue was screaming at her in absolute panic.
'This is the target. This is the monster you are sworn to destroy. Pull away.'
But she couldn't move. She was completely paralyzed by the overwhelming tenderness in his dark eyes. The silence in the concrete room stretched until it became almost unbearable.
Mingi paused, his hand hovering over her pale skin, before his gaze slowly lifted from her bleeding arm to meet her eyes. The proximity was intoxicating. Neither of them breathed. The air was so thick with unspoken desire and fatal secrets that it felt like standing on the edge of a sheer cliff.
He was looking at her with a raw, terrifying vulnerability that made her chest ache with absolute, crushing guilt. He didn't see an undercover federal agent. He saw a woman who had just willingly taken a bullet for him.
Finally, Y/N forced herself to look away, breaking the magnetic hold of his stare before the treacherous tears burning in her eyes could betray her. She shifted slightly, putting a desperate, agonizing inch of space between them.
"You were reckless." He murmured, his voice noticeably rougher than before as he forced his attention back to the torn flesh. "You threw yourself in front of a high-velocity rifle. You could have been killed."
"You were the primary target." She replied, her voice barely above a whisper, trying to rebuild the walls he had effortlessly shattered. "I was doing my job."
Mingi stopped cleaning the wound immediately. He lifted his head slowly, his bottomless eyes locking onto hers once again. "Your job is to manage my schedule and pour my coffee." He stated dangerously. "Your job is not to bleed for me."
"I kept you alive, Mingi." She countered, refusing to back down from his piercing stare.
"And you almost died doing it." He leaned closer, the space she had desperately tried to create vanishing entirely as his warm breath ghosted across her collarbone. "Never do it again. I will not watch you bleed because of my enemies. Do you understand me?"
The raw desperation in his voice shattered the final remnants of his corporate facade. He was not a ruthless CEO reprimanding his assistant. He was a man terrified of losing the woman sitting in front of him. The line between their professional facade and their dangerous reality had completely dissolved.
"I understand." She breathed out softly.
He finished bandaging the wound in heavy silence, his knuckles brushing against her bare skin with lingering, agonizing slowness. Every touch felt like a brand, burning through her deep cover and exposing the chaotic emotions she was desperately trying to suppress.
Mingi stood up, closing the medical kit with a definitive snap. "I need to make a secure call to my lieutenants." He said, his voice returning to its measured, icy tone. "There is a bedroom down the hall, where you will find clean clothes in the closet. Clean yourself up and try to rest."
He walked into the adjacent office, closing the heavy steel door behind him. Y/N was finally alone. She stood up, her legs trembling slightly, before making her way into the dimly lit bedroom. She found a heavy, oversized black sweater in the closet, pulling it over her head to ward off the lingering chill. She sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling the encrypted satellite phone from the hidden lining of her clutch.
It powered on silently. She dialed the Director, the line connecting after a single ring. "Report." The icy voice crackled through the secure connection.
"We were ambushed." She kept her voice low, her eyes fixed on the closed door. "A heavily armed hit squad attacked the convoy. Northern syndicate mercenaries. Kang's allies are retaliating."
"Is the target eliminated?" The Director asked sharply.
"No." She closed her eyes, the guilt twisting painfully in her chest. "He survived. We are at a secure location."
A long, suffocating silence stretched across the line.
"My intelligence indicates that his vehicle was immobilized and pinned down by heavy fire." The Director noted, his tone devoid of any empathy. "He should be dead, Agent Y/N. How did he escape a synchronized kill zone?"
Y/N gripped the phone tighter, her knuckles turning white. "I intervened." She admitted quietly. "I disrupted the sniper's line of sight before he could take the fatal shot."
"You intervened..." The Director repeated the words slowly, turning them into a lethal accusation. "Your mission is to execute Song Mingi. You are not his bodyguard. Why did you protect a marked mafia leader before the Bureau could finalize its own tactical strike?"
"If he died tonight, the entire syndicate would fracture into a violent turf war." She lied smoothly, relying on her operational training to mask the truth. "I needed to maintain his trust, so I can dismantle the organization from the top down."
"You are losing your objectivity." He warned coldly. "You are blurring the lines between the operative and the alias. Do not forget who you are and do not forget what that man does in the shadows."
"I know exactly who he is." She stated firmly, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
"Then finish the job." The Director ordered. "Before he drags you down into the dark with him."
The line went dead.
Y/N lowered the phone, staring blankly at the dark screen. The Director was absolutely right. She was losing her grip on reality, falling for the very monster she was sworn to destroy.
She buried her face in her hands, the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the window sounding like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds until her inevitable betrayal.
***
The storm raged on, battering the reinforced skylights of the safe house with a deafening, violent intensity. Y/N sat perfectly still on the edge of the mattress, the encrypted satellite phone feeling like a lead weight in her pocket.
The Director's cold ultimatum echoed relentlessly in her mind.
"Finish the job, before he drags you down into the dark with him."
She stared at the long, fractured shadows stretching across the polished concrete floor. She had spent years perfecting the art of emotional detachment, building impenetrable walls to survive the brutal psychological warfare of undercover operations, but Song Mingi had effortlessly dismantled her defenses in a matter of weeks. She was supposed to be the predator in this operation, but she felt entirely like the prey.
The heavy steel door of the bedroom pushed open with a quiet groan. Mingi stepped inside, bringing the faint scent of rain, gunpowder and deep exhaustion with him. He had stripped off his ruined dress shirt, wearing only a plain black undershirt that clung tightly to the rigid, muscular lines of his torso. The severe bruising along his ribs formed a dark, violent tapestry, a physical testament to the brutal, unforgiving world he ruled.
He didn't speak immediately. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his dark, bottomless eyes fixed entirely on her. The impenetrable mask of the untouchable CEO was completely gone, leaving behind a man who looked dangerously weary and dangerously human.
"Are you in pain?" He asked quietly, his gaze dropping to the white bandage on her arm.
"No." She replied, pulling the oversized black sweater tighter around her trembling frame. "I am fine, Mingi."
He pushed off the doorframe, walking slowly toward the bed. Every step he took felt deliberate, heavy and completely inescapable. He stopped just inches away from her knees, towering over her in the dim, flickering light of the bedroom.
"You lied to me." He stated softly.
Y/N's breath caught sharply in her throat, her heart slamming violently against her ribs. Did he know? Did he hear the encrypted call? Did he trace the signal?
"When did I lie?" She asked, forcing her voice to remain steady, before she looked up into his face.
"You told me you were just an assistant." He reached out, his bruised knuckles brushing gently against her uninjured arm. "You told me you were simply doing your job, but no corporate assistant jumps in front of armor-piercing rounds. No civilian looks at a cartel hit squad without blinking. You did not even flinch, Evelyn."
He knelt on the concrete floor directly in front of her, forcing her to look down into his dark, predatory eyes. They were completely stripped of their usual cold calculation. They were filled with raw, terrifying vulnerability.
"Who are you, Evelyn?" He whispered, searching her face for an answer she could never, ever give him.
"I am exactly who you hired." She lied, the fabricated words tasting like bitter ash on her tongue.
Mingi slowly shook his head, his large hand sliding up her arm, before coming to rest against the side of her neck. His thumb traced the erratic, racing pulse beating rapidly beneath her pale skin.
"You are a ghost." He murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, velvet register that vibrated through her bones. "You walked into my fortress, you dismantled my defenses and you made yourself absolutely indispensable. I have spent my entire life building iron walls to keep the world out, but you bypassed every single one of them without even trying."
Y/N closed her eyes, leaning helplessly into the scorching warmth of his palm. It was a fatal mistake to seek comfort from the target, but she could no longer stop herself. The FBI operative was suffocating and only the woman remained.
"You should fire me, Mingi." She breathed out, opening her eyes to meet his intense, burning gaze. "You should let me walk away, before I ruin everything you have built."
"I cannot do that." He confessed, the admission sounding like a physical surrender, as if the words themselves cost him everything. "I tried to keep you at a professional distance. I brought you to the gala to prove to myself that you were just another pawn on the board, but the moment I saw Kang's man touch you, the moment I saw that mercenary aim his weapon at you, I realized the terrifying truth."
"What truth?" She asked, her voice trembling, before she could hide her fear.
"That I would gladly watch my entire empire burn to ash before I let anyone take you from me." He answered smoothly, his thumb brushing across her lower lip.
The confession hung in the quiet room, feeling infinitely heavier than the storm outside. A ruthless mafia boss was handing her his heart, placing the most lethal weapon in the city entirely at her mercy. The FBI Director wanted her to pull the trigger, but looking at Mingi now, Y/N knew she was utterly incapable of destroying him.
"Mingi, my life is dangerous." She warned him desperately, trying to give him one last chance to step away before the lies drowned them both in blood. "There are things about me you do not know and things you would absolutely hate if you ever found out."
"I do not care about your past." He stated fiercely, his grip tightening slightly, but possessively on her neck. "I do not care what dark secrets you are hiding, but I care about the woman who bled for me tonight. I care about the woman who looks at me without an ounce of fear in her eyes."
He stood up, pulling her gently to her feet until they were standing chest to chest. The physical proximity was absolutely intoxicating.
"Leave the company." He commanded softly, his hands sliding down to wrap firmly around her waist. "Walk out of those glass doors tomorrow, disappear into the city and never look back. Because if you stay here with me tonight, Evelyn, I will never let you go."
It was an ultimatum. It was the only escape hatch he would ever offer her. She could walk away right now, report back to the Bureau and vanish into the witness protection program forever, but the thought of living in a world without him felt infinitely worse than death.
She looked up at his bruised, strikingly handsome features. He was a monster to the rest of the civilized world, but he was the only man who made her feel entirely alive.
"I am not leaving you." She whispered, raising her trembling hands to rest flat against the hard muscle of his chest.
"Are you certain?" He asked, his voice rough, shaking with restrained desperation.
"I have never been more certain of anything before this moment." She answered, sealing her own fate.
Mingi did not ask again. He crushed his mouth against hers, the impact violent, consuming and utterly desperate. It was not a gentle kiss. It was a chaotic collision of two people who had been dancing on the edge of a razor blade for weeks.
He tasted like expensive scotch, rain and absolute ruin, intoxicating her senses and completely destroying her for anyone else.
Y/N gasped against his lips, her hands tangling desperately in his dark hair. She pulled him closer, kissing him back with a frantic urgency that terrified her. The FBI operative officially died in that exact moment and only the woman hopelessly in love with her mafia boss remained.
He backed her against the cold concrete wall, his heavy body pressing flush against hers. His hands were everywhere, exploring the soft curves of her waist beneath the oversized sweater, mapping the frantic beating of her heart. Every touch was fiercely possessive, a silent, unyielding claim that she belonged to him, and him alone.
He groaned against her neck, his lips trailing hot, burning kisses along her jawline.
She tilted her head back, granting him unrestricted access, just as an overwhelming wave of guilt crashed into her conscience. She was betraying her sworn oath. She was sleeping with the undisputed leader of the city's most powerful Mafia syndicate. She was supposed to kill him, but instead, she was anchoring herself permanently to his soul.
He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping tightly around his narrow waist as he carried her toward the center of the room. They tumbled onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and desperate, breathless kisses. Mingi pulled the heavy black sweater over her head, discarding it onto the floor, before pausing to look down at her.
His dark gaze swept over her pale skin, his eyes darkening with absolute, undeniable reverence. He traced the edge of the white bandage on her arm, his expression softening into profound regret, before he leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss against the gauze.
"I will protect you." He vowed quietly, his dark eyes burning with absolute, unwavering sincerity. "No matter what happens, no matter who comes for us, I will always protect you."
The beautiful words felt like a jagged dagger twisting violently in her chest. He was promising to protect her from the outside world, but he didn't know that she was the greatest threat in the room. She was the loaded weapon aimed directly at his heart.
"I know." She whispered, pulling his face down against hers, desperate to silence her screaming conscience.
Mingi rested his forehead against hers, gazing down at Y/N adoringly, drinking in every inch of her exposed skin like a man starved. His calloused fingertips traced the delicate line of her collarbone, dipping into the hollow of her throat.
He peppered feather-light kisses along her shoulder, worshipping her with his lips. Slowly, teasingly, he peeled away the lace of her bra, freeing her breasts to his hungry gaze.
Mingi slowly trailed his fingertips up Y/N's sides, savoring the smoothness of her skin. He cupped her breasts gently, thumbs circling her nipples until they pebbled beneath his touch. Leaning down, he captured one rosy bud between his lips, suckling softly as his hand continued its sensual exploration of her curves.
Y/N arched into his caress, a breathy moan escaping her as pleasure coursed through her veins. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as he lavished attention on her sensitive peaks. Each pull of his mouth, each brush of his fingers stoked the fire building low in her belly.
He kissed a path down her sternum, dipping his tongue into her navel, before continuing lower.
"Mingi..."
Mingi paused, looking up at Y/N with smoldering dark eyes filled with desire and tenderness. "Shh..." His voice was a low, intimate rumble.
He settled between her thighs, his broad shoulders nudging them further apart as he gazed at her with open adoration. Slowly, reverently, he pressed a tender kiss to her inner thigh, his lips making her skin tingle.
"You're so beautiful." He murmured against her flesh, his warm breath ghosting over panties. "I want to worship every inch of you."
Mingi began trailing open-mouthed kisses along her thigh, alternating between soft presses of his lips and teasing nips. He took his time, savoring her taste and scent, determined to bring her to the heights of ecstasy with his mouth alone.
With deliberate slowness, Mingi hooked his fingers into the waistband of Y/N's lacy panties. He dragged the delicate fabric down her legs, his calloused hands caressing her skin as he went.
Tossing the panties aside, he settled back between her spread thighs. He started at her knee, placing a soft kiss there before trailing his lips higher, mapping the crease where her thigh met her hip. As he neared her glistening folds, Mingi looked up at Y/N, his dark eyes smoldering with promise.
Y/N trembled with anticipation, her chest rising and falling rapidly as Mingi's heated gaze raked over her exposed core. She could feel the intensity of his stare, sending tingles across her sensitized skin.
"Don't tease." She breathed, her voice husky with need. She needed him to do something before she could get lost in her own head again.
A throaty chuckle rumbled from Mingi's chest. "Patience." He murmured. "I intend to take my time savoring you."
He leaned in, his breath hot against her slick folds. Mingi parted her with his thumbs, revealing her swollen, aching clit. Without warning, he sealed his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucked gently.
Y/N gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily as electric pleasure zipped up her spine at the intense sensation. "F-fuck..."
Mingi hummed against her core, the vibrations intensifying the exquisite sensations. He lapped at her slowly, deliberately, coating his tongue in her essence. Each stroke was calculated to drive her wild with lust.
"That's it." He purred, his deep voice muffled against her intimate flesh. "Let me hear those pretty sounds."
Y/N fisted the sheets beneath her, her breath getting heavier as Mingi worked her skillfully with his mouth.
"If it requires seduction, then seduce him." The The FBI Director's cold directive played on a relentless loop in her mind, each repetition twisting the knife of her guilt a little deeper. She was trapped in a web of double betrayal, forsaking the badge she had sworn to uphold, while deceiving the very man she had been sent to eliminate.
"Mingi... Wait..."
Mingi paused, lifting his head to meet Y/N's conflicted gaze. "Shh, it's alright." He soothed, pressing a tender kiss to her inner thigh, totally oblivious of her inner battles.
He dipped his tongue inside her entrance, stroking along her walls in long, languid licks. At the same time, he reached up to cup her breast, kneading the soft mound and rolling her nipple between his fingers.
"I've got you." He coaxed, his voice a low, hypnotic murmur, before pulling away reluctantly to unbutton his pants.
Accepting the defeat, Y/N watched through hooded eyes as Mingi stood and quickly shed his remaining clothes. His muscular torso was a work of art, defined abs leading down to a sharp V line disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs. As he pushed those off too, his impressive length sprang free, already hard and leaking at the tip.
Crawling back over Y/N, he caged her in with his arms, his body hovering above hers. He peppered kisses along her jaw and down her neck, occasionally nipping at her pulse point. One hand skimmed down her side to her hip, squeezing the soft flesh possessively.
He leaned his forehead against hers, the thick head of his cock nudging insistently at her slick entrance. Y/N gazed up at Mingi, her eyes dark with desire and a flicker of uncertainty. She knew she should push him away, end this dangerous liaison before it went too far. But her traitorous body ached for his touch, craving the completion only he could provide.
"Mingi..." She breathed, her voice trembling slightly. "Please..."
The plea seemed to shatter the last of Mingi's restraint. With a low groan, he surged forward, sheathing himself to the hilt inside her tight heat in one smooth thrust.
"Fuck, Evelyn." He grunted, his eyes fluttering shut. "You feel so good."
He held still for a moment, allowing them both to adjust to the intimate connection, then began to move slowly. He set a steady, deep rhythm, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside Y/N that made stars explode behind her eyelids. He kept his weight braced on his forearms, never letting their bodies separate fully. The new angle allowed him to grind against her clit with every roll of his hips.
"Take it, sweetheart." He panted, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take all of me."
Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper as they lost themselves in the deep shadows of the safe house, the raging storm outside completely forgotten. Mingi touched her with a worshipful, terrifying intensity, learning every inch of her body, completely unaware that he was surrendering his entire empire to a federal undercover agent.
Y/N gave herself to him entirely, letting the overwhelming pleasure and the heat of his touch drown out the ticking clock of her inevitable, devastating betrayal.
***
The morning light was a cold, unforgiving gray. It filtered through the reinforced skylights of the safe house, painting the concrete walls in pale, hollow tones.
Mingi slept beside her, his breathing steady and deep. His heavy arm was thrown across her waist, pulling her flush against his side, pinning her to the mattress in a fiercely protective hold.
In sleep, the ruthless mafia boss was entirely gone. The sharp, calculating tension that usually lined his jaw had completely vanished, leaving behind a man who looked dangerously peaceful.
Y/N lay perfectly still, turning her head slightly on the pillow to watch him. She studied the dark, violent bruises mottling his ribs, the faint shadows beneath his long eyelashes and the relaxed, steady rise and fall of his bare chest.
The warmth of his skin against hers was absolutely intoxicating. For a few fleeting, stolen hours in the dark, she had allowed herself to forget the Bureau, the mission and the lies. She had allowed herself to just be a woman hopelessly in love with the man who had sworn to burn the world down to keep her safe.
She reached out, her trembling fingertips hovering just a millimeter above his cheek, desperately wanting to trace the line of his jaw one last time. But she pulled her hand back, burying her fingers deep into the sheets.
She had finally achieved exactly what she wanted. She had completely infiltrated the impenetrable fortress of Song Mingi and she had successfully claimed his heart. But the crushing, suffocating weight of reality was rapidly closing in, poisoning the fragile peace of the morning. She had crossed the absolute point of no return. She had surrendered to the target, compromised a six-year federal operation and committed high treason against the government.
The beautiful illusion was over. The sun was up and she was an FBI agent trapped in a bed with a marked syndicate leader. She had to destroy him or the Bureau would inevitably destroy them both. A single, silent tear slipped down her pale cheek, soaking quietly into the cotton pillowcase.
Then, the silence shattered. A low, rhythmic vibration hummed from the pocket of her discarded blazer across the room. It was the encrypted satellite phone.
Y/N froze, her heart stalling in her chest. She carefully lifted Mingi's heavy arm, sliding out from beneath the sheets with agonizing slowness. She pulled on his discarded dress shirt, the fabric hanging loosely past her thighs, before crossing the cold concrete floor.
She retrieved the phone, stepping into the adjacent bathroom and closed the heavy steel door until it clicked shut. She pressed the encrypted button to accept the call.
"Report." The Director's voice was a flat expanse of ice.
"The target is secure." She whispered, staring at her pale reflection in the mirror.
"You have been radio silent for twelve hours, Agent Y/N." The Director stated coldly. "We tracked the mercenary communication chatter from the ambush. Kang's loyalists failed, but they provided us with exactly what we needed. They exposed his defensive perimeter."
A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach. "What are you saying?" She asked.
"The Department of Justice has authorized a full tactical breach." He replied. "We have the location of the safe house, where you are currently holding position. Three tactical units are mobilizing as we speak. They will breach the perimeter in exactly twenty minutes."
"Twenty minutes." She repeated, her voice dropping into a breathless panic. "Sir, the building is fortified. If you breach, he will fight and it will be a bloodbath."
"That is exactly why I am calling you before the teams arrive." The Director's voice dropped into a lethal, uncompromising register. "You have unhindered access to him right now. Your orders are no longer to gather intelligence. Your orders are to execute the target immediately."
The words echoed in the cramped bathroom, ringing in her ears with absolute finality. "You want me to kill him while he sleeps." She said softly, her hands trembling violently.
"I want you to finish the mission." He commanded. "Put a bullet in his head before the strike teams breach the doors. If he is alive when they enter, they will open fire and they will not hesitate to shoot through you to get to him. Do it now."
"He trusts me." She argued, a desperate tear escaping her eye. "I can bring him in quietly, but you have to give me more time."
"He is a mafia leader, not a witness." The Director snapped, his patience entirely exhausted. "He does not get to come in quietly. Execute Song Mingi or you will be treated as an enemy combatant when my men break down those doors. Do I make myself clear?"
Y/N looked at her reflection. She saw the dark bruises on her skin, the tangled hair and the lingering flush of his touch. She was no longer Agent Y/N. That woman had died in the rain last night.
"Perfectly clear." She answered, crushing the satellite phone beneath her heel.
The plastic shattered with a sharp crack, terminating the secure connection forever. She turned around, pushing the heavy steel door open. She walked back into the bedroom, her eyes landing on Mingi's matte-black semiautomatic weapon resting on the nightstand. She picked it up, feeling the heavy, cold metal in her palm. It was fully loaded. She could end it right now. One shot and she could walk away as a decorated federal hero.
She walked to the edge of the bed, gripping the weapon tightly. Mingi shifted, his dark eyes slowly fluttering open. He looked up at her, his gaze sweeping over his oversized shirt hanging from her shoulders, before landing on the loaded gun in her hands. He did not flinch and he did not reach for a secondary weapon. He simply looked at her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were filled with absolute, devastating clarity.
"You are awake." She whispered, her voice breaking.
"I have been awake since the phone rang." He replied smoothly, sitting up against the headboard, completely ignoring the barrel pointed in his general direction.
He had heard everything. He knew exactly who she was and he knew exactly what she was ordered to do. Y/N's hands shook uncontrollably, the heavy weapon feeling like an anchor dragging her into the abyss. She was an FBI operative, trained to kill without hesitation, but looking at the man who had laid his entire empire at her feet, she knew she could never pull the trigger.
With a broken sob, she lowered the gun, dropping it onto the mattress between them. "They are coming." She choked out, tears spilling down her cheeks. "The FBI is breaching this building in less than fifteen minutes, Mingi. We have to leave."
The heavy semiautomatic weapon lay perfectly still on the mattress between them. Mingi did not reach for it. He stood up from the bed, his bare chest catching the pale, gray light filtering through the reinforced skylights. He moved with a terrifying, deliberate calmness that made the blood freeze in Y/N's veins.
He did not look angry, but he did not look forgiving either. He looked completely and utterly hollowed out.
"Fifteen minutes." He stated quietly, walking toward the far wall of the bedroom. "That is not a lot of time before the tactical units arrive."
He pressed his palm against a seamless panel in the concrete. A biometric scanner hummed to life, before a heavy section of the wall slid open, revealing a meticulously stocked armory.
Assault rifles, tactical vests, spare magazines and high-explosive charges lined the hidden compartment. It was enough firepower to hold off a small army.
"Mingi-" She choked out, stepping toward him, her hands still trembling from the weight of her devastating betrayal.
"Do not." He commanded sharply.
The words were a physical blow. He did not raise his voice, but the absolute coldness in his tone stopped her dead in her tracks. He pulled a black Kevlar vest from the rack, before tossing it onto the floor at her feet.
"Put that on." He instructed, his back turned to her as he loaded a fresh magazine into an assault rifle. "You are going to need it before your colleagues start shooting."
Y/N stared at the heavy tactical gear. The reality of the situation was crashing down around her in suffocating waves. She had lied to him, she had slept with him and she had ultimately brought the full, devastating force of the federal government directly to his doorstep.
"I never wanted this to happen." She whispered, tears blurring her vision, before she reached down to pick up the vest. "I tried to stop them."
"You tried to stop them." He repeated smoothly, finally turning to face her. "You called your Director on an encrypted federal line, you reported my exact location and you tried to negotiate my surrender. You did not try to stop them. You just ran out of time before you could finish the job."
He walked slowly back toward the center of the room. He stopped just inches away from her, his dark, bottomless eyes dissecting every single detail of her face. He was looking at her as if she were a complete stranger and in many ways, she was.
"Evelyn Park does not exist." He observed, his voice completely devoid of inflection. "The Ivy League diploma. The flawless employment record. The perfectly timed entrance into my company. It was all a meticulously crafted illusion."
"Yes." She admitted softly, the single word feeling like shattered glass in her throat.
"The way you handled Kang's man in the corridor." He continued, his gaze narrowing slightly. "The way you audited my encrypted ledgers in a single night. The way you threw yourself into the line of fire before the mercenary could pull the trigger. No civilian possesses that kind of tactical awareness. You did not even flinch, but I convinced myself it was simply bravery. I should have seen it, but I chose to be blind."
He reached out, his long fingers grazing the collar of his own dress shirt that she was still wearing. He did not pull her closer, but he did not pull away either.
"What is your real name?" He asked quietly.
"Y/N." She answered, the truth finally slipping past her lips for the first time since she had walked into Song Industries. "I am Agent Y/N. I have been deep undercover for the Bureau for six years."
Mingi absorbed the information without a single flicker of visible emotion. He dropped his hand, stepping back to put a suffocating distance between them.
"And your mission was to assassinate me." He stated the fact with clinical precision.
"My mission was to earn your trust, get close enough and eliminate you." She confessed, the agonizing weight of her sins dragging her down. "I was supposed to kill you last night, but I couldn't do it."
"Why?" He challenged, his eyes hardening into unforgiving steel. "You are a trained operative. You lied flawlessly for weeks. You manipulated my schedule, you analyzed my vulnerabilities and you infiltrated my inner circle. You had the weapon in your hands, Y/N. Why did you drop it?"
"Because I fell in love with you." She cried out, the desperate confession tearing out of her chest. "I compromised everything before I even realized what was happening. I betrayed my oath, I betrayed my Director and I betrayed myself, because I cannot imagine a world where you do not exist."
Silence fell over the fortified room. It was a heavy, suffocating silence that seemed to swallow the distant rumble of thunder.
Mingi stared at her, his jaw ticking faintly as he processed the chaotic, devastating truth. He had built an empire on ruthlessness and absolute control, but the woman standing in front of him had completely destroyed his foundation.
"You fell in love with me." He repeated softly, the words laced with a dark, bitter edge. "Or did your Director order you to sleep with the target before you pulled the trigger?"
The accusation felt like a physical slap across the face. Y/N flinched, her eyes wide with absolute horror.
"No." She gasped, shaking her head frantically. "Mingi, no. Last night was real. Every single touch, every single word, it was all real. I swear to you."
"You swore your loyalty to the Bureau." He countered coldly, stepping toward the armory to retrieve a second assault rifle. "You are a professional liar, Y/N. Your entire existence in my life is a fabricated federal operation. How am I supposed to believe that your feelings are the only genuine thing in this room?"
"Because I am standing here!" She yelled, her voice echoing violently off the concrete walls. "Because I crushed that satellite phone before I let them use me to kill you. I could have walked out that door, I could have left you to die, but I chose to stay. I chose you."
She closed the distance between them, grabbing his arm with desperate, trembling hands. He froze, his muscles locking into solid granite beneath her touch. He looked down at her hands, before slowly raising his eyes to meet hers.
"If we walk out of this room together, there is no going back." He warned, his voice dropping into a lethal, heavy register. "The FBI will hunt you for the rest of your life. You will be branded a traitor, a fugitive and an enemy of the state. You will lose everything you have ever known before the sun sets today."
"I already lost everything when I took this assignment." She replied fiercely, her civilian facade completely gone, replaced by the hardened, lethal operative beneath. "I do not care about the Bureau. I only care about getting you out of this building alive."
Mingi searched her eyes for a long, agonizing moment. He was looking for a trace of deception, a flicker of hesitation, but he found absolutely nothing except fierce, unyielding devotion.
The bitter tension in his jaw finally relaxed. The cold calculation in his eyes melted away, replaced by the intense, terrifying possessiveness that she had fallen entirely in love with. He dropped the heavy rifle onto the floor, before wrapping his arms violently around her waist.
He pulled her flush against his chest, crushing his mouth against hers in a desperate, bruising kiss. It was a chaotic collision of anger, betrayal and absolute surrender. He kissed her like she was the only oxygen left in the burning world. Y/N clung to him, her fingers tangling tightly in his hair, kissing him back with every ounce of her shattered soul.
He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers, both of them gasping for air. "If you betray me again, Y/N..." He whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "I will not let the Bureau kill you. I will do it myself."
"I will never betray you." She vowed softly, her heart hammering frantically against his chest.
The distant, high-pitched wail of police sirens pierced through the sound of the storm outside. The tactical units were closing in. They had less than five minutes before the front doors were breached.
Mingi pulled away, the ruthless mafia boss taking complete control once more. "Get dressed." He commanded, picking up the heavy tactical vest from the floor before handing it to her. "Put the armor on. We are going to have to fight our way out of the subterranean garage."
Y/N nodded quickly. She shed his oversized dress shirt, before pulling on a dark tactical long-sleeve shirt and matching cargo pants she found in his hidden supply cache. She strapped the heavy Kevlar vest over her chest, the familiar weight of the combat gear grounding her chaotic emotions. She was no longer Evelyn Park, the forgettable assistant. She was Agent Y/N and she was about to go to war against her own people.
Mingi watched her gear up with a dark, appreciative gleam in his eyes. He strapped a dual shoulder holster over his black shirt, before loading two high-capacity handguns.
"I always knew you looked too dangerous in a silk gown." He noted quietly, tossing a sleek, compact submachine gun across the room toward her.
Y/N caught the weapon effortlessly out of the air. She checked the magazine, chambered a round with a sharp, metallic clack and clicked the safety off. Her movements were smooth, precise and entirely lethal.
"I am much more dangerous in Kevlar, Mingi." She replied, a cold, predatory smile finally touching her lips.
"Good." He walked toward the heavy steel door, a duffel bag of untraceable currency and encrypted hard drives slung over his shoulder. "Stay behind me. If anyone wearing a federal badge steps into the corridor, you do not hesitate."
"I won't." She promised, falling into tactical formation perfectly in sync with his movements.
The sirens outside grew deafeningly loud, accompanied by the heavy, ominous screech of armored transport vehicles skidding to a halt on the wet pavement. Heavy combat boots hit the ground and authoritative voices began shouting tactical commands through bullhorns. The FBI strike teams were officially on the premises.
Mingi placed his hand on the heavy iron handle of the safe house door. He looked back at her one last time, the ghost of a dark, thrilling smile touching the corner of his mouth.
"Let's go break some federal laws, Agent Y/N." He murmured.
"Lead the way, Mr. Song." She answered.
The corridor outside the safe house was bathed in the eerie, pulsing glow of red emergency lights. The main power had already been severed, leaving the sprawling industrial complex shrouded in deep, suffocating shadows.
Y/N moved with lethal silence, her combat boots making absolutely no sound against the concrete. She swept the muzzle of her submachine gun across the intersecting hallways, covering their rear, while Mingi took the vanguard. He moved like a ghost, his tall, broad frame blending perfectly into the darkness.
There was no hesitation in his steps. He knew the architectural layout of the warehouse better than the federal agents currently swarming its perimeter.
"Two at the end of the hall." Mingi whispered, pressing his back against the damp brick wall.
Y/N leaned out just a fraction of an inch, her sharp eyes cutting through the gloom. Two FBI tactical operatives were advancing slowly, their assault rifles raised and the red beams of their laser sights sweeping the floorboards. They were highly trained, but they were not expecting the prey to become the predators.
"I will take the left." She breathed out, raising her weapon to her shoulder.
"On three." He murmured, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "One. Two. Three."
They swung out from the cover of the brick wall simultaneously. Mingi fired two suppressed rounds, dropping the agent on the right instantly.
Y/N pulled her trigger a microsecond later, her submachine gun coughing quietly as the agent on the left collapsed onto the concrete. It was flawless, synchronized violence. They moved past the incapacitated men without a second glance, pushing deeper into the cavernous warehouse.
They reached the elevated steel catwalk that overlooked the primary loading floor. Below them, the massive rolling doors had been breached. The cavernous space was swarming with tactical units, armored vehicles and sweeping searchlights that cut through the lingering dust like physical blades.
Y/N crouched low against the steel railing, her heart hammering against her ribs. There were too many of them. They could not shoot their way through a fully mobilized federal strike force, but retreating was no longer an option.
Suddenly, the blinding glare of a mounted halogen spotlight hit the catwalk, flooding their position in harsh, inescapable white light.
"Hold your fire." A voice echoed over the tactical megaphone, carrying a cold, familiar authority that made the blood freeze in Y/N's veins.
The Director stepped out from behind a heavily armored transport vehicle. He stood on the ground floor, his pristine trench coat completely untouched by the rain and the grime of the warehouse. He looked up at the catwalk, his expression as unreadable as polished granite.
He had come personally to oversee the execution, to ensure that his rogue operative and his white whale were both permanently erased.
"Agent Y/N." The Director's voice amplified across the silent, tense warehouse. "You are surrounded. There is no tactical advantage and there is no escape. Step away from the target, lower your weapon and you will be allowed to face a military tribunal, where you might survive."
Y/N slowly stood up, stepping into the blinding beam of the spotlight. She kept her submachine gun raised, the barrel pointed directly at the man who had ordered her to pull the trigger while the man she loved was sleeping.
"I am no longer your agent." She shouted back, her voice carrying absolute, unwavering defiance.
Mingi rose beside her, his tall frame shielding half of her body. He did not aim his rifle at the tactical operatives surrounding them. He aimed it directly at the Director.
"Is this the man who ordered you to kill me?" Mingi asked quietly, his voice dangerously soft despite the chaos below.
"Yes." She replied, never taking her eyes off her former boss.
The Director adjusted the collar of his coat, completely unfazed by the weapons aimed at his chest.
"You have disappointed me, Y/N." The Director projected his voice again. "You were the finest operative in the Bureau, but you allowed a mafia leader to manipulate your judgment. You forgot your oath. You forgot what this man does in the dark."
"I know exactly what he does." She yelled down, her grip tightening on the heavy weapon. "But I also know what you do. You do not care about justice, you only care about control. You wanted him dead because he refused to be bought by your political allies."
A ripple of uneasy silence washed over the tactical teams below. They were highly disciplined, but they were not accustomed to hearing their commanding officer accused of federal corruption in the middle of a raid.
"She has been compromised." The Director stated coldly, addressing his strike teams. "The target has subjected her to extreme psychological conditioning. She is no longer acting of her own free will."
"I have never thought more clearly in my entire life." Y/N countered fiercely.
Mingi shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing intimately against hers. "He is trying to buy time." Mingi warned her under his breath. "The perimeter snipers are positioning themselves on the roof, where they have a clear line of sight. We have exactly ten seconds before they fire."
"I am giving you one final chance, Agent Y/N." The Director called out, his hand raising slightly to signal the hidden snipers. "Execute the target and walk away."
Y/N looked at the Director, before turning her head to look at Mingi. His bruised, handsome face was bathed in the harsh white light, but his eyes were filled with an unyielding, protective warmth that completely defied the violent setting. He had offered her an empire, he had forgiven her devastating betrayal and he was standing beside her, completely ready to die for her.
"I will never hurt him." She declared, her voice ringing out like a gunshot in the silent warehouse.
She reached out, grabbing Mingi's hand and lacing her fingers tightly through his. She held their joined hands up, showing the Director and the entire federal strike force, exactly where her loyalties now resided.
The Director's expression finally cracked, hardening into a mask of pure, unforgiving hatred. He had lost his weapon and he had lost his war.
"Kill them both." The Director ordered ruthlessly, dropping his hand to signal the strike.
"Hold your breath." Mingi commanded instantly, before he pulled a highly concentrated flashbang grenade from his tactical vest and hurled it over the railing.
The canister detonated in mid-air, unleashing a blinding, magnesium-white explosion that completely overwhelmed the warehouse. The tactical operatives screamed, clutching their eyes as the concussive shockwave shattered the halogen spotlights, plunging the cavernous building back into absolute, chaotic darkness.
"Run." Mingi yelled, his hand tightening like a vice around hers. Gunfire erupted from every direction, the heavy caliber rounds tearing through the steel catwalk, but they were already moving. Y/N fired a suppressive burst of rounds into the dark, covering their desperate sprint toward the secondary maintenance tunnels, where the federal agents could not follow. They plunged into the suffocating abyss together, leaving the shattered illusion of Evelyn Park and the ghost of Agent Y/N, to burn in the ashes behind them.
***
The maintenance tunnels were a labyrinth of rusted pipes and dripping water, descending deep beneath the industrial district. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and decay, but it offered the only sanctuary from the federal strike force above.
Y/N ran close behind Mingi, her boots splashing through shallow puddles of stagnant water. The distant, muffled shouts of the tactical units echoed down the concrete shafts, but the sounds were rapidly fading. Mingi navigated the pitch-black corridors with flawless precision, turning down branching pathways without a single second of hesitation.
"How far does this go?" She asked, her breath echoing loudly in the narrow space.
"Far enough." He answered without slowing his pace. "It connects to the old storm drains and empties directly into the harbor."
They reached a heavy iron grate blocking the tunnel. Mingi gripped the rusted bars, his muscles straining as he hauled the heavy metal out of their path. Y/N slipped through the opening, her submachine gun raised to cover their rear. She could hear the heavy thud of combat boots dropping into the tunnels far behind them. The FBI was not going to let them disappear, but they were running out of time.
"They have breached the sub-level." She warned, her eyes scanning the impenetrable darkness. "They are using thermal imaging, Mingi. We cannot outrun them in a straight line."
"We are not going to outrun them." He stepped past the iron grate, before pulling a small, rectangular detonator from his tactical vest. "We are going to bury them."
He pressed a sequence of buttons on the device, a tiny red light blinking to life in the darkness.
"What is that?" She asked, her gaze dropping to the blinking light.
"A dead man's switch." He explained smoothly. "I wired the structural supports of the upper warehouse with military-grade incendiary charges before the gala. If the perimeter was ever breached, I wanted to ensure that my enemies burned with my empire." He looked at the detonator, before looking back at her. "If we trigger it now, the explosion will collapse the entire warehouse and incinerate the tunnels beneath it." He stated coldly. "The FBI will find nothing but ash and crushed concrete. They will conclude that we were trapped in the blast."
Y/N realized exactly what he was proposing. It was the perfect illusion. A fiery death to erase the untouchable CEO and the rogue agent. They would be completely free, but the cost was the absolute destruction of everything they had known.
"Do it." She commanded without a fraction of hesitation.
"We need to leave a physical anchor." He noted, unbuckling his dual shoulder holster. "Something that proves we were standing at the epicenter of the collapse."
He dropped the leather holster onto the damp concrete, before unfastening his expensive, custom-engraved silver watch. He tossed it onto the ground beside the weapons.
Y/N understood immediately. She unclipped her FBI credentials from her belt, the silver badge gleaming faintly in the darkness, before dropping it next to his watch. She unstrapped her heavy Kevlar vest, discarding the tactical gear onto the pile. The fire would melt the metal, but the serial numbers would survive just enough to confirm their identities to the forensic teams.
"Are you ready?" He asked softly, his thumb resting heavily over the ignition switch.
"I am ready." She answered, lacing her fingers tightly through his free hand.
"Hold your breath, Y/N." He whispered. He pressed the button. A split second later, the world tore itself apart.
The shockwave hit them first, a brutal, invisible wall of force that threw them violently down the tunnel. The deafening roar of the explosion followed, drowning out every other sound in existence. Above them, thousands of tons of concrete, steel and machinery collapsed in a catastrophic cascade of absolute ruin. The ceiling of the tunnel behind them caved in instantly, unleashing a terrifying wave of scorching heat and suffocating dust that rolled through the narrow corridor like a tidal wave.
Mingi pulled her to the ground, shielding her body with his own as the debris rained down around them. The tunnel shook violently, the walls cracking and groaning under the immense pressure, but the ancient storm drains held their structural integrity. The incendiary fire roared in the collapsed section behind them, sealing the pathway permanently, and creating an impenetrable wall of burning rubble.
The federal strike force was cut off entirely, and their physical evidence was buried beneath a mountain of burning concrete. They lay on the damp floor for several minutes, coughing through the thick, acrid smoke. The deafening collapse slowly settled into a low, terrifying rumble, before finally fading into an eerie, ringing silence.
Mingi pushed himself off the ground, his face covered in soot and dust, but his dark eyes were shining with a triumphant, predatory gleam.
"It is done." He breathed out, reaching down to pull her to her feet.
Y/N stood up, her muscles aching from the brutal impact, but an overwhelming wave of relief washed over her. She looked at the collapsed tunnel behind them. Agent Y/N was officially dead, buried in the ashes of the underworld, but the woman standing beside Song Mingi was entirely alive.
"Let's get out of here." She murmured, leaning heavily into his side.
They navigated the remaining stretch of the storm drain in absolute silence. The air grew colder, and the distinct smell of salt and harbor water replaced the heavy scent of smoke. They finally reached the end of the tunnel, stepping out onto a secluded, rocky embankment overlooking the dark, turbulent waters of the harbor.
The rain was still falling, washing the soot and blood from their skin. Hidden beneath the shadows of a dilapidated pier, a sleek, unmarked speedboat bobbed gently against the dark waves. It was fueled, fully stocked and waiting for them. It was his final contingency plan, hidden away for a day he had hoped would never come.
Mingi climbed into the vessel first, turning to offer her his hand. Y/N hesitated for just a moment. She looked back at the city skyline one last time. In the far distance, a massive pillar of black smoke rose into the storm clouds, marking the grave of his criminal empire and the end of her federal career. She felt no regret, no fear and no hesitation. She turned away from the burning city, before placing her hand firmly in his.
He pulled her onto the boat, his arms wrapping securely around her waist as the engine roared to life. The vessel cut through the black water, disappearing effortlessly into the raging storm, and leaving no trace behind them.
***
Six months later, the rhythmic drumming of the rain had been replaced by the gentle, endless crash of the Mediterranean Sea.
Y/N stood on the sun-drenched terrace of a secluded white villa, her hands resting lightly against the warm stone balustrade. A warm coastal breeze swept off the sapphire water, tangling in her loose, dark hair. From the cliffside, the world looked infinitely vast and completely untouched by the violence they had left behind.
Gone were the towering skyscrapers, the fractured neon and the suffocating shadows of the financial district. She wore a simple white linen sundress, her feet bare against the sun-baked tiles. The heavy Kevlar, the concealed weapons and the crushing weight of the federal badge were nothing more than a fading nightmare.
She was free, truly free, for the very first time in her life. Behind her, the heavy glass doors slid open with a quiet hum.
"You are up early." His voice carried the same deep, velvet authority, but the dangerous edge had melted away into absolute peace.
She turned slowly, a genuine smile touching her lips. Mingi walked out onto the terrace. He had traded his impeccably tailored charcoal suits for loose white linen pants and a partially unbuttoned shirt. His hair caught the golden morning light, softening the sharp, sculpted lines of his features. The untouchable CEO and the ruthless mafia boss had burned in the ashes of the city, leaving behind a man who finally knew how to breathe.
He stepped behind her, wrapping his strong arms securely around her waist, before pressing a soft kiss against her bare shoulder.
"I was watching the sunrise." She leaned back into the solid, comforting warmth of his chest, her hands resting over his.
"I received a message from our contact in the city." He murmured, his chin resting near her temple as he looked out at the horizon, where the water met the sky. "The federal investigation has been officially closed. The forensic teams matched the serial numbers on the melted badge and the engraved watch. They declared us casualties of the structural collapse."
"So it is finally over." She whispered, the last lingering trace of anxiety washing away with the tide.
"Agent Y/N is dead and Song Mingi burned with his empire." He agreed quietly, turning her in his arms until she was facing him. "There is no one left to hunt us, but we still have a problem."
Y/N frowned slightly, looking up into his bottomless, dark eyes. "What problem?" She asked.
"You still do not have a name." He pointed out, a slow, breathtaking smile spreading across his handsome face. "Evelyn Park belonged to my assistant and your old name belonged to the Bureau. Who are you now?"
Y/N reached up, her fingers threading gently into the dark hair at the nape of his neck. She looked at the man who had laid his entire world in ruins, just to keep her safe. "I am yours." She answered simply.
Mingi's eyes darkened with absolute, unwavering devotion, before he leaned down to capture her lips. The kiss was slow, deep and filled with the promise of a lifetime they had stolen from the ashes.
The war was over, the shadows were gone and the predator had finally found his peace.
- 8 members. 8 writers. Same au, same world!
- Check out the other 7 as some are intertwined!
Pairing: Song Mingi x fem reader
AU: post-apocalyptic, super powered, dystopian, e2l
genre: dystopian, action, adventure, romance
WC: 22k (she got out of hand and im not sorry)
Estimated avg read time: 1 hr, 50 minutes
Warnings: Mature rating, violence, gun fights, super powers, mentions of experimentation. e2l but mostly one-sided and not really enemies more perceived enemies. Choking, death threats, prisoner/hostage x captor. Lots of manhandling, illusions, speeding, mentions of death, minor character death, dry humping, fondling, cumming in pants. "there was only one bed" trope, restraints. Reader is called Rat/mouse and Baby (may be various other names), Mingi is a dick. Mingi is traumatized (all characters are to some extent ngl)
Summary: Surviving in a wasteland a century after the near decimation of humanity has never been easy. All it takes is being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and suddenly you're trying to prove your innocence without even knowing why. Just that the fearsome captor of yours is someone you don't want to hate you. And the people he brings you around are too likeable to want to move on from. Living your life on the run no longer seems like a way of life worth living.
Main Masterlist
Author's note (PLEASE READ): so I have been working on this for months and it's been a slow process because it was a collab. a crossover collab. There was a lot of back and forth to make sure things aligned nicely and we all liked the ideas and world we built. Some of the 8 of us kept our stories pretty solo and some, like me, wanted to include others. So keep in mind that every other member and oddly named character is one of the other writer's! It's their reader and the member they curated for this piece. This also means you can see THIS Mingi in the other fics. There are going to be scenes told from multi POV's and there are also going to be some inconsistencies we did our best to smooth out. Each story can still be read as a standalone but please feel free to read the others. In fact, to better understand the Mingi here, I highly recommend reading the others! This entire 22k is from reader's pov. There are aspects I wrote about Mingi that didn't get showcased.
I enjoyed writing this so much. The slow burn, the world, the crossover's. I know it's a chunky fic for tumblr. I know it's not the usual cup of tea (the spice isnt until way later and pretty brief) I really hope you all enjoy this and pls please PLEASE give feedback and check out the other's for a better, more amazing picture!
Last but not least: Dividers by me, Banner was made by @yourfatherlucifer , beta reader was my lovely @bunnliix and biggest shout out to @sanjoongie for making this one of my favorite pieces to work on!
if you see any mistakes pls ignore. I suck at editing and this was a big piece im so tired bruh will link the Adrenaline Anthology masterlist as soon as it's available!
Fear is a powerful motivator.
Like gasoline in your blood, pumping through your veins with each ragged breath, ready to explode at any second. Every step further and further. Every paranoid glance around.
Blood pumping so viciously it felt like a physical drumming on your skull and chest as you darted down another alley in search for freedom.
But freedom isn’t for you. There was a time when you might have thought so, that you were free to an extent. Yet it had been shattered and spewn across the dusty sands along with the blood and chunks of human flesh that had been your parents.
Nights like this was just another reminder of how much freedom you lacked. How it came at such a high price, instilling the fuel of fear into your blood like a drug.
Most raids you had lived through were stealthy, though you can count on both hands the amount of raids you had lived through in your twenty something years of life. Or was it thirty now? You would be lying if you said you knew what year it was, let alone just how old you had been when you had lost both parents and freedom alike.
Needless to say, not all raids were stealthy and quiet and easy to avoid. Those ones ended as soon as they found whoever they wanted, and it was never you. But these ones? Where gunfire and explosions and screams could be heard around the rubble turned town? They had no specific target. These were the raids you were sure were attacked just because of the sheer amount of people living there. Or lack thereof. Like they just had a hunch the population held what they wanted.
You didn’t want answers, if only because you thought it would steal any remaining freedom you might still have. To keep yourself from being tethered to whatever these strange men were looking for- that they thought you had.
A nearby yell told you that your current hiding spot in this alley was not safe, so quickly you scrambled up and rushed across the cool sand to the other end of the alley, hissing when you tripped over buried debris that wasn’t deep enough in the sand to avoid.
Somehow you managed to roll out of sight and into the shadows of the stone and metal half destroyed construct, realizing too late that beyond the large slabs of broken wall and concrete there was no escape from this alley. Not without climbing too high on wavering debris where you would surely be seen in the moonlight up there, no guarantee the other side was safe. For all you knew it could be a chasm in the earth, small ones littered all over the wasteland from the occasional earthquakes over the years, sometimes too subtle to notice until the ground was sinking beneath you.
No, it would be best to turn around and- shit.
You had a split second to sink yourself further into the shadows of the debris, glancing over your shoulder at the mountainous rubble to see if perhaps a hiding place would work. Your one saving grace was that the masked men now standing a few yards from you had their attention elsewhere.
Well at least they didn’t see me when I crossed the path, you bemused in your head, pulling your hood up and over your face more to try and hide in the shadows. It was both a blessing and a curse that the moon was full and free tonight, guiding your way but making it hard to hide.
Maybe you should have stayed where you had been sleeping since the men hadn’t scoured the buildings as you had thought. No, you just had to run, fear of being caught and dragged to who knows where causing you to flee.
Why is it that when the intense urge to flee over takes your body you always seem to make the wrong decision??
Holding your breath to try and still your rapid heartbeat- that you were sure the men would be able to hear if they tried- you could only watch wide-eyed as they charged.
Not at you, but another group from the other end. They had taken off after a deep… bark? And from your spot attempting to become one with two pieces of wall and shadow, a fight ensued.
At first you only saw the masked men in all black, and a second group of men. Shirtless, heads and faces covered with masks, bandana’s, and hats. What weapons there were found new homes in the sand beneath their feet, turning the fight into an all out brawl. It was clear the shirtless men weren’t trying to kill like the masked men were.
When one was tossed face first into the sand at the entrance of your alley your blood burned with the need to run again. They were so close. They just had to look up and-
Shaking from the fear and need to flee, you risked a glance over your shoulder again to look for a better hiding space. The man was dragged off without noticing you and you were quick to climb a bit deeper into the mountain of debris, small enough you could fit almost completely behind another section of wall.
Terrified of being discovered, you situated yourself so the top half of your head was peaking over the wall, gripping the stone with trembling fingers.
Fate was cruel to have this battle right where you could see. Why couldn’t they just move on already?
Another deep bark, this time closer, drew your attention to the left. A new figure stepped into the scene, moonlight illuminating his back and casting his front in shadow. Pale blue hair was slicked back wildly down over his nape and into a black military type jacket with worn golden accents fluttered as he moved with surprising ease between the men fighting.
He was tall, dark, and fierce. And you had no idea which side he was on.
Something told you that it didn’t matter, he was dangerous.
He moved like the eye of a sandstorm, the chaos continuing around him but left him untouchable. As if he was above it all, or the others around him were so beneath him they were just that unworthy of a glance.
The fact he stared ahead as he effortlessly pushed the men out of the way, every step like an effortless dodge or defense, the feeling running through your veins was even more painful than before.
Like alarm bells going off in your skull, positive if you so much as breathed he would be on you like a hell hound tearing into his next meal.
The apprehension in the pit of your stomach only grew when a few men charged at him from behind and he effortlessly turned as if he sensed it. They stumbled, your heart skipped a terrified beat, both in response to the fierce and cocky expression now illuminated by the moonlight.
The shirtless men around tried to back pedal as if they knew what was coming. The others charging the stranger finding out first hand what that was.
As if he knew just how to kick the man closest to him for maximum damage, you watched in cold awe as the man flew back right into his comrades, all of them falling like a domino effect. One or two of the shirtless men got pushed down in the way, but they were all quick to disarm and restrain the men in black.
The blue-haired man watched with something akin to cold nonchalance and you were certain he had known that was going to happen.
Just like that the fight was over. This stranger swooping in and ending it with such natural ease it was something to admire.
You would hate to be on his bad side.
No sooner had you thought that, exhaling the breath you had definitely held too long, that the air seemed to shift. It was easy to miss if you weren’t still so high strung and on high alert.
Like a wolf that had smelled its prey, the man’s head snapped in your direction. Dark eyes locked onto yours, his sharp jaw clenching hard enough you could see it from where you were hidden. High cheekbones, hard angles around his eyes and the sharp and straight nose; everything about him was hard edges and fierce danger. You swore his eyes reflected the moonlight, or like they glowed from within.
Before you could even process if you were seeing things, he was already marching directly your way. As if your body finally registered that you were in danger and needed to move, you quickly started scrambling up the debris behind you even if it would result in a dead end. He was bigger than you, maybe he wouldn’t follow-
With a cry you were pulled back so suddenly and thrown through the air behind you. Vaguely you registered that he had yanked you by the back of your jacket but before you could think of a reaction, that same fabric was hitting the packed sand.
Unlucky for you the same debris beneath the sand you trip over earlier found your head with a harsh thunk. It left you further disorientated and unable to do anything as you were suddenly pinned down, arms at your sides and legs pressed tightly together between two knees.
You could only stare up at the twisted and fierce features above you, even more sharp angles from the shadows of the moonlight. The skin around his eyes a deeper shade like makeup or some discoloration of his skin, making the fierce narrow blue gray of his eyes feel as if a dragon was staring you down.
The snarl on his wide lips only intensified that feeling.
“Who are you?” The deep timbre felt like a piercing knife.
And under all this, with your head throbbing from the pain of injury, your lungs felt like closing in. This was how you die. By a beautiful warrior ready to kill you for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Your lips moved soundlessly, attempting to get something out. A name, a purpose, but none came to mind.
None but the soft plea of “please don’t kill me”.
Pain shot out from your skull down your neck as the man above you slammed you back on the ground, your head once again hitting the buried object, the sand making the impact blunt enough to do more than bruise and jar your brain. Suffocating on your own fear at the impact, you barely noticed his eyes taking on a glow as if from within.
“I will if you don’t give me a straight fucking answer! Do you work for them?! Are you spying on us?!” Spit hit your cheek as he screamed mere inches from you, jostling you further.
“No! I was just passing through. T-the fighting woke me up and I just ran! I swear-” You gasped.
The man above you didn’t seem pleased, snarling back his lip as he yelled “lies!”
It was by some luck one of the shirtless men was nearby and tried to vouch for you. “I saw her earlier at the market.”
“Oh yeah?” The stranger’s head snapped up to turn his fierce glare on his companion. “Was she wearing the mark of that blasted place then?!” He grabbed at your jacket, paused to glance down and then started patting the dark fabric. Each pat had his brow furrowing more and more in confusion. “Why the fuck can I not touch it? What’s your fucking ability, rat?”
The bystander tried to see what his companion saw, only to tremble and step back. He let out a panicked yell and then ran.
Your fear felt ten times more weighted on your chest now, eyes burning as if they were full of gasoline. You were just as confused as they were. “Please- let me go-” Your voice trembled, trying to reel in your fear, knowing that when your emotions were high it was hard to understand what was going on. Hell, half the time you didn’t understand even when you were once again level headed. It didn’t even phase you any more when someone just ran when you were scared. Were you a scary sight as a tiny trembling woman?
Because what did he mean mark that he can’t touch? What ability? You were nobody with nothing important, could he not see that?
Just someone at the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Please…” You tried again, noting his paler complexion now.
He seemed to be at war with himself over your plea, his expression softening for a moment, just the barest, before hardening back into a scowl.
“Like hell I’m letting a rat run back to it’s master’s.” A deep snarl before he was yanking you up onto your feet.
With a yelp you could only go along with him, his large hands enveloping your smaller wrists, making you feel as tiny as a rat. But you weren’t a rat, or a mouse or an animal. The sudden pull to your feet had your head spinning, your fear so suffocating that you realized you hadn’t been breathing right.
Not that the other cared as you swayed on your feet, instead wrapping an arm around your waist and yoinking you up and over his shoulder. The motion was so sudden and jarring that your vision was spotted for a moment. “Take care of the other rats.” He barked out, moving in the direction that he had originally come from.
Resigned to your fate you shut your eyes, hands grabbing the back of the jacket just to steady yourself. He moved fast, long legs gliding over the sands beneath his feet as if no grain dared to mess up his gait.
There were murmurs as he passed the others, fear and other such tones heard even if the words weren’t as clear.
“- not scared?”
“So much bl-”
“-not what I see.”
“Creepy.”
They were afraid of you for some reason. How did you appear to them? When you looked in the mirror you thought you were the least threatening person out there. Right?
It hurt to think about and your head was pounding. The tears wanted to fall and the fear burned in your veins.
Years you had run, avoiding capture though you never understood why anyone would want to capture you. Now that you were caught, you were just so tired.
Your only hope was that the man who held you on his shoulder like a sack of junk wouldn’t kill you. The ones he had fought had no problem killing people after all.
They killed your parents.
So maybe, just maybe, you would be fine.
That spark of hope loosened the knot in your throat to finally let you breath enough to relax. Just enough to let that insistent throb in your head take over and consciousness to leave you.
When you woke, it was due to getting thrown from your seat. If you could call it a seat.
Your head hit the rough metal roof, limbs tangling themselves as you found yourself in a cramped space, half on a worn seat. A loud rumble vibrated the seat and space, which you quickly realized was a vehicle.
Another jolt had you realizing that it was moving and you were in the backseat. Your hands had done a good job of keeping your head from bashing into the roof again, gaze taking in your surroundings a bit better.
The windows were all missing save for the front one, and even that was cracked to bits and barely holding on. Sand flew in from all the windows and you had to quickly pull your own goggles down to save your eyes, the man in front of you wearing shades himself and some black military hat with worn gears sown into it. The jacket was now removed and the white tee shirt he wore was covered in sweat and sand from the hot sun. One long muscled arm was on the makeshift steering wheel, the other moving the gearshift with ease.
The “jolts” were the vehicle going over the sand dunes, the half buried settlement no longer in sight behind you but you could make out some sort of old broken road for miles just over the last couple dunes behind the vehicle. So the two of you had been going for awhile? Truthfully you hoped he had rested before taking you away.
Where was away anyways?
“Um… where are we going?”
He shot a glance over his shoulder and smirked. Suddenly your stomach was swooping from more than just the jostling of the car. “So it finally wakes up."
Okay, ouch. You weren’t an it. “Hard to sleep when you get pelted into a metal roof.”
“Oh I imagine.” Did he just pick up speed?
Holding onto the door as tightly as you can after the vehicle flew over another dune, you felt sick to your stomach. Maybe you were wrong and he really was going to kill you.
He didn’t say anything after that, and you were too sick and disorientated to attempt speaking again. Instead you held on, whining in pain any time your still throbbing skull hit the roof or your butt hit the uncomfortable worn leather seat beneath you. You swore you could feel the springs of it poking your ass every time it came down.
The sun was high in the sky but had already started its descent by the time the desert dunes gave way to the road again, and then shortly after a settlement came into view. Vaguely you remembered it, you had been to so many over the years after all. Another small one but it was more well built than the one you had just been at. In the distance you could see a larger settlement. Maybe one of the city ones.
Maybe you were being dramatic when the vehicle stopped just outside the small settlement and you opened the door with the intention of hugging the ground. “Sweet land~”
The man who had taken you was a lunatic. Who drives like a mad man? Like he would drive right off a cliff if one was in his way?!
You didn’t even mind the bit of sand that got in your mouth, spitting it out and wiping off the grains with the back of your hand.
Like the madman he was proving to be, he just picked you up as if you weighed nothing and tossed you back on his shoulder. With a whine you accepted your fate.
Maybe that made you a coward or a quitter to not fight back, but you weren’t a fighter and he certainly was. Running was your usual go to and that was out of the question, so you would just have to go along and hope everything makes sense eventually. Most of all, you hoped that you weren’t in any danger.
Unsure when the man was going to let you down - or if he would let you speak- your eyes darted around. There were a few merchant stalls in what looked like the town square. The couple dozen buildings boarded up and protected with the wall wrapped around the settlement made of debris of metal, cement, and anything large. There was even a large old neon sign that said “Drive-In” as part of it.
No different than most small settlements. A lot of them were areas that weren’t completely destroyed, usually off main roads that were still intact even after a century or so. And never too far from larger settlements like the city just on the horizon. Small settlements were with people that didn’t want to deal with the self appointed government or the rebellion, or any powerful movements.
At least that’s what you gathered. Most people didn’t pay attention to the forces building around them, just trying to survive in the wasteland that was the world.
What was a bit strange though, was that small settlements weren’t the nicest to strangers. Not with fear of bandits or the raids. And yet it was not lost on you how a few of the merchants called out to the man carrying you.
“Welcome back! I have new supplies if you’re interested.” One of the traders said as the two of you passed, just for his eyes to land on you and widen considerably.
All you could offer was a shy wave and smile, jostled with every step of the body holding you up. Honestly you were starting to get light-headed from all the blood running to your head.
Before you could mention it, suddenly the two of you were inside and you were set down at a booth, ass nearly missing a loose spring. That would have hurt like a bitch.
“Stay right here.” His deep voice rumbled with a warning glare before he was turning towards someone at a makeshift bar.
He crossed the distance with considerable ease, said something to the older woman behind the counter, and then set a few bits of payment down before immediately making his way back to you.
In all that short time you definitely let your eyes wander. With the daylight it was easier to make out his features; just as fierce as you expected but the plump lips were definitely a showstopper. Wide shoulders accentuated by the white tee that had a light dusting of sand on the fabric, and a gaudy golden sash around his small waist, hanging down to his knees. It wasn’t the only thing on his waist, two belts at different angles holding a water skin and dagger, all hanging over dark pants that showed just how long his legs were.
It was entirely unfair that he looked like a damn wet dream and nightmare at the same time.
He paused on the other side of the small rickety table that had some stained cloth as a poor tablecloth. One eyebrow lifted as he stared you down and you were positive he looked almost amused. The expression was gone after a mere second and he easily slid into the booth next to you, throwing his arm over the back as a silent threat.
That left you stuck between the towering gorgeous captor and the rusty, painful looking spring. It made the top ten of uncomfortable but not horrible positions you have been in.
It was worse that he didn’t say anything. You had no idea why you were here, where here was, or his intentions. Meaning you had to pull your big girl panties on and ask “Um… Sir?”
“Shut up.” He hissed, not even looking in your direction.
Instantly you stiffened, hands on your knees as you worried your bottom lip in between your teeth.
“But I would like to know what is going on? I won’t run off or anything just- eek!” You jumped when he slammed the side of his fist on the table, fear shooting through down your spine to make it ramrod straight.
“Didn’t I say to shut up?!” He growled- growled- like a damn dog as he narrowed his eyes on your much smaller figure. Another squeal left you as his hands grabbed at your jacket again, positive he probably could smell your fear at this point. “This wasn’t there a minute ago. What the fuck are you doing? Stop it!”
Sounds escaped your too tight throat as you tried to explain you weren’t doing anything, just scared. You didn’t know what he was seeing. His words made no sense. No sound you made seemed to appease him, the leather clad fingers of his now wrapped around your throat as if it could make your pathetic sounds make sense.
At a loss on what to do your eyes darted around the room for help. Anyone. Surely someone would be willing to- ah the bar lady! She was watching across the room, eyes wide but clearly confused by the two of you. She caught your gaze, and all you could do was try and plead with your eyes.
Desperate for her help.
Her expression shifted in an instant, her footsteps like thunder mixing with the rush of blood in your ears. And then- “Mingi! What are you doing to that poor girl?! She’s clearly frightened!”
“She works for them! See? The logo right here, that’s from the lab!” The man hissed out, tightening his grip on your throat. The pain burned as much as the tears building up behind your lashes. Keeping your gaze on the woman and pleading was all you could do, mouthing help as if she really could.
She did. A gun was pulled on him, holding it up while the woman looked absolutely furious. “You’ve finally lost your fucking marbles, Min. There ain’t no logo there. I just see a scared, injured little woman who is terrified of you and blue in the face. Now get. The fuck. Off her!” She cocked the revolver, surprisingly in good condition, and that finally gave him pause.
Your gaze met his- Mingi’s- and you pushed down your fear as much as you could to show your sincerity that you were not a threat. This close you could see the shift of emotion in his blue-gray eyes; the anger and fear to confusion. They searched yours for any sign of… well you didn’t know what but judging from the way his fingers loosened and the shame the momentarily colored his face, you didn't think he found it.
Gasping for breath when the hand was finally off your throat, your own fingers gingerly touched the now bruised skin. Mingi seemed to adjust himself a bit further from you and turn his attention to the woman. The woman who had just saved your life, earning a raspy “thank you” from your throat. You hadn’t realized he had been choking you that hard, too caught up in your own fear and desperation.
Assured there was no more immediate danger the woman put her gun away and offered you a small smile. “‘Course sweet thang. I don’t know why this brute tried to wring your pretty neck after he just paid for a meal for ya both but I’m sure he is gonna tell you as I go get your food. If he tries it again, he won’t be living this little hole without a hole in his head. Understood?” She aimed the last word at the ‘brute’ next to you.
“Yes.” He grumbled, almost dejectedly.
Satisfied that he listened, the woman turned on her heel and headed back to a door behind the bar. There was no one else in the place at the moment so you were sure there was nothing stopping him from finishing the job he just failed at, but several moments passed without any threat.
You were starting to think he wasn’t going to explain like the bar woman had told him to, resigned to it even when he did speak. It caught you off guard enough you jumped again, earning a look from him you couldn’t decipher.
“I swear you work for them. The fuckers who do the raids. Kidnap people. I wouldn’t be surprised if they used someone with adrenaline as a spy out here, like a dirty fucking rat. If it’s useful enough.”
Okay that answered literally zero of your questions and just gave you more.
Adrenaline?
He thought you were a spy? To help the people that murdered your parents?
A soft chuff-like laugh escaped you, making you wince from the pain in your throat. “She’s right. You really lost your marbles.”
He didn’t seem to like that judging by the flash of fury over his features. Immediately you shut up. Whether he was insane or not, he was powerful and capable of ending your life whenever he wanted. You might be safe for the moment but once you left this settlement with him -which you were sure was going to happen- he had nothing stopping him.
Attempting to appear sheepish from your outburst you turned your attention back to your hands and the worn and holey gloves that covered them. “I don’t get what you mean, like at all, but if it clears my name or whatever, I’ll go wherever you need me to go to prove my innocence. I also don’t like the suggestion I work with those mask men. They- they have been nothing but a source of pain for me and I would rather not be associated with them.” Hesitantly you spared him a glance. “So- I’ll do whatever you ask of me until you believe me when I say I’m nothing you claim I am.”
Another undecipherable expression, shifting over and over again, like circling through the same thoughts. Until finally- “I am taking you to a contact of mine. I trust that he can properly determine if you belong with them or not.”
“And if he proves I am innocent?” something told you that it wouldn't be enough to be set free.
The gaze he fixed you with all but confirmed it. “Then we figure out what the fuck you are doing to throw my sense off. It's never wrong.”
“Your… sense?” Would anything he says not confuse you for once?
He was saved by the woman returning with two metal plates of food. Some kind of meat, potatoes, even some bread. Your mouth watered at the sight even if it looked dry, there was water set down as well.
Mingi didn't bring it up again and you were too distracted by the food to do so yourself. However, for the first time, you didn't like that it was left unanswered.
For the first time you did question your reality. Not to know why the raids were done. Or what made you similar to the ones they were after.
You wanted answers just so you knew why your captor thought so low of you. You wanted to know what he saw, and why he did. And most of all, you wanted to know if he would ever look at you as something else than an enemy.
Being carried like a sack of junk was a running theme at this point, but he didn't seem to mind that you held yourself up to stare at more than his ass- if he hadn't tried to strangle you, you would admit it was a very nice ass.
After the meal, which he had been scolded for the duration of by the bar woman- who had introduced herself as Mox-, Mingi had carried you back out. He stopped at the trader who had called out earlier, looking at his wares and making a purchase you couldn’t see since you were once more just trying to make sure your face didn’t collide with the other’s rear end.
He was definitely less scary like this, being face to bum.
You were getting lightheaded again by the time you were unceremoniously dropped into the passenger seat of his vehicle, wincing as your butt met more than the seat. He just pulled you forward to take the item- some communicating device by the looks of it- and then set you back in the seat.
The drive to the city(because of course that’s where he’s going) was silent and only a little less scary than the ride to the settlement. It was spent mostly keeping the sand out of your face and not swerving out the window when he made a sharp turn to avoid a hole in the road. Reckless and dangerous.
It would be a scary fact if you didn’t think it came from some sort of confidence he had. Which, sad to admit to yourself, was attractive.
He didn’t take the vehicle into the city though, stashing it by some rubble just outside after he had roughly deposited you on some rock to wait. Then it was back over his shoulder as he headed right in.
You lost track of time as you glanced around as best you could, constantly having to adjust your hood that got in the way. The city was busy, and much nicer than surrounding settlements.
That was until you had presumably gotten to the slums.
While there was technology throughout most of the city, from speakers to some cameras and working lights and appliances, it was much less lit up and much more run down. There had been a lot of construction in what you thought was the city center.
Here it did look like most other settlements just with the addition of power. Probably working water. Would you be able to bathe or shower? Now that sounded like a grand time.
The deeper into the slums you went, the more you noticed everyone looked at you two in the same two different ways. Either with suspicion or wary; or a nod of acknowledgement. Well, they looked at Mingi that way. Everyone just gave you a look of suspicion. Or dare you say disgust.
It was starting to get really uncomfortable being on his shoulder like this, especially after another near miss with a cart passing by. “Hey Mingi?”
“What?” Well at least he didn’t tell you to shut up this time.
“You said we are meeting a contact of yours right? Are we almost there? I’d like to be able to use my own feet again.” There was only some hope that he would find your joke humorous, but it was met with the same brick wall that was your captor.
He didn’t reply or react until a bit later. “Here.” He pushed through some doors, down a hall, and then into another door. Music is what you heard first, low enough you couldn’t make out where it was coming from, but it was nice none-the-less. Pushing yourself up you took in where you were and-
It was a bar. He brought you to a bar.
Odd place for a contact to prove you weren’t some secret spy but he was an odd guy so nothing off the point yet. The strangest thing is the place looked trashed, like a storm had come through or a- no, no way it was a raid, right?
Getting used to this by now your bum didn’t hurt that bad when he set you down on a stool at the bar. “Stay here.” He grumbled but not like you had any plans to move. This seat was actually the comfiest one you’ve sat on all day.
Without waiting for a sign you were going to follow his order he was off, heading down the bar and towards a door that was half behind it. Just as someone stepped out. “Watch where you're--Silver?!”
The woman who had collided with his chest looked up and her face fell. “Mingi?”
He did not seem to like the other and for a moment your heart went out to them. You knew first hand what it was like to be on the receiving end of his ire and it was a scary thing.
Before the woman could say anything, you noticed someone else next to them. They seemed happy to see your captor even. “Hey, Mingi, what can I do for you?” The gorgeous man greets Mingi with a half hug. Of course he’s friendly with gorgeous people- no, you didn’t let that thought spiral either.
“I’ve got this rat that I need you to look into,” He jabbed a thumb in your direction and you tried not to flinch at the action.
“Rat?” His eyes followed the direction Mingi pointed before landing on you. “Her?”
“I found her when I was trying to break up a--” Mingi’s eyes shoot towards the silver haired woman, which on closer inspection you recognized. How could you ever forget the one woman you spent a whole raid with hiding out. That sort of camaraderie was not easily forgotten, even as a wanderer yourself. Mingi did not seem to share the sentiment considering the glare he shot her way, “Can we talk somewhere else?”
The too-gorgeous man tilted his head in answer. “Certainly. Silver, my office is--”
“Without her?” Mingi cut him off rather rudely in your opinion. You shot the woman, Silver, a smile of understanding. Did this Mingi dislike anyone who’s been a victim of a raid before or something?
The other shook his head. “No can do, Mingi. If you haven’t noticed, the bar just got raided. I’ve got to keep Silver close by.” Ah so you were right. A raid. That was- your anxiety spiked a bit, head falling to hide your expression. Maybe you should ask why they-
Mingi scoffed. “She’s probably the reason you had the raid. Not exactly conspicuous, an invisible girl.”
His animosity was clear and you could hear how it made Silver guarded from her tone “That’s literally the definition of inconspicuous, Mingi.”
“Hey.” You lifted your head at the deep warning word to see the man put a hand on Mingi’s chest as if to hold him back. “She’s with me, whether you like it or not. But we should go back to my office.”
Realizing that they were leaving you glanced up, meeting eyes with Silver first and offering a wave and a shy smile as if that could encourage her. Just for Mingi to snap at you. Really you didn't mean to flinch but he sounded so pissed off.
“Don’t fucking move, I’ll be right back.” He barked out before following the two out of sight.
You stayed right where you were, playing with the bar and taking it all in. There was a pool table in good condition, and even under the debris it looked like a nice bar. Maybe when all this is over you could get a drink? Right here in this bar? Maybe talk with Silver?
What if…?
Maybe you did want to move now, suddenly restless with thoughts and feelings you realized you never let yourself have. What if you had friends? What if you had someone to laugh and cry with? Make memories with? Someone you could come to a bar like this and just enjoy being alive?
Why couldn’t you do that? Just enjoy being alive? For once?
The memory of your parents dying for you flashed in your head as a reminder. Because that’s what happens when you don’t worry about dying.
The sound of raised voices- Mingi’s voice- drew your attention. You looked up to hear a door slam and then Mingi was in sight marching in your direction with a fierce expression, much like when he had when fighting those men. “Everything alright?”
He paused just before you, chest heaving and glare sharp enough to feel like daggers piercing your skull. Despite that, the fear you expected didn’t rise. Not until he snapped his hand out and grabbed your shirt, yanking you close enough his breath fanned your face. “I will kill you if you really aren’t innocent. Understand?”
A spike of fear shot down your spine because you believed him. You believed him and that he would kill you even if you are proven innocent, just doesn’t meet his standards.
“Y-You have to actually give me a chance first you know?” You choked out, hands coming to rest on his in an attempt to pull him off or appease him- really you didn’t know which.
“Why should I?! You have that logo! I don’t trust what Silver said about knowing you- maybe you bugged her?”
There was a crazy look in his eyes, like he wasn’t seeing you, or even the present.
“Mingi-” He jostled you, dropping you back down on the stool for a moment and looking away. You recognized that same battle on his features from before and it occurred to you that his blatant hatred for you wasn’t for you at all, but something you reminded him of.
Once more your parents faces flash in your mind, knowing damn well what it feels like when the past haunts you. “I want to prove my innocence, not manipulate you or anything. I- I want to know why you dislike me so much or are so convinced I am out to get you. I don’t know why those raids happen, just that those men are bad and they hurt others. They killed my parents for getting in the way once. A long time ago. And I’ve just been trying to get by since. I swear I have nothing to do with them if you think I am with them. And if you just… just give me a chance. And let your friend prove it I-” You swallowed hard, not sure what you could offer outside of your life.
Nothing else needed to be said though, he no longer looked ready to rip your head off. Your desperation to be heard must have reached him. “Fine. I will… consider you innocent until Yeosang tells me otherwise. Until then we are laying low.” He grabbed your arm then and pulled you off the stool.
Even if his grip hurt a little, he was letting you walk with him, right out the door. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a step in the right direction.
Hopefully it didn’t take too long for his friend- Yeosang he said- to tell him that you were innocent. But maybe long enough for you to figure out just what it is about you that makes your captor so quick to anger.
What in his past was he running away from too?
He was quiet on the trek back out of the city, only making one stop at a street vendor grabbing food. Rice balls and some meat on skewers that you couldn't name for the life of you. It was a lesson long ago not to try and guess what you were eating as long as it was edible and didn't taste like dung. He didn't say anything as he gave you a small portion, pulling you along once more but now out of the city.
Back in his vehicle, more silence. It was almost unnerving by now, though you should take it as a good sign since he wasn't sneering in your direction or making accusations. You weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, eating the food given to you as quickly as the other.
It took the water bottle handed to you for you to realize just how parched you were. The heat was no joke in the wasteland, water scarce outside of cities and settlements that have made due. It was an effort not to down the bottle, and to ignore the unreadable expression on Mingi's face.
You weren't sure what to make of him when he wasn't glaring or cautious of you, and that expression was neither. Best to ignore it, hold some small hope in the back of your mind it was a good sign.
It was silence once more when he started driving, this time in the opposite direction the two of you had come from. You didn't bother asking where he was taking you now, only hoping that it wouldn't end with your head rolling.
He didn't bother offering an answer either, just drove.
And drove.
And drove.
Not nearly as maniac as before but you were starting to miss the back seat as you were jostled left and right in the small space, too afraid to jostle towards the other and receive backlash that would shatter this fragile truce the two of you seemed to have.
So by the time the sun was setting on the horizon and a small settlement much like the one this morning pulled into view, you had hopes of meeting the ground again.
And much like the morning, you did face plant into the rough sand as he pulled to a stop, adding some dramatics under your breath. "I will never take solid ground for granted again."
"Can you shut up?" Mingi barked from the other side, getting out and making his way around the car in quick strides thanks to his long legs. "Get up, we're staying here for the night."
Ah so not a permanent stop? Though the locals seemed to be friendly with Mingi here too, a guard of sorts waving in his direction and a young teenager running up and babbling something to him about gas and a room.
They paid you no mind, not even when Mingi yanked you up by your bicep, apparently too impatient to wait for you to stand up yourself. Rude, but your mouth stayed shut.
You couldn't forget your life was in his hands. Maybe you could fight back. Take the weapon he had in his holster and use it against him, but you had the feeling that just the thought alone of doing so would have your head bashed into the ground. Instinct said Mingi was not a man to try and fight. You had no chance of winning.
Not like you were a fighter either. You were, as ironic as it was, a mouse. You hide and run and make yourself as small as possible to avoid conflict and pain. How fitting he would call you a rat, even if you didn't like it.
You were pulled into a rundown shop front, dragged along as he caught what looked like a key tossed in his direction before you were pulled down a narrow hall, last door on the right. The rotting wood beneath your feet creaked with every step until you were both stepping into a small room.
Small room, one bed, no window, and just a rickety wooden chair next to the smallest table you had ever seen. It was more an armrest for the chair than a table.
"Sleep. We leave first thing in the morning." He nudged you towards the bed and shut the door. He had to squeeze past you to the chair, groaning as he sat down and dropped a small bag on the floor next to his leg. You hadn't even noticed that he had brought a bag.
But you noticed the gun he set on the narrow table, finger on the trigger as he jutted his chin to the bed.
You scrambled over to it and climbed onto the lumpy mattress, though it was still better than the hard floor you had slept on often.
Laying on your side, up against the wall, there was probably enough room for him to lay down if he wanted, but with the way he was looking at you, like the slightest wrong move he would shoot, had you believing he wouldn't take you up on the offer if you spoke it.
Worth a try though right? He clearly hasn't slept since he found you. And you had no idea how long before then he had last slept.
"You should sleep too Mingi. You need rest."
His eyes lowered from your frame to empty spot on the bed. For a moment his gaze wavered, his exhaustion apparent.
You pushed.
"I won't do anything. But if you don't trust me you can tie me up or something. You just… you should sleep." It wasn't lost on you that he could have tied you up to the chair and slept himself, but he had given you the bed to let you sleep. "It wouldn't do you any good to be sleep deprived."
Mingi was silent, appearing as if he was mulling over your words. So you didn't expect him to stand up and start removing the sash.
What?
Squealing, you quickly backed up, hands floundering in front of you. "Please keep your clothes on!"
He scoffed- or chuckled- kneeling on the bed and grabbing both of your wrists. "I'm not a monster, I wouldn't force myself on my enemy. I have no need to force myself on someone if I want them."
That stung, though you couldn't pinpoint why. Just whimpering as he tugged your wrists in front of you and started looping the golden sash around them. Soon enough they were tied together, tight but not digging into your flesh. That's all you could ask you suppose.
It still puzzled you why the words stung. Maybe his insistence that you were some harmful person? When you haven't done anything to really earn such a view.
Maybe you took his words to heart more as a woman than as a person. Why would you want him to want you though?
"Face the wall." He ordered before rolling you over anyways. He adjusted your body with a clear disinterest, chipping that ache deeper. There was a dip in the bed as he got up, the small, buzzing light in the room was turned off the next second, and then another dip in the bed.
Despite facing the wall, you were hyper aware of his every movement. Every shift of his body as he got comfortable. His large hand found your waist like a heavy weight that knocked the breath out of you.
It burned even through the clothes. His grip was tight, breath on the back of your neck as he let out a few huffs in his effort to situate himself. The bed wasn't long enough for his legs and they ended up bent and pressed against your own, one over top yours.
You had never laid so close to someone before, your heart racing in your chest and heat burning your cheeks. Was this normal? While your legs were entangled, there was distance between your torsos, like it would physically burn him if he got too close.
That odd stinging was back in your chest.
"How do you know her?" His deep voice practically vibrated the air, blowing heat onto your back.
"Who?"
"That bi- the woman earlier. Silver."
"Oh." Licking your lips you thought back to the closest to a friend you had before. "We hid together during a raid. When we weren't quite yet adults. It was an accident really. We both slid into the same rundown shack to hide from the other men, too scared to speak since we could hear them right outside."
The moon had been bright that night, much like the night Mingi had found you. Even to this day the striking silver of her hair was so easy to remember. Over the scars you glimpsed, and the wounds you were sure she carried, it was the silver hair that was first to your mind.
Like liquid moonlight.
A stark contrast to the dull gold of your own hair.
Pushing those thoughts aside- and pushing your hair out of your face with your bound hands- you continued. "It was a tight fit, and even when we could no longer hear the men we didn't move. Some time during we had grabbed each other's hands, shared our cloaks like blankets. I remember hoping they didn't find us, if not for me than for Silver. She was so scared she trembled." You had pushed your own fear down as best you could, wanting to reassure her more than anything that she would be safe. That they would make it out.
You had hoped the smiles you had given in the moonlight provided comfort.
If she still remembered you, then maybe you managed that at least. "We said a few words to each other in the morning. Neither saying our names or where we were going. Not out of distrust though! I just… if I got caught I didn't want to know where she went. I heard they have ways of getting that information out of you even when you don't want to tell them."
Having rambled a lot you tried to turn to apologize- make sure he wasn't upset with you even- but his hand tightened on your waist when you tried, his head pressing against the back of yours. "They do."
He had whispered it so softly you weren't sure you had heard him right.
But you had. You hadn't mistaken that vulnerable shake in his tone. You hadn't misheard the emotion that belied experience.
When he didn't say anything else, you swallowed a growing lump in your throat, pushing down your fear and stealing the courage from the memory you had just recited. "If you… if you are scared… I would like to be a comfort for you. However that looks. Everyone needs someone who will keep them safe." Even to your own ears, it sounded as if you were about to cry.
His exhale was shaky against the nape of your neck, fingers bruising against your hip but you stayed strong. This was a moment to understand him and why he was so dead set on making you an enemy. He could drop the key to the answers at any second.
Perhaps he did, with the rough way the words left him. "I lost them."
You didn't know what to say to that, what could you say? Talk about your parents? How they died to keep you safe? He could probably understand, but this moment was vulnerable enough. You didn't want to push him, it could just be his sleep deprivation getting him to open up like this after all!
Instead, with great effort, you moved your hands down to his. It was a bit awkward, but you managed to wrap your hands around four of his fingers. A gentle squeeze, then just holding them.
Not long after, the steady breath against your neck and the loose hold in your hand told you that he had fallen asleep. It wouldn't come easily for you though, as your mind was plagued by the enigma of a man behind you.
And the urges to turn and comfort him in your arms, even if he would find it unwelcome.
Somehow you had fallen asleep, though it didn't seem to be for long, as your body was still quite heavy and demanding rest when you awake. Mingi is shaking you by your bicep, even going so far as to pat your cheeks a few times.
Which was odd for you. Years of wandering had made you a light sleeper especially with the constant threat of those raids. This was proving false ever since you met Mingi, finding yourself harder to wake and in deeper sleep than normal.
It would be an issue if you didn't have a dozen more blaring issues to handle before it. Like how impassive Mingi's sharp features were when you finally looked up at him with sleepy eyes.
Had you imagined the vulnerable talk the two of you had last night?
He made no sound or indication that you had, instead pulling you up a bit roughly. It had you wincing. "I can get up myself." Voice groggy, you protested the treatment for perhaps the first time.
His posture stiffened as if struck, breath halted as he just stared. You almost believe you imagined it with how quickly it passed. The next second he was tugging the sash off your wrists, freeing you just to immediately put distance between you two. "Let's go."
You had to scramble out of bed to catch up to him with how fast he left the room. You didn't even see him pick up the bag or gun, but neither were there.
"Wa- Mingi!" His long legs made quick work of the distance while your own short ones struggled to close the growing distance. He made it down the hall and out of the inn before your own limbs stopped stumbling and were fully awake.
Part of you wondered if he intended to leave you behind. If he no longer cared about your innocence, just wanted you out of his sight. That same part of you ached at the mere idea of him leaving you behind.
Which was foolish to say the least. He had been nothing but abrasive towards you. He gave you no reason to like his presence, to care for his opinion.
And yet… chasing after him through the sand, past the vehicle, you did your best to close the growing distance as your footing became unsure once more. You reached for him, panting out his name as you identified the reason for the fear in your chest.
You didn't want him to leave you behind. You wanted to know him. To know why he seemed so afraid of you. What had made him prickly like a cactus, what was he protecting?
Mingi was an enigma you wanted to know all the ins and outs of, despite his poor treatment of you.
Despite how out of reach he was, both physically and figuratively.
The sand moved wrong under your foot, your tired limbs caving under the sudden movement, knees hitting the still cool sand as the sun was just barely peaking over the horizon.
That was when he finally stopped. When his broad back turned so he could face you. His expression was twisted as if wounded by the sight of you. How did you look, for him to have such a pained glaze to his eyes?
With a shake of his head he seemed to shake off the emotions, features blank as he closed the distance with three easy strides. "What a nuisance, can't even keep up little mouse?" He huffed, hauling you over his shoulder the next second like a sack of potatoes.
You should be upset that he was carrying you like this, but you weren't. His large hand on the small of your back wasn't as rough as it was before. He adjusted your body so it wasn't so harsh on your stomach.
Most importantly, he wasn't leaving you behind.
He walked for a moment, the sun a bit higher now and warming up the wasteland once more. You could see the settlement that the two of you had just left straight behind you, and the city was off in the distance, parallel to the current path. He seemed to be going deeper into the wasteland, a dangerous thing to do if you don't know where you are going. So easy to get buried under sand dunes or find yourself in a sandstorm. Let alone sink holes.
"Where are we going? Why did we leave the vehicle?" You decided to ask, much more awake and alert now.
Surprisingly, Mingi answered "a friend's place. He doesn't like it when I bring it."
"What's he like?" Did Mingi treat him the same way he would treat the two at the bar?
"Annoying." He scoffed immediately, but you could feel the fondness in his tone. You were sure he might be smiling even, not that you could see.
Your view consisted of his ass in his jeans, his white shirt getting pulled up by your hands holding onto it for dear life, afraid to go lower. Your social interactions with people were on acquaintance level basis, so to think of someone's rear end- even if it's the majority of your sight right now- had you quite flustered.
The fact it was a nice one, a good size with his muscular thighs right under, made you even more conscious of it. And your own. It was right there next to his face, right by his hand. He could-
"Is he just annoying?" The words slipped from your lips like a serious of chirps, hiding your face in your hands as you willed yourself to be a civil woman about your… captor's ass. Because he was still your captor, even if you were a willing victim. Even if you wished he was much more than that.
That was a statement you would not be thinking about in further detail at all.
"He talks a lot. Loves the sound of his own voice. Pushes himself like an idiot. Just as reckless in his own right. Too friendly if you ask me. Always calls on me to verify if someone is safe but still takes them in first. Like what if they hurt his weak ass before I get there? There is no need for him to be so fucking friendly. He can take care of himself, yeah, but I rather he not." It was a lot more than you expected to hear from him, the fondness much more evident the more he talked about this person.
Like a distraught mother nagging out of care.
The comparison had laughter bubbling from your throat before you could help it. His feet stopped on the sand dune beneath you both, turning his head to glance down at you- though you felt it more than saw.
"What the fuck is so funny, mouse? Would you like me to go on about how much of a pain in the ass you are?" He barked out, grip on your back tightening for a moment.
Maybe the heat or the constant rush of blood to your head was making you delirious, but it had the bright idea of pinching the man's ass in retaliation. "There, now I really am a pain in your ass." You giggled, shifting your body enough to try and grin back up at him, pinching again just a bit harder to earn a barely there yelp from the man.
"I will fucking drop you." He hissed out, yet you didn't feel any real malice in the words. Like it was just for show.
Odd that.
Instead of calling him out on it, you circled back to his friend. "It just sounds like you care about him, nagging about how he isn't taking care of himself the way you wish he would."
He turned his face away quickly, robbing you of seeing his reaction to your words. Yet you felt it. In the way his shoulders relaxed, his grip on your shirt that didn't feel threatening or harsh, more like resignation.
"I do." Soft, barely caught over the wind blowing sand around you, somehow missing your face- quite strange out in the open like this. It always felt impossible to fight off the sand, thus the permanent goggles on your head.
That you hadn't needed once since meeting Mingi, outside of the vehicle.
"So don't try anything funny with him either." He growled out, starting the trek once more.
The rest was left in silence. Him as he focused on moving over the dunes while adjusting your weight on him. And you kept pushing yourself up to take a look around. There was a lot of debris around, but it was some structure that he came up to. It looked no different than the rest of the debris in the distance, like destroyed buildings slowly worn down by the sand and heat.
Yet he walked up to what appeared to be a door, though it looked more rusted shut than a usable entrance. You didn't question it as he started pounding on the metal. "Woo! Open up!" A beat past, then another. He pounded on the door once more. "Wake your ass up. It's not that early. No one else is around."
When you were beginning to question if this was truly the right place. After all who would live in a house half buried in sand? Like it was sinking at the weird angle it was leveled. But the door did creak open, a lanky man with wild black hair sticking up from sleep holding something up that you couldn't see from your angle. Some weapon probably.
"Mangi? What the- if this is some new weird way your ability manifested that's kind of cool." Tone heavy with sleep still, it was clear the man was happy to see the taller one, putting away the weapon and grinning. Then he glanced your way. "Or not? What is this? You never bring anyone to visit me."
You didn't have to see it to know Mingi rolled his eyes. "I'll explain when we're inside if you don't want any sand getting in."
"Right right, come on in." He stepped back, letting the two of you inside. You tried to get a look around, but once more your sight was only of the stranger and the heavy door he was pulling closed, muscles bulging with the effort.
"That must be heavy." You blurted out, brows furrowed with concern at the effort it took to shut the hulking metal.
The man, Woo(?), smiled at your concern. "I got the muscles for it, don't you worry your pretty little head about it. I'm Wooyoung by the way, a friend of Mingi Mangi's is a friend of mine. Make yourself at home."
"We're not friends." Mingi barked out before you could reply, tossing you down on some cushions. A couch apparently. "I just need a safe place for a bit to keep an eye on her."
Your eyes took in the surprisingly cozy living space as the two chatted.
Wooyoung didn't seem too keen on keeping you out of the conversation though, making his way over and taking a seat next to you, that wide grin still on his face. "Oh? Well does she have a name?"
Mingi tensed at the question, but Wooyoung wasn't paying attention. Of course Mingi didn't know, he didn't ask. And what would you say anyways? You hadn't told anyone your name since your parents died, too scared of what would happen.
"You can just call me whatever you like. I'm not usually around someone long enough to exchange personal information." You said instead, which was mostly true.
"But I gave you my name, isn't it only fair? And you'll be with Mingi for awhile." The other pressed, making you a bit nervous.
He had a point as well, yet you still didn't want to indulge it. The name you hadn't spoken in so long. Was it really even your name anymore? Trying to think of your parents calling out to you, all you could picture was the way they told you to run even as they were killed.
Your discomfort must have been obvious, Mingi swooping in and picking you back up and away from Wooyoung, making a sound that was like a warning growl. "Wooyoung-"
"It's okay!" Not wanting the two to fight, you were quick to speak up, placing a hand on Mingi's chest as if that could stop him. "It's just… I don't remember my name. Only my parents did and for the longest time I tried not to think about them. It always made me sad, because I'd inevitable think of the last time I saw them. So please, call me anything. I really don't mind. In fact it's nice to see what people come up with! Mingi called me rat- well mouse. I guess I am quite skittish like one." You rambled on, wanting the tension to ease up.
They were friend's, they shouldn't fight. Mingi should be nice to him even! If he cared so much about the man.
"Oh you poor little goose, you sound very proud of that." Despite the almost playful nature of his words, Wooyoung's brows were pushed together in sympathy or something akin to it. It was jarring to see such emotion directed at you after the way Mingi had been treating you.
Or perhaps this was the first time someone looked at you as if they were acknowledging the pain you had gone through.
The smile you offered the man felt watery. "Goose? Am I goose-like or something??" You giggled, feeling Mingi's arms tighten around you in an almost defensive manner.
"You are so tiny I could break you in half." Mingi unhelpfully supplied.
"Yah! Don't threaten Miss Goose like that!" Wooyoung pointed a finger at him while your brain was still processing what had been said.
It definitely did not register as a threat in your head.
Rolling his eyes, Mingi set you back down on the couch, hovering a moment before facing off with his friend, arms crossing over his bare chest. "Whatever. You have someone here Wooyoung. Want to tell me about them?"
At that, the other looked away. "No getting past you huh? I was actually going to send word to Yeosang to have you come visit me. Got someone I need you to check out. They sought refuge but… well they wear a jacket with the insignia-"
Mingi's whole demeanor changed then. Becoming rigid, fierce. Any ounce of warmth gone from his visage as he stared at a nearby door that was shut. Like he could see behind it. "Bring them out."
Immediately his eyes flickered to you once more, the hardness from the first meeting was back. Fear wanted to over take your heart once more, but you fought back. Now that you believed you knew him a bit better, you didn't want to fear him. He also seemed more dangerous to you whenever you let your fear show.
"I normally would have you stay where I can see you, mouse, but I'd rather not let you meet someone else who also wore the insignia. Wooyoung, can she use your shower?" He glanced back at the man.
You no longer cared about what was going on at the mention of a shower. How long had it been since you could enjoy getting clean? The layers of sand probably stuck to your skin even under your clothes?
"Yeah sure but she'll have to use your clothes. You're welcome to wash hers in the meantime." Wooyoung waved his hand as if shooing you both off.
Immediately you stood, bowing and thanking the other before you were quickly thrown over a familiar shoulder. At this point you should expect it.
As Mingi carried you to what appeared to be a bathroom, you waved and smiled at Wooyoung who looked quite taken back by Mingi's behavior. And then the bathroom door was shut. "Stay here a moment."
He was in an out in a flash, setting a pile of clothes on the old warped counter. "The shower works but careful of the crack in the ceramic of the tub. Wash up well and just leave your clothes there." He pointed to a wicker basket that must be a clothes hamper of sorts. "Don't leave until I come get you."
And then he was gone.
No complaints on your part, you stripped quickly and turned on the shower. When warm water came out you squealed in happiness. Not too hot, which was perfect for the heat outside. Something nice and cool on your overheated skin, getting rid of all the sand from the deepest crevices of your body.
Sometime between washing your hair with the soap provided and just standing under the cool water to soak in the sensation there was a knock on the door and Mingi's deep voice through the wood. "Call when you're done."
It was some time later when you were dried and wearing clothes that were far too big on you. The shirt hug off one shoulder completely, tucked as much as you could into the jean shorts that went halfway down to your knees. If not for the clean pair of underwear he got from somewhere, you would be concerned of accidentally flashing your gracious host or Mingi.
One of those did not spark the embarrassment you expected it to.
Mingi retrieved you when you knocked on the door, his expression one of shock and something else you were unfamiliar with as he took in the sight of you in his clothes.
"Why are you hogging little goose! Let her free you big brute!" Wooyoung called from behind when Mingi made no move to let you out of the bathroom. "They need to eat. Come on."
Your stomach growled at the mention of food, the aroma now reaching you. Had you taken that long in the shower? For him to make a meal of all things?
When Mingi still didn't move, you ducked under his arm with a squeaky "excuse me". Spotting Wooyoung in the small kitchen at an old table, you waved and made your way over. Since Mingi didn't stop you, you supposed it was allowed. "This smells delicious."
"Thank you, cooking is a passion of mine. Have to have those in this forsaken wasteland right?"
"I suppose so. I don't really have one. I'm good at trading though." When a seat was offered to you, you graciously accepted, eyes wide at the food. It was not much, after all in a wasteland feasts were a rarity. But it was a meal. A home-cooked meal.
One Mingi did not join you for.
He disappeared into the bathroom, most likely to take a shower himself. But it gave you plenty time to eat yourself.
Wooyoung was good company. As Mingi had said, he talks a lot. He had a warm energy to him, carrying most of the conversation but still asking for your input. It was mostly about food, you even found yourself indulging his questions about what sorts of food you had discovered on your travels.
The fact he was in awe over the distances you had traveled made something blossom in your chest. He talked about Mingi, how he was always off doing something, probably saw as much as you had. That it was a wonder the two of you had never met before now.
Mingi was silent when he came out of the shower, plopping down at the table where half the food was finished between you and Wooyoung. He listened to the man regal a tale of Mingi getting in a fight with someone over the "stupid vehicle" he always drives. The tall man had some choice words to say on the matter, but Wooyoung laughed him off.
"Why don't you make sure your damn guest eats and isn't plotting your fucking demise or some shit?" Mingi snapped out after you laughed at something Wooyoung said.
That was the first time Wooyoung looked genuinely put off by something Mingi said to him. Almost angry. "Fine, I will." He got up, made a plate, and then disappeared into the other room.
Mingi snatched your wrist the second Wooyoung was gone, pulling you closer with a snarl. "I told you not to try anything."
Confused, you blinked owlishly up at him. "But… I'm not? We're just talking?"
"You're getting all bright and shit when you do. Pulling something weird with your ability." He hissed, dismissive as usual.
There was those confusing words again. You didn't have an ability though? "What do you mean ability? I'm just a traveler. You still don't think so?"
He wavered. Just for a moment. But the derision was back quickly. "My intuition says you have one. And all I can think about is that it probably has to do with illusions. You're making them somehow."
You could not be more confused, mouth agape as you just stared.
Mingi kept talking. "Mine has never been wrong about recognizing another with Adrenaline. I know you have it. I just can't figure out how it manifests. We'll have to test it while we're here. No need to bother Woo with playing host to you."
He let go of your wrist the second the door opened again, turning to his food as if he hadn't just flipped your world upside down.
"There. Happy you damn grouch?" Wooyoung huffed as he sat back down, returning to his food before he noticed the change in your posture. "What did I miss?”
"Nothing. Just a warning…" You quickly tried to amend, unsure if it would spark an argument between them or not. Hopefully not. "I have an ability I guess? He said we'll be figuring it out while we're here, so sorry if we bother you with that."
Wooyoung looked crestfallen. "Bother- you aren't a bother silly goose. Maybe I can put you two to good use instead?”
That perked you up. "Like what?" Helping might be a way you could prove yourself a bit more trustworthy.
Yet Mingi quickly intervened, dampening your eagerness a bit. “You aren’t doing anything.”
“Aw why not? Come on~ It’ll be fun! Oh I know, how about you two help me with dinner later?"
"I don't know how to cook…." You start, just for Wooyoung to wave you off.
"That's fine, Mingi does. He can teach you.."
"Absolutely not!"
"Why not? Don’t be rude Mangi. It’s just cooking. Maybe Goosey has a hidden talent for it or something? I know you have reasons to be wary but nothing can be confirmed unless you give her a chance.” It almost sounded as if Wooyoung spoke from experience.
Yet the words had Mingi even more tense, practically vibrating with emotions-anger most likely- as he glared at Wooyoung. The latter seemed unaffected by it. "It's… complicated."
After a few more moments of tense silence, Wooyoung let out a sigh as if he could blow away the tension. The look he gave Mingi, one of care and other mixed emotions you couldn’t name, made your own chest ache. “Fine, just you and me then? We can talk about it later. Just… being friendly doesn’t hurt sometimes ya know?” Words that sounded as if they’ve been spoken many times before.
"Caution can be necessary but can be damaging in many ways as well. It’s something anyone can struggle with." A new voice filled the air, soft and sagely.
Mingi jumped up quickly, grabbing a knife from the many belts around his waist and pointing it at the woman. Wooyoung jumped up with concern, ready to reach for Mingi should he do something.
The woman looked a bit embarrassed at the reaction of the two. "I just came to bring these out. I'll be out of your way shortly."
"Good." Mingi hissed, earning a warning look from Wooyoung who was now moving around the table to take the plate from the woman.
However you didn't want her to leave just yet. Something about her words rang true and you wanted to hear more. "How can it be damaging?" After all, you had spent most of your life on the cautious side as well.
"Don't listen to her. Just a tri-"
"Wooyoungie is right, being friendly wouldn’t hurt you know." You found yourself huffing out, not thinking about the consequences of your words. This was just the first thing you wanted to put your foot down on. "I want to hear what she has to say. Can't you trust your friends as well as you trust your so-called ability?"
The tall man went deadly silent at that, making no move at first. No one spoke until he put the knife away.
"Hi there, are you staying here too?" You asked, trying to be friendly while the two men seemed to have a silent conversation with their eyes over your head.
The woman, something regal about her, nodded. "Something like that. I'm sorry if my words confused you. If… you would like to talk away from them?" She asked, glancing at Mingi.
You supposed she didn't want to be around him. Which was fair. He wasn't being very nice. However the malice you expected to see was not there on Mingi's face. He looked… conflicted.
This was a vital point you supposed, to show that he could trust you to some extent. Trust you and trust his friend. And you hoped he would.
The joy you felt when he not only nodded but shooed you in their direction was immense. You didn't even think about how you were reacting, jumping up from your seat and kissing his cheek with a squeal before making your way over to the woman. "Thank you Mingi!"
You followed the woman into the room, missing the teasing remarks Wooyoung whispered towards Mingi but not missing the tell tale "shut up" the man barked in response.
He might be doing this for Wooyoung, but it still made you happy.
You found that you really liked the woman. She was quiet, but with an air about her that had you hanging onto every word. She explained her ability let her see what could come to pass, sounding quite forlorn about it.
But what you liked the most was the patience she seemed to have, letting you open up to everything that had happened with Mingi. They two of you put your heads together to try and decipher just what your own "ability" was that he seemed so dead set on saying you had.
"You're good for him." She had told you after listening to your story, a soft smile on her face.
It made you blush. "I don't know about that. He said… nevermind." You sighed, adjusting your position on the bed the two of you had been sitting on for the past few hours, it seemed, fresh glasses of water on the end table that Wooyoung had brought recently, teasing you both for your "girl time."
"I don't need my… ability to know. The way you talk about him is sweet. Even though he hasn't given you a good reason."
You knew her words were true, but you could not think of yourself being good for someone. "I… I hope he believes I'm innocent some day. I… I want to stay by his side. Know why he's lashing out so harshly."
She reached over and patted your hand, the soft smile somehow warmer. "Everyone needs time. Especially with this. But… I don't see him being unreasonable." The certainty she said it had warmth spreading through your chest.
What you couldn't admit was how terrifying it still was. You had thought for years that you just had to keep moving. Don't get attached. Don't stay in one place. No one will get hurt for you if you do that. No one else's blood will be on your hands.
Yet Mingi filled you with some certainty that he was safe to be around. That the real threat was whatever plagued him. That he could, and hopefully would, stop harm from coming to you. It was a surreal feeling.
He was a surreal man.
When you left the room to accompany them for making dinner, it ended up just being you watching Wooyoung and Mingi bicker in the kitchen. Wooyoung constantly teased him, often bringing you and the woman he called Magpie into the conversation. You were the one who mostly responded.
Mingi practically ignored Magpie's existence. Acting as if she wasn't even there. No one pointed it out, but you did pout about it. You had asked enough of him though, you didn't want to ask him to put aside his prejudice for the woman when it seemed like a losing battle to begin with.
When dinner was done, Mingi once more carried you to the table, acting as if your legs were incapable of working. The fact he sat you on his lap to eat further flustered you. Was this due to distrust or something else?
"I only have the couch and floor for bed options." Wooyoung said after dinner was done and you insisted on helping with the dishes.
"We'll take the couch." Mingi's tone left no room for argument.
Which you wanted to do, glancing at the couch and knowing it wasn't even big enough for Mingi. How were you both going to sleep on it.
Or did he intend not to sleep once more?
You found the answer later, Mingi picking you up to be chest to chest before laying down on the couch so you were on top of him. Your heart was racing, face to face with him beneath you, fierce eyes boring into your wide ones.
"Oh isn't that romantic~" Wooyoung teased from the other side of the couch, plopping a blanket over you both. "Rest up silly goose. Don't let this meanie eat you in his sleep. He can be quite the wolf." He winked before leaving you there a stammering red mess.
Mingi chuckled once the two of you were alone, his arm solid around your back and holding you in place. Your legs were tangle in between his, one of his longer limbs propped up while the other hangs off the couch and his foot rested on the coffee table. "Stop acting like such a virgin. This is the easiest way to make sure you don't run off." He hummed, pressing your head down to his chest- it was a nice, plump chest- and urging you to sleep.
But his words just had you even more on edge. Virgin. Well you were one. And it flustered you to no end that he called it.
What was worse was the chuckle he let out. "Oh you are huh? Don't get so squeamish, little mouse." His chuckle was deep and you could feel it in his chest under your ear, making you blush and squirm even more.
His hands tightened suddenly, holding you against him to the point you could feel everything. It just made it worse, your heart racing. Your hands tugging on his shirt.
You didn't know what changed, but everything felt different. Hotter.
Mingi had pulled you up so you were staring down at him, mere centimeters between noses, eyes locked. "You are… quite easy to read actually."
What did he mean by that? Why was he smirking up at you like he just caught you in a trap? Where was his hand go-
Oh.
Squeaking you grabbed his wrist in surprise, face burning, chest tight, but nothing as hot as your breast now in his hand.
"I can fit you in my whole hand perfectly."
Pushing up as fast as you could you were straddling his thigh and holding his hand away from you, a mess of emotions. Hot, flustered, particularly warm and fluttery in your stomach and lower. "Mingi-"
He grinned. Not in that near sadistic way when he would spare a grin your way. But it was still teasing.
And warm.
"You like that don't you? Want me to touch you, mouse?" He asked, large hands on your hips, moving up and pushing his shirt up in the process.
Whatever your expression was just had him chuckling again, low and deep that had your stomach doing jumps and tricks.
"Yeah… you are easy to read." His tongue darted out, running over his thick bottom lip and drawing your attention.
What did he see? Why was he looking at you like… that.
Like he was enjoying himself. Like he enjoyed the view of you sitting on him like this. Enjoyed touching you.
Why were you enjoying it? Especially from a man that scared the living daylights out of you just yesterday.
You were more confused by these feelings more than anything. Confused by the way Mingi scrutinized your expression; no longer with overwhelming malice but like he was putting together a puzzle and starting to see the picture.
Then "I'll stop, lay back down and sleep."
Not that he gave you a choice, pulling you back to his chest, tucking you half under his arm but making sure you were comfortable.
Too flustered to protest any more, you shut your eyes. Sleep didn't come quickly, but it did come. Lulled to slumber by the steady heartbeat under your head.
You woke to the rumbling of words in the chest under your head- but it was a stomach not a chest. You didn't move, flustered from the position and alert from the words spoken.
"We were kids ya know. Tortured. Experimented on. Killed if we didn't follow them or try to escape. We didn't ask to be hurt. But we could have stayed there and continued to be. We chose to leave and fight."
Mingi was talking. Snapping at someone low and mean. There was pain in his tone, his hand gripping the back of your shirt tightly. You gripped his side back, a poor attempt to comfort.
If he noticed, he didn't say anything. "I'd rather die fighting than die being a lab rat for them to play with until they don't think I'm useful anymore. Better me, someone willing to fight- willing to die- than an innocent fucking child who's only crime was being different." He spat, and then was up off the couch, throwing you over his shoulder.
You squeaked, gripping his shirt and glancing at who he was being harsh to. You weren't surprised it was Magpie.
"Tell Woo I'll be back later. If I stay I might bash your fucking head in and I am not about to do that to him when he gives a shit about you. He's better than the both of us." He snapped, grabbed his bag, and was carrying you out before you could say anything.
The sun was barely up, the light peaking over the horizon while the burning star was still hidden out of sight. It bathed the sand dunes with intricate shadows and warm colors, no doubt the grains still cool from the night however.
Mingi moved with a purpose over the dunes, and after the first you had a feeling you were heading to the settlement the two of you had stayed at prior.
It wasn't a long walk, but long enough for you to think about the scene you woke up to. The words hissed with years of pain. An anger that seem bone deep.
Should you ask?
Would he answer?
Pulled out of your thoughts you were set down much more gently than you expected, hands on your shoulders to balance you quickly. You had been right about the sand, it was cool on your bare feet. Grounding.
"Mingi?" You glanced up at him, curious as to why he had stopped. The settlement was in sight, seemingly still asleep. You couldn't see Wooyoung's safe house any more. So why?
The only answer was an expression on his face that was akin to anguish and the rapid breathing he was trying to control.
Hesitantly, you reached out and gripped his forearm, a gentle squeeze like a comfort. "For what it's worth, I think you are doing a brave thing. T-the fighting and rebellion. You're a part of it right?" After the day with Wooyoung, you had put it together.
The rebellion you tried to stay away from. For no reason other than the doubts you could help. You traveled. You could barter. And you were scared more often than not.
The men in the raids. The emblem they wore. You didn't pay attention to it other than to avoid anything with it. But maybe you always knew.
Mingi stepped closer, eyes wide as he processed just what you had said. "Wha- what happened to the shivering mouse who was scared of me hm?" It was clear he was trying to tease, but his tone was more questioning- too wispy to be teasing. Like he couldn't find his own breath.
He was right to question you though. You did. It hasn't been that long since he found you. Less time since he had his hand around your throat.
And yet… you thought of how frightened he had looked even as you were shaking with your own fear. You thought of yesterday as he had interacted with the talkative man who welcomed you, even if a bit cautiously. You thought of how close the two of you have been physically two nights in a row and how his touch seemed to be getting more and more gentle.
"I don't have a reason to be scared of you when you aren't hurting me. When you listen to me talk. When you give me your clothes and keep me safe, even if you are doing so for different reasons than care. You could have killed me that first night. In my sleep. Or any time really. But you didn't." You offered a smile, moving your hands to his torso and gripping the fabric of his shirt. "You don't want to hurt someone who doesn't deserve it and I think you think I don't."
Wherever you had gotten this confidence was beyond you, but you fully believed it.
Mingi did not think you were a threat. He did not want to hurt you. Not any more at least.
He looked shaken by your words, hands clenching but not gripping your shoulders; just resting there. He didn't speak, but he was trying based on his mouth opening repeatedly.
Pride swelled in your chest, that you could render the large man speechless. Shaken. When he often moved and spoke with unwavering conviction and confidence. In this moment he seemed off kilter.
It didn't last long. He was throwing you over his shoulder again as soon as he found his bearings. And as if to punish you for the feelings you incited in him, he smacked your ass. Squeezing the plump flesh a second after and keeping his hand there as he started his walk again.
No longer face to face, he spoke, voice gruff "cheeky little mouse. Maybe I should teach you a lesson."
You didn't mind the lick of heat that ran down your spine at his tone. It had been far too sensual to be a threat.
As he carried you into the settlement you realized, with warmth blooming in your stomach, he never denied what you said.
Unfortunately, the punishment was having you sleep and eat alone in the same room as the night you had spent here. Mingi left you alone to go handle things, and you were left with your thoughts.
Imagination drew up visages of what you thought Mingi would have looked like as a child. Afraid as he is experimenting on- not that you can conjure up such images, just blurry feelings of a scene.
Did that mean he had no family? No parents?
Would you have experienced the same if you had been captured when your parents were killed?
These thoughts and more ran through your mind as you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for your not-really-captor captor to come back.
About midday he did, stepping into the room and pausing as his eyes landed on you.
You offered a wave and small smile, trying to be welcoming.
He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shut the door. "I never locked the door you know."
"I know." You had never heard the click. And he didn't tie you up. "Why would I leave?"
That had him pausing again, expression void of any discernible emotion as he stared. He shook whatever thoughts he had and climbed onto the bed, boxing you in. Eyes locked on yours he said "what sort of mouse enjoys being trapped?"
"I'm not a mouse, ya know. I just… Have no reason to leave." The admission had heat running up your neck as you turned away rather quickly. As if you could hide from him.
He laughed, low and deep. You could see a wide grin on his lips in your peripheral, deepening your blush.
"Are you sure about that?"
"I told you I wasn't afraid of you anymore-"
"Oh I know, mouse. But that doesn't mean you want to stay with me."
Your fingers twisted in the worn sheet under you, catching your bottom lip between your teeth as heat flooded your nervous system. "I-" Did you want to stay with Mingi?
He was making you feel so small right now. Probably intended to make you feel trapped, his body easily covering yours. He could wrap his hands around your throat in an instant.
He could… but he won't. The playful glint in his eye when you turned to meet his gaze once more said that much.
"If I wanted to stay with you… Would you let me?" You spoke the words so softly between you, like a secret that would shake the world if spoken too loudly. In a way it was, it would shake your world.
It seemed to shake Mingi's. The playful glint was gone, a whirlwind of emotion in his blue-gray eyes.
Unintentionally you held your breath, waiting for some dismissive remark or a threat or something. All you saw in his expression was conflict.
"Why?" He finally croaked out, as if he couldn't fathom you- or anyone- wanting to stay by his side.
It was a good question. One you weren't sure you could answer. "I don't know exactly. I- I've spent my life on the run. Hiding and never staying in one place for long. I guess I realized that isn't much of a life. Just because I am afraid someone will get hurt for me, like my parents did, shouldn't keep me from people."
You thought particularly of a silver haired woman, one who had spent only a night with you and it was the closest you felt to someone in so long. The fact you crossed paths with her again was… well it felt like you were being given a chance for something.
Wooyoung's chattering self wormed his way into your mind- your heart. The woman in his home that listened to your troubles, even when you could tell she was guarded and feeling awkward.
But most of all- the man above you. "You face your enemy head on Mingi. Even though I think… I think you are afraid of them. Of what they do. You still fight them. You told Magpie you would rather fight and die than have them harm another innocent child. That's… really cool of you." Offering a smile, you brought your hand up to the dangling necklaces between you. Silver and gold, loud and unnecessary for battle. Like he was saying look at me. I'm too cool for you to touch. "You don't run, and maybe I'm hoping that I can get some of that courage if I stick around."
Like a broken spell he slapped your hand away and sat up, still caging you in with his legs as he glowered down at you. "You don't know me, little rat. Don't act like you do."
"But I want to" you shoot out quickly, not wanting to back down.
"No you don't" He hissed, grabbing your hands and pinning them to your sides when you reached for him again. "I don't- I am not as brave as you think I am. I-"
You wanted him to open up to you. You hoped he would. His sight faltered, a gasp leaving his lips as he stared down at you, eyes glassy.
Then angry, growling as his hands moved to your shirt and he yanked you up. "You're doing it again! Stop it! Whatever fucking illusion- I don't want to see this. I don't want-" a sob. That was definitely a sob he broke off on.
"I want to get to know you Mingi. Tell me? Please?" You fought off your fear, focusing instead on being pliant and safe for him. You wanted Mingi to trust you.
He bent over you, face buried into your chest as his hands shook. "I run when it matters most, mouse. You shouldn't-"
He didn't continue.
You couldn't ask.
The shirt was getting wet, sticking to your skin. You didn't move, letting him do… Whatever this was.
Maybe he was right, that he did run when it matters. Maybe you did too.
He didn't get up until your shirt was drying and he was no longer shaking. He avoided your eyes, but you could see his were red.
The urge to embrace him and comfort him was strong but you reeled it in, just watching as he swung himself off you and sat on the edge of the bed. He pushed his white and blue hair out of his face, the strands looking oddly soft but wild.
"I have a theory about your ability. We're going to kill some time here and figure it out. Give Wooyoung time to head home and deal with…" He sighed, shoulders drooping.
So he was changing the subject? Not even bothering to address what had just happened? Was this an example of how he runs away?
It made you want to stay even more. To follow. Scurry after him like a mouse looking for the scraps he'll drop. Scraps of himself, pieces he will let you glimpse.
Maybe you finally lost it mentally, thinking of yourself with such an analogy.
"Okay. What do you think my ability is?" You can be patient, follow his lead. All you have is time.
"Illusions. Like a camouflage or mirage. Those bastards had us doing all sorts of tests for our abilities, I can remember some. Some of their explanations. The… Chemical that gives us our abilities have different triggers. There are those that are constant. Part of us. Like my sixth sense of sorts, it is always present, always beneath the surface. But most are triggered. At first as a defense mechanism or as a response to feelings. That bi- Silver goes invisible. I think yours can work like that, but it's different.
"Yours changes how you are perceived, based on how you are feeling. When you were afraid of me, I saw what I was afraid of on you. Your ability manipulated my sight so that I would feel what you feel towards me." Mingi finally ended his explanation, finally glancing up at you.
There was some sense to it, his theory, though it was hard for you to work through it when he had given you another piece of himself. Alluding to his childhood, the training he was forced through. The implication that he doesn't remember all of it.
It was a lot to process, so you focused on what you could. "How um… how do you know it's not just fear?" You wanted to know about your so called ability, after all it was why those men had gone after you.
Had killed the only family you had. Continued to hunt you like prey.
And maybe there was a way to use it- this ability. A way to make a difference. Stand your ground.
"Because-" Mingi pulled you out of your thoughts, his expression now hungry in a way that had your stomach doing figurative flips. "When you got flustered, when I touched you, there was another illusion of sorts. I saw you not only shirtless but marked up and looking as if I just fucked you dumb. A sight, I'm sure, was meant to turn me on. Despite the fact I could physically feel your shirt."
Well, with the heat burning just under your skin and the ache between your thighs, you were sure he was now seeing a similar visage.
If he was correct.
"Mouse-" He turned towards you, swallowing hard enough you couldn't help but watch the way his throat bobbed. "Reel it in baby, we still have a long day ahead of us."
He made true on that, pulling you out of the room after finding you sandals since your shoes were forgotten at Wooyoung's. After a light meal, the "testing" began.
It wasn't anything cruel or harsh, just emotionally draining. Testing what emotions trigger it. The distance it works. If you could willingly force a perceived illusion onto him from thought alone.
You couldn't just make yourself feel something toward him and it was unpleasant when he would get snappy at you for it. Something he stopped quickly when your annoyance at his attitude did manage to incite an illusion of sorts.
He got some of the people in the settlement to join in, though briefly, so by the time the two of you stumbled back into the small room and onto the just as tiny one bed, you both had a pretty good handle on your ability and triggers.
It was funny actually. You had been so worried about learning about the men of the raids and what made you a target before- believing that knowing would take away the last bit of freedom you fooled yourself into thinking you have. But now that you knew about the lab rats that took those with Adrenaline - Mingi had explained during your training montage- and about your own ability, you felt free.
No, not freedom. Control. You felt like you had control over your life for once.
That you didn't need to run or hide. That there were other options for you.
That you could provide safety, just as you had wanted to do so with Silver so long ago.
It had you grinning as you sat on the bed, watching Mingi as he slid the deadbolt shut, effectively locking you in here with him. No fear sparked at the action, but heat did. No one would disturb you, making this now the safest place for you to be.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" He cocked an eyebrow, closing the distance between you while fighting off his own grin.
"Like what?"
"Like… hm, you're happy to see me? Didn't I tell you mouse-"
You waved your hand to dismiss his half baked warnings. "You never answered me. Earlier. When I said I wanted to stay with you. If you want to train me and my ability, that means I get to stay right?" You asked, widening your grin.
He barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he pushed you back onto the bed, manhandling you with ease. There was no malice behind it, no real force, but you sort of enjoyed it. You weren't going to tell him that just yet though.
"You really want to stay with me?" He asked, climbing over you, muscles moving in a way that reminded you more of a predator stalking it's prey. "I think you're smitten with me. Find me hot. Want my cock? Little Miss virgin."
Heat ran up your chest at his words, charring the skin of your cheeks from the inside it feels like. Your body betrayed you, no doubt giving off your emotions and with your ability too. It would be nice to control that part, so you could be turned on in his presence and be spared from his immediate teasing.
And for reassurance that he wanted you in turn because of yourself, not whatever your ability made him see.
He groaned, head falling forward to rest on your clavicle. "It makes it easy to read how you are feeling, that's for sure, but I am afraid I wouldn't last long when you look like the perfect fucking wet dream. I'm hard already, baby. Try and reel it in- Ah that can be a great way to train you. Like a pet."
You gasped at his words, hands gripping his biceps as his nose brushed against the skin of your neck. "Do you think I can? What if I never get a handle on it well enough? I wouldn't want to have to focus on that while you're making me feel good, Mingi…"
Another groan. "Good point. Maybe I should shut my eyes. I'm sure the sound of you whining and moaning with each thrust would be-"
"Mingi!" You were hot all over, legs pressed together as you felt his mouth on your skin.
"Yeah just like that-"
"Mingi-" He nipped at the flesh just under your ear, causing you to whine.
His hands moved to your thighs, squeezing and rubbing them as he pushed them wider. A second later they were wrapping around his small waist.
Your whole world tilted as you felt a hard bulge in his jeans, pressed against your core. It made it hard to think, to breath right. Soft whines left your lips as he continued the assault on your neck. Kisses both soft and harsh, trailing over your flesh. Some were on the tender skin of the left over bruises from when he had choked you, inciting delight instead of fear.
It occurred to you, somewhere in the back of your muddled brain, this was a distraction.
He kept you pleasantly in a state of bliss with the kisses, hands kneading your flesh and his hips beginning to rock against yours. A glance down and you noticed his eyes were clothes tightly, but not in pain or concentration. Like desperation.
A roll of his hips applied pressure just right for your head to fall back, his name falling from your parted lips like a reverent cry. You had never felt like this. This pleasure, this desire, burning a sizeable hole in your belly up to your chest but mostly in your core where it throbbed.
The underwear you wore was wet, sticking to your folds more and more with each press of his bulge to your core. You wished the clothes were gone, that you felt his member poking and prodding and then slipping in deep to chase away the intense emptiness that had found it's way into your inner walls.
His lips never left your skin, the heat from his breath burning as much as your own desire. His spit joining your sweat, making a mess of your neck.
The pull of your shirt up had you whining, the roughness of his own shirt scrapping against your hardened nipples as the force of his rolls had your whole body moving on the bed. His large, rough hands found the supple flesh. He wasn't gentle, but not too rough, squeezing, kneading and pinching.
"Fuck, baby, get a bit louder for me. Cry my name. Cry." His tone was rougher, but hot. Husky maybe? It didn't matter, just that the tone of his voice had you obeying instantly. You pulled at the back of his shirt, holding on and even trying to meet his hips. The pleasure from each roll was building and building, driving you to something that was a rarity even by your own hands.
Tears pricked your eyes when you were finally on the precipice. It was right there. A harsher flick of his hips, a slight difference in angle as you realized you were babbling his name like a chant. That you needed it more than air.
It was the wetness of his tongue on the shell of your ear as he whispered "cum for me" that released the knot holding it all back. Your underwear was soaked, hips jerking so much he had to grip them to hold them still while he chased his own. A moment later, when clarity started to find you, did you feel the way his hips stuttered and he drooled against the flesh of your throat.
It took some time for the heat between you both to dissipate. For Mingi to straighten your limbs and pull away, halting all protests with a kiss to your forehead.
"Good pet. Get some sleep now, we'll head back to Woo's in the morning to clean up. I forgot your clothes there but they're clean." His tone was strange: warm but somewhat distant. He didn't look at you as he got up from the bed, turning off the small light.
Only when you were facing the wall, heart finally beating at a normal pace did you acknowledge the blaring truth.
He never said you could stay.
“Still carrying you like that?” Wooyoung's familiar voice had you lifting your head to see him as Mingi passed. The man was smirking and you returned the smile.
Hand on Mingi's side to hold yourself up, you waved. “I'm used to it by now. Easy traveling.” You offered up, having just accepted your fate that this was how Mingi was going to carry you, even if he no longer seemed hostile towards you.
No, whatever was between you both now was something far different. Not that you could name the strange heated tension. Lust maybe? You've never wanted someone like that.
Until Mingi. Until yesterday.
Laughing, Wooyoung shut the door. He turned just to find you both no longer moving. Not that you knew why.
“What is she doing here?” Mingi hissed beneath you, his body tense under your hands. “It better be news on Mouse, Yeosang.”
Yeosang? Wasn't he-
Quickly you scrambled up, accidentally yanking Mingi's hair to push yourself up and peer over his head at who was in the room. There was the far too beautiful man, and then, even without the silver hair, you could recognize her. “Can I get down Mingi? I want to talk to-”
“Fine fine.” The man huffed, dropping you down next to him with his arm wrapped around your waist and holding you against him. “Stop your squirming little one or I'll tie you up again.”
You couldn't help the heat that bloomed over your face at the reminder, gripping his shirt to stop your squirming as he so eloquently put it.
“Hi Mingi. I did look into it and she's clear as far as I saw. It would have helped if you gave me a name though.” The blonde huffed though it was more of slight amusement and resignation than actual annoyance.
The tension immediately leaked out if Mingi at that, you could feel the way his muscles relaxed at the confirmation. Even if the both of you had figured things out, it didn't hurt that he still had his doubts.
He nearly dragged you to the sofa, moving before you realized he was. When you nearly tripped over your own feet, he just manhandled you up, swinging you forward, and then unceremoniously dropping your back on your feet in front of him. “Thanks. Are you staying? Do I have to play nice with this bi-”
“Mingi.” The blonde cut him off the same time you did, though his was in warning and yours like a plea.
Mingi ignored Yeosang and glanced down at you instead with a glare that lacked his usual malice.
You didn't hesitate to continue your plea even if you didn't think he would listen. “Please don't. I don't know why you dislike them but please?”
His jaw clenched, heated gaze flickering to your lost acquaintance of sorts. “She knows why I don't like her. What she did. Or didn't do.”
For a second the air cracked with palpable tension, making you shiver. Silver flinched and you wanted to reach out and soothe whatever wound Mingi just poked at, but in the next instant the tension was zapped away.
To your surprise, and everyone's perhaps, Mingi moved to sit on the couch right next to Silver, pulling you down on his lap so you were facing the woman. His arm was around your waist, gripping your side a bit harshly but you didn't mind.
No longer were you scared of him. No longer did you think he would harm you. Or that he even disliked you. The new marks he left on your neck were probably proof of that, as was his jacket that swallowed your frame.
“You said you missed them right. So talk. Don't expect me to acknowledge them. I don't like cowards.” Mingi snapped out, starting soft and ending harsh. You got the impression he wasn't talking about just one person though.
His words yesterday had you believing he thought of himself as one of those cowards.
Still, it was more than you could ask, glancing down at Silver's hands with a silent question to hold before you started chatting away.
Asking about them. How they knew Yeosang. When it appeared they didn't want to talk about it, you offered up parts of yourself.
Places you visited. How you would like to visit the bar maybe and have a drink with her. And Yeosang. Even declaring you would drag the man beneath you.
Mingi let you chat, adding nothing to the conversation unless he was directly spoken to by either you, Yeosang or Wooyoung. It wasn't lost on you how he didn't acknowledge Magpie.
It wasn't lost on you that with the hours of chatting, Mingi never stopped touching you. Not unless he was pulled away by one of the others or the restroom. Or when he had you clean up and change into your old and now clean clothes like the original purpose for coming back so soon. It wasn't lost on you the bit of disappointment on his face when you stepped out in your own clothes, or the devilish smirk he gave when you slipped his jacket back on instead of your own.
He stayed as a brooding presence attached to you. You just accepted it. After the discovery of your ability- or at least deducing what it probably was- he stopped being an enemy.
You almost wanted to say friend but… a friend doesn't mark up your neck with his mouth or touch you intimately. They definitely didn't dry hump each other. But you most definitely did not bring any of that up surrounded by his actual friends. Instead the topic of your ability was enough. Explaining it to Silver and the others who would listen.
That Mingi wanted to teach you how to control it. The room was far too heavy at that statement and you had no idea why.
It was dinner time when you were no longer sitting on Mingi(after his shower finally), but he was next to you sitting on the arm rest, his thigh against your shoulder, talking to Yeosang about… something you hadn't been paying attention to. Plans for tomorrow you think?
It was with a ringing alarm that everything seemed to stop. All eyes on Wooyoung as he ran for it almost desperately.
He speaks to Magpie for a moment, too quiet for you to hear but he glances your way.
“Mingi, can you take this one? Use the radio, it has a tracker.” Wooyoung suggests, tossing the old radio to Mingi who catches it with effortless ease “I…I have to stay back.”
The next second you are hauled up by his hand on your bicep. He pockets the radio and is already on his way towards the door. You follow without thinking. “You sure?”
You notice Yeosang and Silver are quickly trailing after you both, something set in their shoulders that breeds trepidation in your stomach. “We’ll fix it, Wooyoung. Count on us. We’ll bring them home.” Yeosang offers as if to appease the other man.
Then the four of you were outside. And as you suspected, you were swooped up onto Mingi's shoulder again. Any humorous comeback that might have filled the space wasn't spoken. The tension was too heavy to let it.
“I have my vehicle nearby. We can take that. It's a bit of a walk.” Mingi announces, already setting off to the nearby tiny settlement he had left the car at. The same settlement you two had spent the other nights at, learning what made your ability tick. Just over a few dunes.
Thankful you didn't have to walk over the sand, you just held on as the two followed. They seemed tense. You didn't like how tense everyone was.
Yet all you could do is offer a disarming smile. A wobbly one that betrayed your own anxiety, too scared to ask what was happening.
So you didn't.
The night was long and tense. From Wooyoung's to the car and then holding on for dear life in the vehicle as Mingi's reckless driving ensued. The delay for gas seemed to make the tallest even more anxious.
He must have a bad feeling about this, and yet he we was still rushing. Perhaps he thought things would end badly if they didn't make some imaginary deadline.
He made you hold onto his arm as he drove as recklessly as usual, his hand finding your thigh when he wasn't using it. You had a feeling it wasn't to keep you seated.
Nothing was spoken all night. Hours over sandy dunes, half hidden roads, all in tense silence.
It broke when Mingi shut the car off suddenly and pulled it to the shadow of some rubble. He apparently decided the rest would be done on foot, considering you were thrown over his shoulder seconds later.
Without the vehicle there was no lights, just utter darkness before dawn. It made it hard to see the expressions on your companions faces, but you could still hear Yeosang complain about the lack of vision.
"We're getting closer" Mingi's chest rumbled under you, his hand tightening when the sound of gunfire and angry voices- an angry roar actually- reached you. He was taking off in seconds.
The downside to being hauled around was the view: you had no idea where you were going, or what the others saw. Whatever they saw when dawn broke and light illuminated their faces enough to see their expressions, their features were twisted with old pain and shock.
Like seeing a monster that they thought they had been rid of.
Mingi nearly dropped you at whatever he saw, making it hard to twist and see just what the issue was.
“We have to hurry,” Yeosang pulled Silver past you both, breaking through whatever shock had taken hold of them.
“Fuck,” Mingi cursed, hefting you back onto his shoulder, higher this time. “We need a plan!”
“There’s no time!” Silver yells after them, running towards the loud gunfire and shouts. Lots of shouting.
“You two, go after the one that needs help. Mouse and I will go help the other one,” Mingi barked out, already on the move to… well someone needing help.
After hours of silence it really hit that this was a rescue mission. A dangerous one. One you had no business being in.
Yet Mingi set you down when he reached the fight, glancing at you with a look of concern. "Make them afraid. You can do it." He shoved a gun into your hands and then turned to fight the men without a second thought.
The same men he fought the night he found you. The same men that took your only family away.
It was difficult to bite the anger back and bring forth your fear, willing the men to feel it. To be afraid enough to run.
Not once did you pull the trigger, instead taking note of how Mingi handled anyone who dared to aim at you. Who began to panic with the fear you were no doubt making them feel with whatever illusion they perceived you to be.
It was more than a little hard to keep focus when someone threw a car and leapt a great distance to another portion of soldiers. The loud noise had you dropping the gun, chest pounding with your own need to run. All you could do was confuse and frighten them and yet here someone was like a super soldier!
“San!”
An unfamiliar voice screaming an unfamiliar name shifted everything. You felt it. Saw the way Mingi froze after kicking away one of the armed men. Even the sand in the air seemed to still in this moment.
Your gut twisted with one look at Mingi's face. Eyes wide, burning with emotion. Shock, disbelief, hope and an insurmountable guilt you could not fathom.
It occurred to you he knew this San… and he had no idea he was who they were saving today.
The sight rooted him in place, even as one of the soldiers aimed at him. Mingi didn't seem aware of it.
The gun went off.
You acted without thinking. Pulse racing. Fear suffocating your lungs and stomach. You screamed something, unable to hear your own voice over the ringing in your ear.
Collision with the larger body was felt throughout yours, just to be overwhelmed by the shooting pain in your shoulder. The pain had your knees weak, falling to the sands beneath you the same second Yeosang reached you both.
At first you didn't hear what was said, the pain was too much. The ringing in your ears white noise. Your eyes worked just fine though, taking in the too gorgeous man ripping his own shirt to wrap your shoulder with bloody hands.
That was your blood on his hands.
It was your wound he was wrapping.
Silver shouted out Mingi's name and brought you back to the world, eyes flickering up to meet Mingi's horrified gaze. He looked frightened, staring at you as if you were dying in his arms.
The pain might feel like death, but it wasn't anywhere vital. Yeosang was handling it with precision. This might be the first time you had been shot but you didn't think you were going to die.
“We can save him. We have another chance. We can save Mouse. And we can save the lady San is trying to help. We won’t fail.” The conviction on Silver's voice latched into your own chest, even if the words were meant for Mingi.
Last night filled your head. The way he had cried. The sorrow that had filled his voice when he had admitted that he runs when it matters most. This was one of those moments, where it mattered.
And you still believed he was not a coward. You still believed he was capable of bravery and heroism and winning even when he's scared. Precisely when he is scared.
“Mingi,” you did not like how faint your voice sounded. The pain you could not hide from your tone, even with a smile. “I…I'll be fine. After all, I'm good at hiding, right?” Yes you weren't a fighter, but you were damn good at hiding. At surviving. And right now Mingi needed you to be okay, even if it was just so he can focus on who really mattered. You jerked your chin in the direction of the super soldier that seemed so important to him. To them. “Go.”
As soon as they ran off you started to crawl away, a feat with your injured arm. Holding it to your chest you made it to the nearest broken vehicle, standing straight up with its nose buried in the sand. There were a lot like that around now that you could take a quick second to grasp your surroundings.
You tucked yourself behind the vehicle, out of sight and hopefully safe. A good distance from the core fighting.
There were shouts, more gunfire. You could hear Mingi and Silver and Yeosang but could not decipher what was said.
The pain was intense now that there were no dire distractions. Breathing took effort. Keeping your eyes open as your head spun took more.
The battle was still ongoing when your consciousness left you.
When it returned to you, there was no sand or sun or fighting. No vehicle holding your spine up. You were laying down now, sprawled out on a bed. There was a dim lamp across the room, and when you turned your head to examine the room you found a figure bathed in that light.
It was Mingi, sitting in a worn leather chair, continuously running his hands through his hair. He wore new clothes. Clean clothes. And the strands he kept stressing seemed damp.
The lack of sand on his form brought attention to the lack of sand on your own. You felt clean, no longer in your own clothes and- with a wince you became acutely aware of your shoulder.
In an instant Mingi was up and at your side, brow furrowed with apparent worry and pain. "Don't move too much." The concern was even more evident in his deep voice.
"It's fine, just hurts… a lot." You offered him a smile, reaching up with your uninjured arm to run your fingers along his tense jaw. "I'm just happy you are alright. Is your friend okay too? The one we went to save?"
"How do-" his eyes had gone wide, breath halting.
You saw no distrust in his eyes, only shock. "Wasn't hard to figure out. I don't know the details but he sounded important to you and Silver."
"He is." Mingi blurted before flinching at how loud his voice had come out. "He is. He… well thought we lost him, a long time ago." He brought his hand up to hold yourself to his cheek, gaze soft and vulnerable on yours. "You said everyone needs someone to keep them safe… to be their safety. Right?" When you nodded, he continued on. "San was that for me. He's… he always made sure we were all safe and taken care of. With his ability we put blind faith in him. We thought he couldn't die. But that wasn't the only reason he made us feel safe."
Looking away, Mingi seemed to be battling with himself or searching for the next words. You let him, thumb brushing over jaw in silent encouragement. "We… We escaped. Silver, Yeosang, San and I… With a lot of other kids. Some of them help out with the rebellion. Some settled down or went into hiding. We had a plan, had help, but we got caught. I- I blamed Silver. She was supposed to keep us invisible up to a point. But failed. And so we had to fight…"
Tears brimmed his eyes now, blinking rapidly to stop them as he lowered his head. "By we I mean San. He jumped in and took the damage. Shielded us so we could run. I-I could have helped. But I was scared. Freedom was right there. And I was so scared of being taken back there I just ran. I didnt care about San or Silver or Yeosang in that moment. And when I glanced back, I swore I saw San bleeding. I thought he died to save us, but the only one I saved was myself."
By the time Mingi had finished recounting the clearly traumatic memory, you were sitting up and holding his head to your chest awau from your wounded shoulder. His broad frame was shaking with sobs, but you let him continue.
His hands gripped the back of your shirt, pulling you closer. "I don't remember tests the put us through but I remember the proving grounds. Where we saved San last night. I could remember every time I hurt another kid out of fear of getting hurt and tested on. There weren't many of us that had a constant type of adrenaline, and San's made it difficult to test but not me."
Your arm tightened around his head, heart hurting for him. He had just been a kid. They had all been just kids. "It's okay Mingi. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to act on that fear. And San… your safe space is back. You saved him and-."
"You got hurt because I froze." His words cut through your own attempts to comfort him. He lifted his head, the blue in his eyes vibrant beneath the tears. "You saved me. And not just with that bullet. I-" he cupped your small head in his larger hands, bringing his forehead to yours. "I have no words to explain how much you have grown on me. Baby I- fuck it."
His lips were on yours the next moment, full of reverent devotion and vulnerability. He was giving a piece of himself with every quick stroke of his lips that your own matched, taking him in.
You could not explain it either, how in a matter of days he had gone from your captor to someone you wanted to stay with for perhaps the rest of your days. You wanted to be a part of his life as much as Yeosang and Wooyoung were- no much more. You wanted his lips on yours and to be carried on his shoulder. You wanted to wake up to him and bounce around in his vehicle as he drives with reckless abandon.
You wanted Mingi and all that meant.
Head hitting the pillow again, Mingi had laid you down with a gentleness that betrayed the growing desperation of his kisses. He crawled over you, caging you in and keeping you safe from the rest of the world.
There was a knock on the door suddenly, but Mingi didn't pull away until someone stepped in and gasped.
"Can you not attack her the moment she wakes up, Mingi?" Someone hissed. A familiar someone.
You wiggled from under Mingi just enough to see over his bicep at who stood there. Silver. "Hi! It is totally okay I am totally okay right here. Mhmm pro-promise." Your breath hitched when Mingi's lips moved to your ear and nippled on the sensitive flesh.
Silver rolled their eyes but they didn't seem offended. "Well I thought you might want a drink with me. To help with the pain down at the bar but if you-"
"No no we're coming!" You stopped Mingi by covering his mouth, smile widening. "I-if it's okay if Mingi-"
"Course it is. We made up baby, don't worry." The man grumbled against your hand as he sat up. "Let's go have a few drinks with our friends yeah?"
Warmth flooded your chest, this time tears pricking your eyes. "Yeah." Then, much softer and with a sudden boldness you lifted up your arm. "Carry me?"
Now Mingi rolled his eyes, just to grin down at you in a way that was boyish and warm. "Always."
If you read this all, thank you so much. And once more a big shout out to Topaz ^^ Go read their Yeosang and Silver stat now :p
synopsis: you were shocked to discover that the boy who had caught you from the sky was the chief's son of your rival tribe, though that revelation did nothing to stop you from sneaking out night after night to find him again.
word count: 8.4k
info+warnings: viking!seonghyeon x viking!reader, httyd inspired, rival villages, forbidden(ish) love, seonghyeon is the chiefs son, warrior!reader, mentions of strict parents, sneaking around, joking insults, flirting, skinship, kissing
The first time you met Seonghyeon had been rather… strange.
It had now long been in your islands' favour to accept and love the dragons as your own, running various stalls across the village to aid those in finding 'their' dragons. The great war was over, the old ways forgotten, and now dragons roamed freely through the streets, curled up in doorways, and perched on rooftops like oversized, scaly cats.
With the likes of you, a warrior's eldest daughter and future fighter, it came natural that your dragon was the child of your father and mother's. Storm was a magnificent creature: a Thunderclaw with scales the colour of a twilight sky, wings that could block out the sun, and a bond with you that ran deeper than blood. You'd grown up together, trained together, flown together since you could walk. She was part of you, and you were part of her.
That night, you were doing what you always did when the weight of expectations pressed too heavy on your shoulders: flying.
The sky was a tapestry of stars, the moon a sliver of silver hanging low over the sea. Storm's wings beat a steady rhythm beneath you, her body warm between your thighs, the wind cold and sharp against your face. You'd left your village behind, the distant glow of its lanterns nothing more than a smudge on the horizon. Up here, you weren't the warrior's daughter or the future of your family's legacy. You were just a girl and her dragon, soaring through the infinite dark.
You leaned forward, pressing your cheek against Storm's neck, and she rumbled contentedly.
You were about to urge her higher, to chase the stars, when something suddenly collided into you.
The impact knocked the air from your lungs.
One moment you were flying, the next Storm was twisting violently beneath you, a shriek tearing from her throat as something hit her side.
You felt your grip slip, your fingers scrambling for purchase, and then you were falling.
The world spun, the sky and sea and stars blurring together in a sickening whirl. You caught a glimpse of Storm above you, wings flailing as she fought to regain her balance, her roar of panic echoing across the water.
The wind screamed past your ears and the sea rushed up to meet you, a dark, hungry maw. You tried to twist, to orient yourself, but there was nothing to grab, nothing to hold onto. You were plummeting, and the water was getting closer, and you couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight.
Then you saw it.
A figure that looked distinctly human falling towards you at rapid pace, their arms locked at their sides, mirroring the very move dragons do when aiming to soar downward.
Behind them was a shape darker than the night sky, moving faster than anything you'd ever seen.
It was another dragon, a Night Fury in fact.
You barely had time to process before the human reached you, behind them the massive wings of their dragon folding as it plunged through the air towards you.
Their hands closed around your waist, and their grip was iron-tight, yanking you against them with a force that knocked the wind from your lungs all over again. Your limbs wrapped around the human instinctively—arms around their neck, legs around their waist—as the dragon finally soared down beside you and the human hauled you onto the saddle.
The Night Fury curved beneath you, wings snapping open to catch the air as your weight fell atop it, and you skimmed the water so close you could feel the spray on your ankles. Then you were climbing, the sea falling away, the sky opening up again.
You were gasping, trembling, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. Your face was pressed into the rider's shoulder, and you could feel their heart too, racing against yours.
"Are you alright?" Their voice was rough and breathless, entirely too calm for someone who'd just plucked a falling girl from the sky.
You couldn't speak. You just nodded against their shoulder, your fingers digging into their back.
"Good," they said. "Hold on."
The Night Fury banked sharply, and you clung to them as the world tilted. Below, an island emerged from the darkness: a small crescent of sand and rock, fringed with pale trees. The dragon descended in a smooth spiral, landing with barely a sound on the beach.
The rider dismounted first, then reached up to help you down. Your legs gave out the moment your feet touched sand, and they caught you again, steadying you with hands on your elbows.
"Easy," they said, their voice low and steady. "You're safe now."
You looked up, and there, in the moonlight, was a boy you'd never seen before.
He was lean, with sharp cheekbones and dark hair that fell across his forehead, wind-tousled from the flight. His eyes were wide and worried, scanning your face for injury. There was a streak of dirt across his cheek and a fading bruise on his jaw. He wore unfamiliar clothes: the stitching different from your village's, the leather darker, the buckles arranged in a pattern you didn't recognise. His hands were still wrapped around your elbows, steadying you, and you could feel the warmth of his palms even through the thick fabric of your riding gear.
You stared at him and he could only stare back.
"You're not from my village," you said, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.
He blinked, his dark eyes finally leaving your face to scan your figure, taking in the cut of your armour, the embroidery on your cloak, the way Storm's saddle was crafted in the distinct style of your tribe. "You're not from mine," he replied, a note of curiosity creeping into his tone.
Your dragons were circling overhead now, Storm's frantic roars mixing with the Night Fury's calmer chirps. They descended together, landing heavily on the sand—Storm with a thunderous thud that sent sand spraying, the Night Fury with an almost silent grace that seemed impossible for a creature of its size. Immediately Storm rushed to you, nudging you with her snout, letting out worried whines that vibrated through her entire body.
"I'm fine," you told her, pressing your forehead to her scales. They were cool and smooth against your skin, grounding you. "I'm fine, just shaken."
She rumbled, unconvinced, and shot a glare at the strange dragon and his strange rider. Her tail lashed behind her, a clear warning.
The Night Fury looked entirely unbothered. It sat back on its haunches, tilting its massive head, watching the scene unfold with what could only be described as amusement gleaming in its luminous green eyes.
The boy stepped forward hesitantly, his hands raised slightly in a placating gesture. "I'm really sorry about that. He didn't see you, neither did I. We were just—"
"Flying," you finished, finally finding your voice properly. "I know, I was too."
You both stood there, awkward and breathless, the only sounds the gentle lapping of waves against the shore and the heavy breathing of your dragons as they continued to eye each other warily. The air was thick with salt and the lingering adrenaline of your near-fall.
You tilted your head, your gaze falling upon the small crest that resided on the chestpiece of his leather armour. The design was familiar: a stylised dragon in mid-dive, wings swept back, surrounded by interlocking rings. You'd seen it before, in old texts, in stories told by traveling merchants. But you couldn't place your finger on it exactly.
"What village—"
"—are you from?"
You both asked in unison, and you noticed the slight reddening of his cheeks whilst his hand reached up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. The gesture was endearing, you realised, despite yourself.
"You go first," you said, completely unmoving as you felt Storm press closer to your side, her warmth a comforting presence against the cool night air. Your hand came to rest on her scales, fingers tracing the familiar ridges.
"Uh—Berk. I'm from Berk."
The name caused a sudden jog in your memory. The living legend of the boy who tamed a Night Fury. More specifically, the chief's son who had done so. The stories had travelled far—across the archipelago, through every trading post and fishing village. A scrawny boy who had brought down the most feared dragon in existence, only to befriend it. Who had changed his tribe's ways, who had united dragons and Vikings.
Your eyes widened, darting between the boy who stood in front of you and his dragon, who was now standing rather confidently, chest puffed out as if aware of its own legendary status.
"Chief's son?" You asked, despite already knowing the answer.
You watched him turn his head and let out a sigh of discontent as the Night Fury's ears lowered at its rider's reaction. He seemed almost embarrassed by the title, like it was a weight he carried rather than a badge of honour.
"I prefer Seonghyeon," he finally answered, his face turning back towards you, and you realised in that moment that the boy standing before you was actually very handsome—the kind that was hard to find in your own village. The moonlight caught the angles of his face, casting shadows that made him look like something out of a saga.
You maintained eye contact, attempting not to waver under his intense stare. "Well, Seonghyeon, can I ask why you were flying within the borders of my village?"
His eyebrow arched up just a fraction at your comment, his lips curving into a slight smirk that was entirely too confident for someone who had just crashed into you. "Last I checked—" his hand rose to point at the large rock formation in the distance, barely visible through the dark night sky "—the Speed Stinger islands belonged to the Isle of Berk. So technically, you were the one over the border."
"Unfortunately, you're incorrect." You crossed your arms over your chest as you answered, shifting your weight onto one leg. The motion caused your cloak to fall back, revealing the emblem of your tribe stitched into your tunic. "Those formations are under the Askeblad map, and therefore belong to the Hymir tribe, not the Hooligan tribe."
You watched his eyebrow twitch at your naming of his tribe. The Night Fury took a few steps forward in a challenging manner, its massive form suddenly seeming even larger in the moonlight. Storm growled in response, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the sand beneath your feet. Her scales bristled, and you could feel her muscles coiling beneath your hand.
Seonghyeon raised his arm to signal his dragon to stand down, and you watched as he attempted to suppress a smile that was invading his features—clearly taking this situation far less seriously than a chief's son likely should. The Night Fury huffed but backed down, though its eyes remained fixed on Storm with predatory curiosity.
"If that is what you would like to believe, then so be it." He flashed you a smile, and you could only furrow your brows at the gesture. There was something disarming about it, something that made it hard to stay properly angry. "I'll make sure to stay away from it next time."
You stared him down for a few moments longer in utter confusion. This was quite literally the strangest boy you think you'd ever met. You didn't recall your own chief's son being quite so weird—he was entirely more egotistical with far less care for anyone but himself. So what on earth was going on in Berk for the heir to turn out like… that?
"Okay…" You dragged out, shifting to face Storm in an attempt to free yourself from his rather intimidating stare. "Well, I'll be on my way now."
You slung yourself back onto the saddle so quickly that Seonghyeon couldn't process your words until you were already up in the air, Storm's powerful wings propelling you both skyward. You didn't look back, though you felt his gaze on you like a physical weight.
Below, Seonghyeon stood on the island, watching you go with a strange glint in his eye. His Night Fury growled, shifting its head forward so its muzzle pushed against his arm. He turned, suddenly pulled out of whatever thought was consuming his mind, now coming face to face with a very judgmental dragon.
"What?" Seonghyeon questioned, pulling a face at the Night Fury before turning back to look at your retreating figure with a slight smile. "She was quite feisty."
The Night Fury let out a teasing growl, turning and plodding away towards the edge, preparing to take off again.
"Hey, hey! Wait up, don't leave me here!" He quickly ran after his dragon, though the image of your hardened face still plagued his mind: the sharp set of your jaw, the fire in your eyes, the way you'd stood your ground against him despite knowing exactly who he was.
You stayed far, far away from those islands for a few days, even by not flying with Storm during that time, entirely weirded out by the boy who had saved you by throwing himself off his own dragon.
Storm became restless at that. Her entire routine was built around your nightly sneaking out, and your father began to notice.
"Feed Storm less. She's far too energetic at the moment," your father commanded at the dinner table, his voice brooking no argument. You simply nodded in response, staring at the untouched food on your plate. You had learned long ago that arguing with him got you nowhere. He was the chief's right hand, a warrior of legendary status, and his word was law in your household.
Instead, you snuck out of your room that night, scaling the roof of your family's dragon paddock until the familiar sound of snoring erupted beneath you. You reached your hand below, your fingers wrapping around the protective rope, before throwing yourself over and slinging yourself through, landing right in front of Storm with a soft thud.
She jumped at the sudden noise, her eyes shooting open and locking onto you before they softened almost immediately. A small whine escaped her: an obvious complaint about your lack of appearances the previous nights. Her tail thumped against the ground, stirring up hay.
"I know, I know." You whispered, reaching out to allow your hand to caress her scales. They were warm beneath your palm, familiar. "Do you want to go for a ride?"
She perked up instantly, jumping onto her feet and surging forward to lick you. Her saliva smoothed across your face as you groaned, trying to push her massive head away. "Storm, no. That's disgusting."
She quickly moved, nudging her nose under the saddle so it sat atop her muzzle and bringing it towards you with an eager chirp.
You quickly set up, slinging yourself onto her with a final grunt before she emerged through the open pen, expanding her wings and finally setting off into the night. The wind was cool against your face, washing away the frustration of the day.
The wind soared past, your hair billowing under its weight as Storm cut through the skies. The stars were brilliant overhead, scattered across the darkness like diamonds on black velvet. The moon was fuller than it had been a few nights ago, casting silver light across the sea below.
You paid little mind to the direction, allowing her to take control as she did a few barrel rolls, letting out a small screech at the sound of your laugh. It felt good to be free again, to feel the wind in your hair and the world spread out beneath you.
Eventually, you saw a set of very familiar islands appear on the horizon.
Your stomach dropped.
The very islands you had essentially argued with a chief's son over, that you later discovered were actually under Berk's territory and only remained on your tribe's historical maps from previous ownership, were approaching you at rapid pace.
Storm angled towards them without hesitation, her wings tilting to catch the wind whilst you sighed internally, already working out what she was up to.
You soon pulled onto the centre island, Storm perching herself onto the edge of a rocky outcropping that jutted out over the water. You slid off, your boots finding solid ground as you walked to the very edge, looking out onto the view.
The sea stretched before you, dark and endless, the moonlight painting silver trails across its surface. You sat down heavily, your legs dangling over the edge, and Storm curled up behind you, her warm body pressing against your back like a living wall.
You let out a long breath, your shoulders finally relaxing after days of tension, all of it fading into the background as you watched the waves roll in.
It was peaceful and quiet, a reprieve you had spent days searching for.
Then you heard it.
The distinct sound of dragon wings cutting through the air: steady, powerful and all too familiar.
You turned your head, already knowing what you'd see, and there it was: a Night Fury, its dark form almost invisible against the night sky, descending towards the island with practiced ease. It landed a few feet away, its massive claws scraping against the rock, its luminous green eyes fixed on Storm with what could only be described as friendly recognition.
Storm chirped in greeting, her tail thumping against the ground.
You turned back to the view, your expression carefully neutral.
Seonghyeon slid off his dragon's back, his boots landing softly on the rock. You could feel his gaze on you, warm and searching, and you knew he was wearing that insufferable smirk of his that made your stomach flip and your cheeks warm the first time you saw it, even when you were trying your hardest to be annoyed.
You didn't give him the satisfaction of looking at him.
"I thought you said you'd stay away from these islands," you said flatly, your eyes fixed on the horizon.
You heard him huff a quiet laugh, the sound carrying across the space between you. Footsteps approached, and then he was settling down beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. He sat cross-legged, his knee brushing just slightly against your thigh.
"I lied," he said simply, his voice light and unrepentant.
You finally turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "I didn’t think a chief's son was allowed to be deceitful."
He tilted his head back at you, a teasing glint in his eye. "I am not the son of your chief."
You could only stare at him for that comment, your eyes narrowing as he just maintained eye contact, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, and you hated how your heart stuttered at the sight.
"Too right," you eventually replied, turning back to look at the view whilst still feeling his gaze on you. It was warm, persistent, like a physical weight against your skin. You stared resolutely at the horizon, refusing to acknowledge the flutter in your chest.
Seonghyeon didn't say anything. He just sat beside you, his presence steady and comforting, and let the silence stretch between you. It wasn't awkward strangely, it was comfortable, like you'd known each other for years instead of days.
Your meetings gradually became a routine. Any night your father angered you—which was often—you'd sneak into Storm's paddock and be off on your way.
There was no true rhythm to your spontaneous trips. Some nights you arrived early, the sun barely having set beyond the horizon. Other nights you came late, the moon already high overhead and the stars scattered like diamonds across the darkness. It didn't matter. Every time you arrived, Seonghyeon would be there without fail.
He was always waiting.
Sometimes he'd be tending to a small fire, the flames casting dancing shadows across his face. Other times he'd be sitting on the edge of the rocky outcropping, staring out at the sea, his Night Fury curled up behind him. Once, you arrived to find him lying on his back in the sand, his arms folded behind his head, watching the stars wheel overhead with an expression of quiet wonder.
"You always know when I'm coming," you said that night, settling down beside him.
He turned his head, his dark eyes finding yours in the darkness. "I don't, I just wait every night." He shrugged, like it was nothing. "Eventually you show up."
You stared at him, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in your chest. "That's insane. You can't just wait here every single night."
"I can." He sat up, brushing sand from his tunic. "And I do."
"But what if I don't come?"
"Then I wait the next night." He said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You let out a scoff in disbelief, shaking your head gently as you turned to look back at the stars whilst mumbling to yourself. “Such a weirdo.”
Though the rapid beating of your heart said you believed otherwise.
Other nights commenced with much more physical activity.
One of these times, Seonghyeon had somehow convinced you to try riding his Night Fury, who you now learned was called Toothless.
"Absolutely not," you said, backing away with your hands raised. "That's a Night Fury, the most dangerous dragon in existence, the one that's been the subject of every nightmare I've ever had."
"He's not dangerous," Seonghyeon said, patting Toothless's snout affectionately. The dragon leaned into the touch, making a sound that was suspiciously like a purr. "Look at him, he's a big softie."
"He just sneezed fire three inches from my face."
"He was excited and you were taking too long to decide."
You stared at him, utterly incredulous. "I'm not getting on that dragon."
"Scared?" Seonghyeon's lips curved into that infuriating smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"Of course I'm scared! I have a healthy sense of self-preservation, unlike some people."
"Come on." He walked over, his hands outstretched. "I'll be right behind you, I won't let anything happen to you."
You looked at his hands, then at Toothless who was watching you with those luminous green eyes, his head tilted in curiosity, then back at Seonghyeon's face, open and earnest.
"You promise?" You asked, hating how small your voice sounded.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand, a gesture he had slowly been introducing across the many evenings you spent in his presence. "I promise."
You took a deep breath and then, very slowly, you walked towards Toothless. The dragon watched you approach, his tail swishing gently against the sand. When you were close enough to touch, he leaned forward and sniffed you, his breath warm against your face.
You shot him a look, but you were already reaching out, your fingers brushing against Toothless's scales. They were smoother than you'd expected, almost warm, vibrating faintly with the hum of his breathing. He leaned into your touch, and you felt something loosen in your chest.
"Okay," you said quietly. "Okay. I'll try."
Getting onto Toothless was an experience.
The saddle was different from Storm's: sleeker, more streamlined, designed for speed rather than stability. Seonghyeon helped you up, his hands firm on your waist as he guided you into position. Then he swung up behind you, his chest pressing against your back, his arms reaching around you to grip the reins.
"Ready?" He murmured, his breath warm against your ear.
"No," you said honestly.
"Too late." He clicked his tongue, and Toothless launched into the air.
You screamed instantly, and it wasn't a dignified scream by any means. It was a full-throated, eyes-clenched, fingers-digging-into-the-saddle scream that echoed across the island. The wind howled past your ears, and the ground fell away beneath you, and you were absolutely certain you were going to die.
But then you felt Seonghyeon prod your side and you opened your eyes.
The world was spread out beneath you, a tapestry of silver and black. The stars were closer than you'd ever seen them, scattered across the sky like diamonds on velvet. The sea stretched to the horizon, dark and endless, and the wind was cool against your face.
"Oh," you breathed.
Seonghyeon's laugh rumbled against your back. "Oh? That's all you have to say?"
You didn't answer. You were too busy staring, too busy taking in the impossible beauty of it all. Toothless banked smoothly, his wings cutting through the air, and you felt a thrill of pure, unfiltered joy.
That seemed to become a reoccurring emotion that consumed your being whenever you were in Seonghyeon’s presence.
The weeks passed, and your meetings became the highlight of your existence.
You'd fly to the island, and Seonghyeon would be there, always with that same soft smile and a stolen bundle of food. You'd talk for hours, or sometimes not at all, just sitting together in comfortable silence, watching the stars wheel overhead.
And every time, without fail, you felt that same thrill of joy.
It was ridiculous, really. You barely knew him—you'd only known him for a few weeks—but somehow, he felt more familiar than anyone you'd known your whole life. He understood you in a way that no one else did, saw past the walls you'd built so carefully, and never once asked you to be anything other than exactly who you were.
Still, there was always an undercurrent to every meeting of yours, a reminder that your worlds were not meant to intersect. You were from Hymir, a tribe that valued tradition and strength above all else. He was from Berk, a tribe that had once been your people's greatest rivals. The maps you'd argued about on that very first night were just a small symbol of the larger divide between your two villages—a divide that had existed for generations, carved into the very bones of your histories.
You never talked about it directly. Neither of you wanted to spoil the fragile bubble you'd built together. But it was there, lurking beneath every laugh and every touch. The knowledge that this couldn't last forever, and that eventually, you'd have to face the reality of who you were and where you came from.
One morning, you woke to the sound of commotion echoing through the village.
It was earlier than you usually rose, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. You blinked groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and listened. Footsteps, shouted orders, it was the unmistakable sound of preparations being made.
You dressed quickly and made your way down to the main hall, your heart pounding with a strange sense of foreboding.
You eventually found your father standing in the center of the room, his armour polished and gleaming. He was directing a group of warriors, his voice sharp and commanding, his posture rigid with authority. As one of the chief's most trusted warriors, he was always at the center of these preparations, his opinion valued above almost all others.
"Father?" You called, stepping into the room. "What's happening?"
He turned, his eyes landing on you. They were cold, assessing, the same way they always were. "You're awake. Good. I need you to be presentable by midday."
You frowned. "Presentable? For what?"
He gestured vaguely towards the door. "The Hooligan tribe is arriving for diplomatic relations. Their chief and his heir are coming to discuss trade agreements and border disputes. Their warriors will be accompanying them, of course. We've prepared the great hall for the meeting."
Your blood ran cold.
Their chief and his heir. Seonghyeon's father and Seonghyeon himself.
"Here?" You managed, your voice surprisingly steady. "They're coming here? To Hymir?"
"To discuss terms." Your father's expression was unreadable. "It's been long overdue. The Hooligans have been making overtures for months, and the chief agreed it was time to hear them out. We're not at war anymore, it's time to act like it."
You nodded, your mind racing. "And the heir—he's coming too?"
"Of course. He'll be the chief someday, he needs to learn how these things work." Your father's eyes narrowed, studying you. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason." You forced a smile, hoping it looked natural. "I've just heard stories about him, that's all. The dragon tamer. The one who befriended a Night Fury."
Your father scoffed, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand. "Stories. They're just stories, girl. No need to fill your head with such nonsense." He turned away, already barking orders at a passing warrior. "Be ready by midday, and wear something appropriate. You'll be seated with the other warriors' children. The chief wants to show we are a united front."
You nodded, retreating from the room before he could see the panic rising in your chest.
You spent the rest of the morning pacing in your quarters, your mind spinning.
Seonghyeon was coming here to your village—to your home. He would walk through your gates, and you would be expected to greet him like a stranger, to bow and smile and pretend that you'd never seen him before.
You didn't know how you were going to get through it. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face, heard his laugh, felt his arms around you. How were you supposed to look at him without betraying everything you felt?
By midday, you had dressed in your finest tunic, your hair braided neatly, your expression carefully composed. You joined your father at the village gates, standing beside your mother, your hands clasped tightly behind your back. Around you, the other warriors and their families had gathered, forming an impressive display of Hymir's strength and unity.
Then you saw them.
A procession of dragons descending from the sky, their forms silhouetted against the midday sun. They landed one by one on the outskirts of the village, their riders dismounting with practiced ease. Warriors in dark leather armour, their expressions stoic and watchful, flanked their chief and his son.
At the front, on a sleek black Night Fury, was Seonghyeon.
He was dressed in his finest leather armour, his dark hair swept back from his face. He looked every inch the chief's son: confident, composed, untouchable. But when his eyes found yours across the crowd, you saw something flicker in their depths: recognition and longing all in one look.
You held his gaze for just a moment. Then you looked away, your heart pounding.
The great hall was packed.
Long tables had been arranged in a U-shape, laden with food and drink. The chief of Hymir sat at the head, your father seated at his right hand, a position of great honour, a testament to his years of loyal service. Your mother sat further down, with the other warriors' wives. Across from them sat Seonghyeon's father, a mountain of a man with a booming voice and a warm, weathered face, and beside him was Seonghyeon himself.
The warriors of both tribes were positioned at the tables around them, their postures rigid, their eyes watchful. You could feel the tension in the air, the weight of centuries of conflict pressing down on the room.
You sat at one of the side tables, positioned with the other warriors' children. Close enough to observe, far enough to be invisible. It was where you always sat during diplomatic meetings: a silent observer, a reminder of your family's legacy.
But today, you couldn't focus on the proceedings. You couldn't focus on anything except the boy sitting across the hall, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him.
Seonghyeon was so close, close enough that you could see the tension in his shoulders, the careful neutrality of his expression. Close enough that you could see his eyes flicker towards you, just for a moment, before snapping back to his father.
You looked away, your fingers digging into your palms.
The meeting droned on about trade agreements, border disputes, and alliances, treaties and terms that made your head spin. The chief of Hymir spoke in his usual measured, authoritative tone. Seonghyeon's father responded in kind, his voice warm but firm.
All the while Seonghyeon just sat there, silent and composed, playing the role of the dutiful heir.
You hated watching him like this: so controlled, so distant. You wanted to reach across the table and shake him, to remind him that there was more to life than politics and duty and the weight of expectation.
But you couldn't, so you just sat there with your hands clasped tightly in your lap whilst you watched.
The meeting finally drew to a close as the evening sun began to set, casting long shadows across the hall. The chief of Hymir rose, his voice echoing through the room.
"We will reconvene in the morning to finalise the terms," he announced. "For now, let us eat. Let us remember that we are not enemies, but neighbours."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the hall, and the tension seemed to ease slightly. Warriors began to relax, reaching for food and drink, their voices rising in conversation.
You seized the opportunity.
You slipped away from your table, weaving through the crowd, your heart pounding. You needed to have a moment to yourself, to suppress the very urges that screamed at you to forget all the formalities and just drag him away in front of everyone. The weight of the evening pressed down on you: the watching eyes, the careful distance, the unbearable closeness of him just across the room.
The secluded hallway beside the great hall welcomed you as you leaned back against the wall, breathing a sigh of relief. The stone was cool against your back, and you closed your eyes, willing your racing heart to slow.
"Couldn't stay there either, hm?"
Your eyes snapped open.
Seonghyeon was standing in front of you, his figure silhouetted against the dim torchlight. He'd shed his formal outer cloak, and his tunic was slightly untucked, like he'd been running his hands through his clothes in frustration. His dark hair was even more disheveled than usual, falling across his forehead in messy waves.
"Seonghyeon—" you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.
He stepped closer, his hand moving to rest on your waist, his fingers splaying across the fabric of your tunic. The warmth of his palm seeped through the material, and you felt your breath catch. This was the closest you'd ever been to him: closer than the island, closer than the flights, closer than any stolen moment before.
"You looked so beautiful tonight," he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you. "Sitting there, all composed and untouchable. Do you know how hard it was to keep my eyes off you?"
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. "It was the same for me. I wanted to—"
"Drag me away in front of everyone?" His lips curved into that infuriating, familiar smirk. "I know, I could see it in your eyes."
His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer. Your hands came up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms: fast, just like yours.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "About you. About how much I wanted to just—"
He didn't finish the sentence. His eyes dropped to your lips, and you saw something shift in his expression.
You felt your own cheeks flush, and you realised your eyes had dropped to his lips too.
"Seonghyeon—" you started, but you didn't know what you were going to say.
"Can I kiss you?"
The words came out rushed, almost desperate, as though he'd been holding them in for too long. His hand on your waist trembled slightly, and you realised he was just as scared as you were.
"I've wanted to," he continued, his voice rough. "For weeks. Every night on that island, every time you laughed, every time you looked at me—I wanted to kiss you. But I didn't know if you wanted—"
"Yes."
The word came out before you could stop it, quiet but certain, and his eyes widened.
"Yes?" He repeated, almost disbelieving.
"Yes, you idiot," you said, a smile tugging at your lips despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I've been waiting for you to ask."
He let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh of relief, tthen his hand came up to cup your cheek, tilting your face towards his, and he leaned in.
His lips brushed against yours softly, like he was testing the waters. You felt the warmth of his breath, the gentle pressure of his mouth, and you thought your heart might burst out of your chest.
Then he pulled back, just slightly, his eyes searching yours.
"Okay?" He murmured.
You nodded, unable to speak, and he moved to kiss you again.
This time it was deeper, more certain. His lips moved against yours with a gentle urgency, and you responded instinctively, your hands fisting in his tunic, pulling him closer. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, and you felt like you were drowning in him—in the warmth, the softness, the incredible rightness of it all.
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. His forehead rested against yours, and you could feel his smile against your skin.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes shining. "I've been wanting to do that for so long."
"Why didn't you?" You asked, your voice soft.
He shrugged, a little sheepish. "I was scared. You're—" He paused, searching for the right words. "You're the most incredible person I've ever met. I didn't want to mess this up."
"You could never mess this up," you said, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Seonghyeon, I—"
But you didn't get to finish because footsteps suddenly echoed from the end of the hallway.
Both your eyes widened. Seonghyeon's head snapped towards the sound, and you felt a jolt of pure adrenaline shoot through your veins. The footsteps were getting closer, heavy and deliberate, a warrior's stride no doubt.
Without thinking, Seonghyeon grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the nearest alcove: a small, built-in cupboard used for storing extra linens and supplies. He yanked the door open and practically shoved you inside, following close behind.
The space was impossibly small.
You were pressed together in the darkness, his body flush against yours, his hand clamped firmly over your mouth. The stone of the wall was at your back, and his chest was pressed against your front, his heart hammering as fast as yours.
His forehead fell onto yours, his eyes squeezed shut.
The footsteps grew louder before then stopping.
The door to the cupboard rattled slightly, and you saw the outline of a figure through the crack: a Hymir warrior, broad-shouldered and imposing. He was standing right there, just on the other side of the thin wood.
You sucked in a mere breath, freezing completely.
Seonghyeon's hand pressed harder against your mouth, his fingers trembling slightly. His eyes were still closed, his jaw tight, bracing for the inevitable.
The warrior stood there for what felt like an eternity. You could hear him grunt, the sound deep and considering. He shuffled slightly, and you felt Seonghyeon tense even further, his body becoming rigid against yours.
Then, with another grunt, the warrior turned. His footsteps retreated, growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared entirely.
Neither of you moved.
You were still pressed together in the darkness, Seonghyeon's hand still clamped over your mouth, his forehead still resting against yours. His eyes were open now, dark and wide, staring into yours with an intensity that stole your breath.
Slowly, carefully, he removed his hand from your mouth.
"That was close," he breathed, his voice barely audible.
You couldn't speak—you could barely breathe. Your eyes were locked on his, and the darkness seemed to pulse around you, enclosing you in this small, secret space.
Seonghyeon's hand moved from your mouth to your cheek, his thumb brushing across your skin. His forehead was still pressed against yours, and you could feel his breath mingling with yours.
"I should let you go," he murmured.
"You should," you agreed, but neither of you moved.
"Your father would kill me if he found us like this."
"He would."
"And my father would probably help him."
"Probably."
He laughed and the breath of air tickled your lips. "We're idiots."
"Complete idiots."
And then, before you could process anything, he kissed you again.
His lips were warm and insistent against yours, and you responded immediately, your hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him.
The kiss deepened, and you forgot where you were; forgot about the feast; forgot about the warriors, the diplomacy, the danger. All that existed was him: the taste of honey and mead on his lips, the softness of his hair beneath your fingers.
"Seonghyeon," you breathed when you finally broke apart, your foreheads still touching. “Our families—”
"I know," he murmured, his voice rough. "I know. We shouldn't be doing this."
"We really shouldn't."
But neither of you pulled away. His thumb traced your jawline, and you could feel his heart racing against your chest.
"I don't want to wait until the next time I can see you," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "I want to stay here with you forever."
You laughed softly, the sound shaky. "That's a long time to be in a cupboard."
"Worth it." He pressed another soft kiss to your lips. "So worth it."
You smiled against his mouth. "We're going to get caught."
"Probably."
"And then we're going to be in so much trouble."
"Definitely." He kissed you again. "But I don't care."
You were about to respond when distant voices echoed from the end of the hallway. Both of you tensed, listening. The feast was evidently winding down and that meant people would be moving about soon.
"We have to go," you whispered reluctantly.
"I know." He pressed his forehead to yours one last time. "Tonight, I want to see you."
"I'll find you." You reached up, brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead. "Be careful."
"You too."
You slipped out of the cupboard first, checking the hallway before beckoning him out. He emerged, his tunic rumpled, his lips reddened, and his eyes shining in the dim torchlight.
"You look thoroughly kissed," you observed, a smile tugging at your lips.
"So do you." He grinned, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I'll see you tonight."
Before you could answer he was gone, disappearing around the corner before anyone could see him.
You stood there for a moment, your heart racing, your lips still tingling. Then you smoothed down your tunic, took a deep breath, and walked back into the great hall.
The feast was still in full swing, but no one seemed to have noticed your absence. Your mother gave you a curious look, but you just smiled and returned to your seat.
That night you waited until the village fell silent.
The guest house where the Berk delegation was staying sat at the edge of the village, a sturdy building reserved for important visitors. You'd watched it from your window for hours, counting the torches as they were extinguished one by one, waiting for the last sounds of conversation to fade into the night.
When the moon was high overhead and the village was finally asleep, you moved.
You slipped out of your room, your bare feet silent against the wooden floors. You'd changed into darker clothing: a simple tunic and trousers that would help you blend into the shadows. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were certain someone would hear it.
The village was eerily quiet as you made your way through the winding paths. The only sounds were the distant snoring of dragons and the gentle lapping of the sea against the shore. You kept to the shadows, your footsteps light and careful.
The guest house loomed ahead, its windows dark. You circled around to the back, finding the spot you'd scouted earlier: a sturdy trellis that led up to the second floor. You climbed quickly, your fingers finding purchase on the rough wood.
The window you'd identified as Seonghyeon’s room was the third from the left. You'd watched him enter it earlier that evening through the opening, his father's hand on his shoulder, his expression carefully neutral.
You tapped on the glass, three quick knocks.
The window slid open after a few moments, and Seonghyeon's face appeared in the gap. His eyes were dark and surprised, but a slow smile spread across his lips when he saw you.
"You came," he whispered.
"Did you doubt me?"
He laughed softly, reaching out to help you through the window. His hands were warm on your waist as he guided you inside, and you landed softly on the wooden floor.
"I didn't doubt you," he murmured, his voice low. "I just—I couldn't believe it. That you'd really come."
You smiled, reaching up to touch his cheek. "I told you I would."
He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "I know. I just—" He shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him. "I'm still getting used to the fact that you're real."
"I'm very real," you assured him. "And I'm about to do something very reckless."
His eyebrows rose. "Reckless how?"
You grinned, pulling him towards the window. "We're going out."
"Now? But my dragon—"
"We're not taking the dragons." You paused at the window, looking back at him. "We're walking."
Sneaking Seonghyeon through the village was perhaps the most terrifying thing you'd ever done.
You moved like shadows, keeping to the darkness, avoiding the occasional torchlight that flickered in the night. Seonghyeon followed close behind you, his hand clasped tightly in yours. Every time you heard a sound—a creak, a whisper of wind—you froze, your hearts beating in unison.
"Where are we going?" He breathed, his lips close to your ear.
"You'll see," you whispered back. "Trust me."
"I trust you." His hand squeezed yours.
You led him past the dragon pens, past the great hall, past the warriors' quarters. The village gave way to forest, the familiar trees rising up to greet you like old friends. The path grew narrower, winding through the underbrush, and you could hear the distant sound of rushing water.
The sound of water grew louder as you pushed through the final stretch of trees, until the forest opened up, revealing the most beautiful sight you'd ever seen.
The waterfall cascaded down a sheer rock face, plunging into a crystal-clear pool that shimmered in the moonlight. The water sparkled like liquid silver, and the air was cool and misty, carrying the scent of moss and stone. Bioluminescent flowers lined the banks, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the clearing.
Seonghyeon stopped at the edge of the pool, his eyes wide with wonder.
"This is—" He turned to you, his expression soft. "Y/N..."
You nodded at his silence in understanding, stepping closer to him. "This is where I come when Storm is too tired to fly out to you."
There was a long pause before he breathed a sigh, for what you didn’t know, but you watched as his eyes scanned your features.
“You don’t know…” He paused momentarily, reaching his hand up until his palm found your cheek, “how beautiful you look in this light.”
Your breath caught in your throat. His palm was warm against your skin, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone with a tenderness that made your heart ache.
"Seonghyeon—" you started, but the words died in your throat.
"I mean it." His voice was barely above a whisper, rough with emotion. "Every time I see you, I think you can't possibly get more beautiful, and then you prove me wrong."
You laughed softly, shaking your head. "You're ridiculous."
"I know." He smiled, that soft, vulnerable smile that made your stomach flip, "buut I mean every word."
You stared into his eyes for a moment longer before surging forward, your lips crashing onto his before you felt him let out a sudden gasp before smiling into the kiss.
He tilted his head, deepening it slightly as the hand resting on your cheek slid to your hair, cupping the back of your head, all whilst his free hand curved around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
The water continued to cascade from the rocks, its meeting with the faint lights casting an almost halo around the two of you. The mist rose around your feet like a soft cloud, and the bioluminescent flowers seemed to glow brighter, as if they too were celebrating this moment.
The island's heart beat for you: a native to its ancient soils. Every stone, every tree, every whispering leaf knew your footsteps, recognised the rhythm of your breath, and now as you stood wrapped in the arms of a boy from across the sea the island seemed to hum with approval—like it had been waiting for this moment all along.
Your arrangement with the strange boy who had saved you from the sky may have been complicated, but you knew with absolute certainty that it was the most real thing you had ever felt, and no historical border, no tribal allegiance, no ancient grudge carved into the bones of your ancestors could stop you from finding him again and again.
What you had wasn't written in ink or etched into stone; it was written in the stars that watched over your meetings, in the waterfall that sang its approval, in the way his hand fit so perfectly in yours, and you would cross every line drawn on every map, defy every expectation, and fight every battle just to see him smile one more time.
Summary:
What ensues after each member wakes up next to you, hard.
A/N:
hihi hi again. so i initially wanted this to include all members but yk me, i get carried away lmaodasd. i had only finished 2 members (mingi and yunho) and the word count was already 2.4k words so i was like... okay imma have to divide this into parts. so enjoy!! this is what I would expect it to be like waking up next to yunho or mingi while they have a liiiiil problem. also the other members will be out the second i finish them, so stay tuned!!
— ᨳଓ Pairing:
1st story - song mingi x reader
2nd story - jeong yunho x reader
— ᨳଓ Audience:
explicit smut
— ᨳଓ Word Count:
~2.4k
— ᨳଓ Tags:
mingis story - slight dub!con (he humps your butt for a second or two b4 u wake up), whiny!song mingi, wouldn't nec call it sub!song mingi but there are some undertones if u squint, mention of overstimulation
yunhos story - soft dom!jeong yunho, tiniest bit of pain kink (reader), hair pulling, oral (m!rec), leg humping (for like a second)
MINGI
Mingi wakes up with a loud whine, cock straining uncomfortably against his boxers—a small wet patch already forming where the head is pressed against them. He just can't help it. You have your back pressed against his large, muscular chest as you stir in your sleep, your ass wiggling subconsciously to make yourself more comfortable. A deep groan escapes his parted lips as he shamelessly ruts against the swell of your ass. He feels terrible cause you're not even awake yet and he's already humping you like a dog in heat.
He whines your name, a large hand coming up to caress your waist as he's planting wet, open-mouthed kisses against the nape of your neck. It's your time to let out a barely audible whine and Mingi hums in response, taking all his might not to continue bucking his hips against the warmth that is your body.
“Mhmm, Mingi?” you breathed out, still groggy and half asleep.
“Baby—nngh—n-need you,” he barely manages to let out, his voice deep and hoarse from the slumber he just woke up from.
And that's when you felt it: the heavy weight of his large cock in between your cheeks. You moan in response. He was bucking his hips oh so slightly against you, hand gripping your waist so tight you're sure it'll leave marks. You lean into the wet, sloppy kisses he's plastering on your neck as your left hand reaches back to thread your fingers through his hair. Mingi whimpers at the touch, so needy.
“T-thighs, baby. Use my thighs,” you said as you parted your thighs slightly, allowing Mingi access. The broader man just groans in response as he slides his aching, flushed red cock into the tight heat of your thighs. The top of his cock is resting against your now wet folds, more arousal forming by each second.
Mingi loved your thighs. He loved all of you, of course. But there was just something about your thighs that got him going. He would find any excuse to place his strong, large hand against your thigh—giving it a squeeze if he were feeling extra brave. You never understood why, but you didn’t complain either. Mingi never failed to show you just how gorgeous you are, how much he wants you, needs you.
Your wetness is met with Mingi’s own as he ruts into the tightness of your thighs, small whimpers mixed with low grunts escaping his lips. His grip on your waist has loosened a bit from being allowed to chase his own pleasure, but it’s still there, and he just rocks you back and forth to the beat of his thrusts. It’s so filthy but also so good, even when he’s only mere inches from your aching cunt.
Your left hand is still in his hair, gripping whatever you can get your hands on as Mingi moans, “So good for me, baby—mmh—so tight and wet. Always so good.” And he’s whispering praise against your neck in between sloppy pecks and fast pants. You’re so focused on Mingi's pleasure and his beautiful whimpers that you don’t notice the hand previously occupying your waist making its way down to your aching heat.
A loud groan escaped your lips as he pressed two strong fingers against your clit, circling it with a pressure he knows makes you go crazy. And even though Mingi is so lost in his own arousal, chasing his high so desperately, he still thinks about you. He still knows exactly which buttons to push, praise leaving his lips sounding so filthy but so right. Knows exactly the speed, the pressure you so desperately need, and it’s all too much. The wet, slick noises from both of your arousal filled the air along with quick pants and moans—the two of you working together, rocking against each other's touch to chase your release.
After what feels like hours, you can feel Mingi’s thick cock twitch against the tight grip of your inner thighs. His previous mix of whines and low grunts now transforming into whimpers as he gets closer to what he’s been aching for all morning.
“C-close, baby,” he hums, his head still buried deep into your neck. The kisses he was leaving against it were long forgotten; lips parted slightly as beads of his drool were pooling against your flushed skin. You felt your own core tighten, heat blossoming from the sheer desperation in Mingi’s voice and how fucking good everything felt.
Mingi came with a deep grunt, cock pulsating as his cum painted the inside of your thighs—a few drops escaping and leaving a wet patch on your bed. You followed soon after, Mingi’s pace never faltering as he rubbed your clit through the aftershocks of your orgasm. Sensitive, you clench your thighs—leading to Mingi letting out the loudest whine you’ve heard yet. That was definitely something you had to explore later on.
YUNHO
A low groan escapes Yunho’s lips as he stirs awake—a rather large tent forming in his boxers from the insanity of his dream. You, on your legs, taking his cock so deep and so desperately into your mouth. And fuck, that was his favorite place to be. Cock heavy against your tongue as you whine for more. Another groan that he barely registered as his own could be heard, and you finally woke up from your slumber. Still half asleep, you turn around to face your boyfriend, who was currently lying on his back. A quick glance at his lower half was all the confirmation you needed that he was, indeed, hard.
You let out a faint giggle as you reached for his neck, leaving soft pecks against the sensitive area just below his ear—the palm of your right hand making its way to his lower abdomen, simply resting it there.
"Well, good morning to you too,” you chuckled, a wide smile plastered on your lips as you continued to nibble on his neck. It was short-lived, though, as the arm you had rested your own on was removed from under you. He reached for the back of your head, fingers combing through your hair as he grabbed at the roots tightly—pulling you away so that you were now looking at him. His usual kind, brown eyes were blown wide, a dark and lustful gaze meeting your own. The grip of your hair was tight, but not enough to hurt by any means. Just enough to claim you. To show that he was the one in charge.
With a grunt, his eyes trailed to the leaking cock in his trousers. You followed his gaze—forced to follow as he moved your head himself. And while you had taken a look mere minutes ago, being more awake enabled you to actually take in the sight in front of you. Yunho’s left hand was gripping his own length underneath the boxers, the tip of his cock peeking out slightly, and all you could do was drool. He wasn’t moving, simply gripping the base of his cock as his thumb traced the head, spreading the precum forming at the slit. A low hum was heard from next to you, Yunho’s chest moving up and down as he took slow breaths.
You swallowed, an overproduction of spit gathering in your mouth as you thought about how he would feel in your mouth. Yunho knew how much you loved it. He teased you all the time. Always those fucking sweatpants hanging low on his hips, veins visible as he pulled them just a bit lower when he noticed your stare. But what did he expect? Yunho was extremely attractive. Tall, lean build with hands so large you didn’t think it was possible the first time you laid eyes on them. And his cock, oh my god, his cock was gorgeous. Just above average in length but so thick and veiny. Curling just the tiniest bit to the left, but nothing that was visible—unless you spent hours looking at it, admiring it, feeling the ridges and heat of it with your tongue. It was perfect.
“Please, baby.” Yunho growled, his grip loosening a bit in your hair as he waited patiently for you to fulfill his wish. And who were you to say no at that? Your eyes met his again as he looked at you with fluttering eyelashes, eyelids hanging low.
“Anything for you.” You purred, an excited smile forming on your lips as you made your way down the bed until you were in between his legs. You whined at the loss of his warm hand against your scalp but were greeted with said hand now cupping your right cheek—thumb sweeping gently back and forth along it.
You looked up at Yunho, the same lustful stare greeting yours as you asked for permission through your eyes. The man beneath you replied with a hum, nodding his head. With that, you grabbed the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down with the help of Yunho lifting his hips. His cock sprung free, Yunho’s other hand long gone as you relished the sight. It laid heavy against his abs, a small pool of precum forming at the crevice of a muscle—tip swollen and red as it ached for your touch.
You started trailing a few kisses along his groin, rubbing the palm of your hand on the opposite side of where you were working. The man's hand left the cusp of your cheek as it once again found its way entangled in your hair, gripping so tight it was bordering on painful. A moan escaped your lips as he guided you over the heat that was his cock. You looked up—met with a dark, intimidating stare as he lowered you just enough to feel the tip of his cock against your lips.
The slight pain combined with his possessive, almost demanding look went straight to your core. God, you loved when he manhandled you. When he was so desperate for his own release that he refused to give in to anything else. You knew he would never do anything you didn’t like. He had sat through many conversations with you just to be completely sure you were okay. If he ever made you feel unsafe or hurt in any way. If there was anything he wanted to try in the bedroom, he always made sure to ask you about it first. No matter how small or ridiculous it might’ve sounded to you, he needed to know that you were doing this cause you wanted it too. Not just casuse he did. He was being rough with you now cause he knows you like it. You’ve told him several times that you do.
So you did what he ordered you to do, parting your lips to let your tongue out, applying slight pressure as you licked the head of his cock. Yunho moaned in response, deep and raspy from finally getting the stimulation he needed. With his grip still tightly wrapped at the base of your hair, you wrapped your lips around the head—tightening them as your tongue circled right at the top, digging into the slit.
“F-fuck, babygirl. Just like that.” He breathed out in encouragement, head falling with a thump against the pillow behind him. Your hand found its way to the base, wrapping tightly around it as you gave it a squeeze. Another low, raspy fuck left Yunho’s lips as you continued lapping your tongue against his head.
Deciding his head had gotten plenty of your attention, you placed your tongue flat against the underside of his cock—the familiar thick vein pulsating against it. You sank down further, hollowing your cheeks to make it tight for him.
“Aaahrg—so good for me. My baby—aah—m-mine.” Yunho grunts, his previously dominant and composed demeanor faltering quickly. His hips bucked up, each thrust pushing him deeper into your wet heat as you sank down yet again. You moan at the sensation of his thick tip hitting the back of your throat, not able to prevent the gag of surprise.
Your mouth left his cock as you cough, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. “S-shit. Babygirl, I'm so sorry. I—” And your tear-filled eyes are met with worried ones, brows slightly furrowed as his hand left the top of your head to carefully remove the tear threatening to fall down your cheek.
But it was okay. Yunho was huge. Gagging here and there was a part of the routine every time you gave him head. But it was also so hot. The fact that the man in front of you, as dominant and authoritative he might be in the bedroom, came apart so easily the second you wrapped your soft lips around his cock. Turning needy while trying to keep the composure he once had.
You sank down on his cock once more without warning, immediately hollowing your cheeks and taking in as much of Yunho as you could—hand wrapping around the cock wherever your mouth couldn't reach, moving up and down desperately. All Yunho could do was moan, but his hand stayed on your cheek, caressing it softly as you continued. A small gesture to show he cared. That he would stop whatever it was if you felt the slightest bit of discomfort. His breathing picked up in speed, trying his hardest not to thrust into the amazing sensation that was your mouth.
Yunho was close. Even though he hated to admit it. He just couldn't help himself when you were displayed so gorgeously in front of him. Without even realizing you had straddled one of his legs, humping his shin through your soaked panties. And holy shit, Yunho was in love. The familiar tightness forming in his balls, cock twitching as you picked up your pace. But his heart was aching too. Cause you were so good to him. So beautiful. Everything about you.
With a warning leaving his lips so fast it could've easily been missed by the obscene wet, sucking noises, he grabbed the back of your head, pulling you off his cock to paint your face in ropes of white cum. Yunho moaned at the scene, so fucking filthy but so hot, and he felt so possessive.
“Your turn, baby,” he winks, voice hoarse and body still trembling slightly from his orgasm.
I think it's kinda obv I have an obsession with giving head... and i oop
•Summary: After a devastating accident, you wake up with no memory of the last few years of your life—including your husband, Jeong Yunho. While he remembers every little detail about you, to you he’s just a stranger. But as he patiently stays by your side, helping you rediscover your life piece by piece, your heart begins to fall for him all over again… even if your memories never return.
•Genre: Angst, Romance, Slow burn, Fluff
•Warnings: None
•Word count: 10.7k
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the sound. A slow, steady beeping filled the quiet room, rhythmic and mechanical, echoing in the back of my head like a distant metronome. My body felt heavy, as if I were sinking into the mattress beneath me. Even lifting my fingers felt like too much effort. The sharp scent of antiseptic hung in the air, making my stomach twist with unease.
My eyelids fluttered open slowly, and the bright white lights above me stung my eyes. Everything felt blurry, as though I were underwater trying to see through rippling glass. Then, a voice cut through the haze—soft, hopeful, and strangely terrified. I turned my head toward it, wincing as a dull ache spread across my skull. Shapes gradually came into focus: machines, pale walls, and a chair pulled close beside the bed. And a man.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, leaning forward like he’d been sitting there for hours. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his eyes—wide and shining—locked onto me with an intensity that made my chest tighten. Relief washed over his face the moment he saw my eyes open. “You’re awake,” he breathed. The raw emotion in his voice was overwhelming, like he had been holding his breath for days.
I blinked at him slowly, trying to place the strange stir of familiarity in my chest. He looked… familiar, but not in a way I could put into words. My heart seemed to know him even if my mind didn’t. He stood quickly, the chair scraping against the floor. “Wait—don’t move,” he said gently. “The doctor said you might be disoriented.” His voice was steady, warm, but there was a trembling underneath it I could sense.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “What… happened?” I asked.
“You were in an accident,” he said quietly. “A car accident. But you’re okay now. The doctors said you’re going to recover.” The word “accident” echoed in my head. Pieces of nothing filled my mind—blank spaces where memories should have been. I noticed the bandage wrapped around my arm and the IV in my hand, and my unease grew.
The man kept his gaze on me, careful and intense, like he was afraid I might vanish if he looked away. “You scared us,” he said softly. Us. My stomach twisted. I studied him more closely now: his soft features, his kind eyes, the faint lines of worry etched into his face. Something deep inside me should have clicked. Instead, I drew a blank. “…Do I know you?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
For a moment, he froze. The room felt suddenly silent, the machines beeping a little louder in the stillness. His expression shifted slowly to confusion, disbelief, and then something painfully close to heartbreak. “You…” he began, his voice trembling. My chest tightened as dread seeped into me. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I just—my head feels weird, and I can’t—”
The door burst open, and my mother rushed in, followed by a doctor. “(Y/N)!” she gasped, hurrying to my side. Relief softened her features as she gently took my hand. “Oh, thank goodness you’re awake. How are you feeling?” “Confused,” I admitted, my voice small. The doctor stepped closer, shining a small light into my eyes. “That’s normal,” he said. “You experienced a head injury. Some disorientation is expected.”
I looked back at the tall man. He hadn’t moved, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles pale. He stared at me like he was trying to memorize my face all over again. I looked between him and my mother. “…Who is he?” My mother hesitated. Just for a second, but it felt like an eternity. Then she glanced at him with sympathy before looking back at me. “(Y/N),” she said gently, brushing a strand of hair from my face, “that’s your husband.”
The word hit me like a shockwave. Husband. My heart skipped, and my eyes widened as I looked at him. The man I was supposed to know, the one who loved me, smiled softly. But it wasn’t a happy smile. It was fragile, like it could shatter at any moment. “Hi,” he said quietly. Then, almost as if to anchor himself in the moment, he added, “I’m Jeong Yunho.”
And somehow… the way he said my name earlier echoed in my chest, tugging at something I couldn’t name. Like it had once meant everything. But now—now, I didn’t remember him at all.
The next morning, I woke to the faint smell of coffee and toast drifting through the room. Sunlight spilled across the hospital bed, warm and golden, but the familiar comfort it should have brought was absent. My body still ached, every movement reminding me of the accident, but it was the man in the corner of the room who made my chest tighten. Yunho. My husband. Someone I was supposed to know… but didn’t.
He smiled at me as I stirred. “Good morning,” he said softly. There was an awkward hesitation in his tone, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to speak, or maybe if I’d remember who he was. I wanted to ask him why he looked so familiar, but my tongue felt thick, my mind foggy.
“I… good morning,” I answered cautiously.
He stepped closer, carefully placing a small tray on the bedside table. There was coffee. And toast cut into neat triangles. The little details—the way he had arranged the plate, the way he poured the coffee just the way I liked it—made something inside me twist. Something that felt like warmth, like recognition without memory.
“I know this might feel strange,” Yunho said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I… I’m going to take it slow. I won’t rush you to remember anything. I just… I want to be here.”
His voice had a softness to it that made my chest ache. There was an intensity too, an unspoken emotion that lingered beneath his words. Even though I didn’t remember him, I felt the pull. My body wanted to trust him, to lean into him, even as my mind screamed that he was a stranger.
We spent hours talking that afternoon, though it barely felt like time had passed at all. Yunho had a way of making the room feel warmer, like the sun had found a permanent spot beside us. He told me things about myself—small, intimate details I didn’t remember but that somehow made me feel known.
“There’s this cute little scrunch thing that you do with your nose when someone irritates you,” he said softly, his lips quirking into a fond smile. I froze for a second, realizing he was right—I had done that since I was little, a quirk I hadn’t thought anyone ever noticed.
“And that one time when you cried from reading a romance novel,” he added, voice soft and loving, a little teasing under his tone. I couldn’t help but smile, the memory absent but the feeling of it blooming faintly in my chest.
He talked about the little things he loved about me, the ones no one else would notice. How I would hum softly while cooking, how I always ran my fingers along the edge of a book before opening it, how I had a thing for tiny, delicate flowers. Each word he spoke was like a thread, weaving me back into the picture of who I was before—and slowly into the man sitting beside me.
And the way he smiled as he talked, eyes shining with love and reverence, made my heart melt in a way I hadn’t expected. Even though I couldn’t remember him, he remembered everything about me—the quirks, the habits, the little things that made me, me. And somehow, that made me start to feel something new. Something like… falling for him all over again.
I wanted to reach out, to grab his hand, to anchor myself to the warmth and certainty in his gaze. And when I finally did, hesitantly, he held it gently, as if he’d been waiting for that moment his entire life. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. I didn’t remember why, but my chest tightened, and my heart responded, answering him even before my mind could catch up. For a moment neither of us spoke. His hand was warm around mine, larger, steady, careful like he was afraid I might pull away at any second. But I didn’t. Instead, I found myself holding on just a little tighter.
Something about him felt right.
Not familiar exactly—because my mind still held nothing when I searched for memories of him—but safe. Comforting. Like a place my heart recognized even if my thoughts didn’t. Yunho seemed to notice the way my fingers curled around his because his breath caught slightly. His eyes flickered down to our hands, then back to my face, almost as if he was afraid this small moment might disappear if he acknowledged it too much.
“You used to do that,” he said softly. I tilted my head slightly. “Do what?”
“Hold my hand like that,” he replied with a small smile. “Whenever you were nervous… or when you were thinking too hard about something.” My cheeks warmed faintly. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. “I guess some things don’t change,” I murmured.
His smile grew a little, but there was still a quiet sadness behind it. Like he was happy for the moment, but grieving everything I couldn’t remember. “I’m glad,” he said quietly. Silence settled between us again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Outside the window, the late afternoon sun painted the hospital room in soft golden light. I watched the way it caught in his hair, the way his shoulders relaxed slightly now that we were talking. “You must be really patient,” I said after a moment.
He blinked. “Why?”
“Because if my wife didn’t remember me…” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I think I’d be a lot more frustrated than you are.” A quiet laugh escaped him. It was warm and soft, the kind of laugh that made my chest flutter for no reason I could explain. “Oh, trust me,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m definitely frustrated.”
My eyes widened slightly.
“But not at you,” he added quickly. “Never at you.” The seriousness in his voice made my heart skip. “I’m just…” He exhaled slowly, searching for the right words. “I miss you.”
The words settled heavily in the quiet room.
I miss you.
For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. The way he said it wasn’t dramatic or desperate. It was soft, honest—like he had been holding those words inside for days and they had finally slipped out. My chest tightened as I watched him, trying to understand the depth of the emotion behind his eyes. I studied his face more carefully now. The faint dark circles under his eyes. The way his shoulders slumped slightly, like exhaustion had finally caught up to him. It looked like he hadn’t been sleeping much. Had he really been here the whole time? Sitting beside me, waiting for me to wake up?
“I’m still here,” I said quietly.
The moment the words left my mouth, something flickered across his expression—hope, relief, and something painful all tangled together. He looked at me like the simple statement meant more than I could understand. “I know,” Yunho murmured gently, but the way he said it made it clear he didn’t mean the same thing I did. I was here physically, sitting in front of him, holding his hand. But the version of me he loved—the one who shared memories with him, inside jokes, quiet nights, and whispered promises—that version of me was gone. At least for now.
His thumb brushed lightly over the back of my hand, a slow, absentminded motion that felt strangely natural. Like it was something he had done a thousand times before. The small touch sent a quiet warmth through me, and for a moment I forgot that I didn’t remember him at all. “Can I tell you something?” he asked softly after a moment.
I nodded.
“You used to hate hospitals,” he said with a small smile. “The smell, the lights… everything. You said they felt too cold.” I wrinkled my nose instinctively. “They do smell weird,” I admitted.
His smile widened just a little, and something warm spread through my chest seeing it. It felt good making him smile, even if I didn’t know why. “You also used to make me promise something,” he continued. “What was that?” His eyes softened as he looked at me, and for a second it felt like the entire room went quiet.
“That if anything ever happened to you… I’d stay.”
My stomach twisted at his words. I could hear the meaning behind them, the weight of that promise.
“And did you?” I asked quietly.
Yunho squeezed my hand gently, his grip warm and steady.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Something about the way he said it made my throat tighten. Even without my memories, I could tell one thing with absolute certainty—he meant it.
“I guess so,” I said quietly, my fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the ring on his finger. For a moment, Yunho just watched my hand, the small movement making something soft flicker across his face. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something.
“Can I show you something?” he asked, his voice suddenly a little nervous as he fidgeted in his pocket.
I looked up at him and nodded. “Of course.”
He took a slow breath before pulling something out of his pocket. Resting in his palm was a beautiful ring with a small diamond. It wasn’t flashy or extravagant—just simple and elegant in a way that immediately caught my attention.
He held it out quietly in the center of his palm, letting me see it.
“Can I hold it?” I asked cautiously, half preparing myself for him to say no.
“Definitely,” he said without hesitation.
I carefully took the ring from his hand and turned it between my fingers, studying the way the diamond caught the soft light spilling through the window. It was delicate, almost understated, but there was something incredibly beautiful about it. “This is beautiful,” I murmured.
Yunho smiled softly, watching me examine it.
“There’s actually a story behind that ring,” he said.
I glanced up from it, curiosity flickering in my chest. “Really?”
He nodded.
“Before I started my career, this is all I could really afford,” he explained. “So of course I was nervous when I proposed to you because it was a small diamond.” His voice held a quiet vulnerability as he spoke, like the memory still made his heart race even now. “But to my surprise,” he continued with a gentle laugh, “you loved it so much that you guarded it with your life.”
I looked down at the ring again, a small smile forming on my lips as I imagined it. “That’s when I knew you were the one,” he finished softly. Something warm spread through my chest at his words. Even though I couldn’t remember that moment, I could almost picture it through the way he described it.
I turned the ring slowly between my fingers before looking back at him.
“Can I try it?” I asked.
For a second, Yunho froze. His heart visibly swelled in his chest, the question clearly catching him off guard.
Then he gently took the ring from my fingers.
“Of course,” he murmured.
Carefully, almost reverently, he slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
I lifted my hand slightly, watching the diamond shimmer as the golden rays of the sun streamed through the window. The light caught the stone, making it sparkle softly.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I stared at the ring resting on my finger, my heart beating a little faster for reasons I couldn’t explain. The ring felt warm around my finger, the metal resting against my skin like it had always belonged there. I turned my hand slightly, watching the small diamond catch the sunlight, but my attention kept drifting somewhere else.
My palms were suddenly sweaty.
I wasn’t sure why.
A strange nervousness settled in my chest, the kind that made my heartbeat pick up just a little faster. It didn’t make sense. All I was doing was sitting here, looking at a ring.
Yet every time my eyes drifted toward Yunho, butterflies stirred in my stomach.
I glanced up at him again without meaning to.
He was watching me carefully, his expression soft and patient, like he was trying to read every tiny reaction on my face. The moment our eyes met, my heart skipped in my chest and I quickly looked back down at my hand.
Why was I so nervous around him?
It wasn’t fear. I knew that much. If anything, it was the complete opposite.
Being near him made me feel warm, safe… and strangely aware of everything. The quiet room. The sunlight on the floor. The gentle way he stood beside the bed like he didn’t want to crowd me but also didn’t want to be too far away.
And every time I even remotely looked at him, the butterflies in my stomach only grew stronger.
A few days later, the doctor finally said the words I had been waiting for.
“You’re well enough to leave.”
The hospital room that had once felt suffocating suddenly seemed lighter. Part of me felt relieved to finally get out of the sterile space, but another part of me felt nervous. Leaving meant returning to a life I didn’t remember.
Yunho stood beside the bed while I gathered the few things I had brought with me. He stayed close, like he always did, but not so close that it felt overwhelming. I had started noticing that about him—the way he gave me space while still making sure I knew he was there.
“Ready?” he asked softly.
I looked up at him, my fingers instinctively brushing the ring resting on my finger. The small diamond caught the light, sending a tiny shimmer across the room.
I nodded slowly. “Yeah… I think so.”
The ride was quiet.
Not awkward, just thoughtful. I spent most of the time staring out the window as the city passed by in a blur of buildings and streetlights. Every now and then I found myself glancing over at Yunho in the driver’s seat. His hands rested comfortably on the steering wheel, his focus steady on the road ahead.
He looked used to this.
Like he had driven this route countless times before.
Eventually the car slowed and pulled into a parking spot in front of a tall apartment building. Yunho turned off the engine but didn’t move right away.
“We’re here,” he said gently.
My stomach fluttered.
“This is…?”
“Our place,” he finished quietly.
For a moment, I just stared at the building. The word *our* echoed softly in my mind.
Our home.
I followed him inside, my steps slow as we walked down the hallway and stopped in front of a door. Yunho pulled a key from his pocket, but before unlocking it, he paused.
“You don’t have to rush anything,” he said quietly. “If you feel uncomfortable, we can leave anytime.”
His words made my chest tighten.
“Okay,” I whispered.
The door opened with a soft click.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside was the warmth. The apartment didn’t feel cold or unfamiliar the way I had expected. Instead, it felt lived in—comfortable in a way that immediately made my shoulders relax.
Then my eyes drifted to the wall.
Photos.
My breath caught.
Dozens of pictures filled the space, scattered across the wall in mismatched frames. I slowly stepped closer, my heart beating faster as I looked at them.
Every photo was of Yunho and me.
Some were silly, the two of us making ridiculous faces at the camera. Others were softer moments—sitting close together at a restaurant, wrapped up in blankets on the couch, standing under city lights somewhere at night.
In every single picture, we looked happy.
Really happy.
I moved closer, studying one picture where Yunho had his arm around my shoulders while I leaned into him, laughing at something outside the frame.
In another, I was wearing one of his oversized hoodies, my hair messy while he kissed the side of my head.
I didn’t remember any of it.
But the way we looked at each other…
That was real.
“You put those up,” Yunho said quietly behind me.
I turned slightly, surprised. “I did?”
He nodded, a small smile forming on his face.
“You said it made the apartment feel more like home.”
My fingers hovered near one of the frames but stopped just short of touching it. I stared at the girl in the photo—the version of me who looked so comfortable standing beside him.
“She looks really happy,” I murmured.
Yunho’s voice softened behind me. “She was.”
Something in my chest twisted gently. I looked at the photos again before turning back to him.
“You must really love her,” I said quietly.
For a moment, Yunho didn’t answer. Then he stepped a little closer.
“I do,” he said softly.
His eyes met mine, warm and steady.
“And I still do.” I smiled softly.
The room grew quiet as I continued staring at the photos on the wall. Each one showed a moment of a life I couldn’t remember, yet somehow it still felt like it belonged to me. My eyes moved slowly from frame to frame, taking in every detail.
“Is it okay if I look around?” I asked softly.
Yunho nodded immediately. “Of course.”
I moved carefully through the apartment, taking small steps as if I were exploring somewhere sacred. The space felt warm and lived in, like it had been filled with laughter and quiet moments for a long time. Eventually, I stopped in front of a partially open door.
Curiosity pulled me forward.
I gently pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room was simple but cozy. A large bed sat in the center, soft blankets folded neatly across it. A television was mounted on the wall, and more photos of Yunho and me were scattered around the room in small frames.
My chest tightened slightly.
This room felt… more personal.
I noticed the dresser against the wall and walked over to it. Several perfume bottles sat neatly on top, their glass catching the soft light from the window. Next to them were small pieces of jewelry and hair ties.
Then my eyes drifted to the closets.
One side held women’s clothes—dresses, sweaters, and shirts hanging neatly. The other held men’s clothing.
My stomach fluttered as the realization settled in.
“Is this…?” I started quietly.
“Our room,” Yunho finished from behind me.
His voice was gentle, almost careful.
I turned back toward the dresser, studying the perfume bottles again. Each one looked familiar in a strange way, like something I should recognize but couldn’t quite reach in my mind.
“This one is your favorite,” Yunho said softly.
He stepped forward and picked up one of the bottles before holding it out to me.
I took it carefully from his hand and brought it closer, spraying a small amount onto my wrist before smelling it.
The scent was soft and floral, warm in a way that immediately made me relax.
“It smells pretty,” I said quietly.
For a moment, Yunho didn’t respond.
When I looked up, he was watching me again with that same soft expression—like every small reaction I had meant more to him than he could say.
“You used to wear it almost every day,” he said gently. “Especially when we went out together.” I looked down at the bottle again, rubbing my wrist lightly where the scent lingered. Even though I couldn’t remember those moments… the smell felt strangely comforting.
And standing there in the room we once shared, surrounded by pieces of the life we had built together, I felt something inside me shift.
“Are you okay?” Yunho asked softly, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts.
I blinked and looked up at him, realizing I had been staring at the dresser for longer than I meant to. I quickly nodded. “I’m fine.” Right as the words left my mouth, my stomach growled loudly, completely betraying me.
Yunho’s lips curved into a small smile.
“Someone’s hungry,” he said, his voice carrying a light teasing tone. Heat rushed to my face and I let out an embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Okay… maybe a little.” He chuckled softly, the sound warm and relaxed. “We can go out to eat,” he offered. “Or I can cook for you.”
I fidgeted with my hands for a moment, thinking about it. The idea of sitting in a crowded restaurant suddenly felt overwhelming. But cooking… that felt different.
“I think we should cook together,” I suggested slowly. “I think that would be fun.”
Yunho hummed thoughtfully, considering it. His eyes softened slightly as he watched me, like he was quietly happy that I was starting to feel comfortable here again.
“Alright,” he said with a small nod. “What do you want to make?”
“Tteokbokki,” I said almost immediately, my mouth watering just thinking about it.
A hint of amusement crossed his face.
“Then let’s drive to the store and grab the ingredients.”
I shook my head lightly. “Why drive when we can walk?” I said, glancing toward the window. “I need the fresh air.”
For a moment Yunho just looked at me.
His chest felt strangely full watching me move around the apartment so naturally, suggesting things like we had done it a hundred times before. Even without your memories, pieces of the old you were still there.
“Yeah,” he said softly, grabbing his jacket. “A walk sounds nice.”
And as the two of us headed toward the door together, Yunho couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at his lips. For the first time since the accident, it almost felt normal again.
We walked down to the lobby of the apartment building together and stepped out through the glass doors. The evening air was cool and fresh, a gentle breeze brushing past my face. After spending so many days inside the hospital, the simple feeling of being outside felt almost refreshing.
As we started down the sidewalk, Yunho glanced over at me before slowly offering his hand.
I hesitated for a second.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to take it. If anything, the thought made my heart beat a little faster. But holding hands felt… intimate, and part of me wondered if I had the right to do that when I still couldn’t remember our life together.
Still, something inside me pushed past the hesitation. I slipped my hand into his and intertwined our fingers. Yunho immediately stiffened slightly beside me.
When I looked over, his ears had turned bright red.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, almost awkwardly.
I blinked at him. “Sorry for what?”
“For—” he glanced down at our hands before rubbing the back of his neck with his free one. “I just didn’t expect you to…”
“Don’t be,” I said gently.
Butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach as a rush of unfamiliar yet strangely comforting feelings washed over me. The warmth of his hand around mine felt natural—like something I had done countless times before.
The feeling was confusing but comforting all at once.
It almost felt like a first date.
Even though deep down, I knew it wasn’t.
We continued walking down the street, the city slowly coming alive around us with the glow of evening lights. As we passed a small flower stand on the corner, Yunho suddenly stopped.
“Wait here for a second,” he said.
Before I could ask why, he stepped over to the stand and quietly spoke with the vendor. A moment later, he paid and walked back toward me holding a single flower.
He handed it to me.
My eyes widened slightly when I saw what it was.
It was my favorite flower.
A soft smile spread across my face as I took it from him.
“You remembered,” I said quietly.
“Of course I did,” Yunho replied with a small smile.
We continued walking after that, and the small flower felt warm in my hand as I held it carefully. A few minutes later, something caught my eye across the sidewalk.
A photo booth.
Without thinking, I grabbed Yunho’s arm and gently pulled him toward it.
“Wait,” I said excitedly. “I think we should take photos together.”
He looked surprised but followed anyway. “Photos?”
“To remember this day,” I explained with a small smile.
Inside the booth, we sat close together on the small bench. The camera light blinked, signaling the countdown.
For the first picture, we both smiled awkwardly. The second one, Yunho made a goofy face that made me laugh. The third picture, we leaned closer together, our shoulders brushing as we tried to fit into the frame.
Then the final flash went off.
Without really thinking, I leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Yunho’s cheek.
The camera flashed.
When I pulled back, Yunho looked completely shocked.
His eyes were wide, and his face had turned red all over again. My own hand quickly flew up to cover my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I think I got carried away.”
For a moment he just stared at me.
Then his expression softened.
“No,” he said gently. “Don’t be sorry.”
He hesitated for a second before leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss against my cheek.
“It just caught me off guard,” he added with a shy smile.
He helped me out of the photo booth, gently holding the curtain aside so I wouldn’t trip on the small step. The strip of photos slid out of the machine a moment later, still warm from printing. I carefully tucked them into my pocket, feeling a strange sense of happiness knowing we had captured that moment together.
We continued walking until we reached the small grocery store down the street.
Inside, the warm lights and quiet chatter of other shoppers made the place feel cozy. Yunho grabbed a small basket and started walking through the aisles while I followed beside him.
He moved with an easy familiarity, stopping here and there to grab ingredients for the tteokbokki. Rice cakes. Fish cakes. Gochujang. Each time he picked something up, he would pause to read the label carefully before placing it into the basket.
I found myself watching him more than the shelves.
There was a little crease between his eyebrows as he focused, and he did this cute squinting thing whenever he was trying to read something closely.
It was subtle, but once I noticed it, I couldn’t stop looking.
I tilted my head slightly, studying him.
Is this how he feels when I scrunch my nose while irritated?
The thought made a small smile tug at my lips.
He suddenly glanced up and caught me staring.
“What?” he asked, a little amused.
I quickly looked away, pretending to study a nearby shelf. “Nothing.” But the smile on my face didn’t disappear.
Yunho watched me for a second longer before chuckling softly and returning to reading the package in his hand, completely unaware that the little things he did like that tiny squint were slowly making my heart feel warmer every minute we spent together.
Before we left the store, the soft patter of rain began tapping against the windows. I glanced outside and saw the sky had darkened, droplets quickly turning into a steady drizzle.
“Oh,” I murmured.
Yunho followed my gaze and chuckled softly. “Looks like we’re not walking back dry.”
Before we headed out, he grabbed a simple tan umbrella from a small rack near the register and paid for it. As soon as we stepped outside, he quickly opened it above us, the soft whoosh of the fabric spreading overhead. The rain fell steadily around us, tapping gently against the umbrella.
We walked close together down the sidewalk, Yunho holding the grocery bag in one hand while the other held the umbrella above us. The space underneath was small, so our shoulders brushed occasionally as we walked.
Each time it happened, my heart fluttered a little.
The cool air smelled fresh after the rain, and the quiet sound of our footsteps mixed with the soft rhythm of water hitting the pavement. For a moment, everything felt peaceful. By the time we reached the apartment building, the rain had picked up slightly. We hurried inside, shaking off the water as we stepped into the warm lobby. Once we got upstairs and into the apartment, we both slipped off our jackets and hung them by the door.
I ran my fingers through my slightly damp hair while Yunho carried the grocery bag into the kitchen.
He set it down on the counter and began pulling out the ingredients one by one, lining them up neatly.
The rice cakes. The sauce. The fish cakes.
Watching him move around the kitchen so comfortably made something warm settle in my chest again. It felt natural like this was something we had done together many times before.
I leaned lightly against the counter, watching him as he worked.
“Chef Yunho,” I teased softly. “What’s my job?” He glanced up at me with a small smile, clearly amused.
“Your job?” he repeated thoughtfully. Then he grabbed a cutting board and gently slid it toward me across the counter. “You can start by cutting these,” he said, handing me a package of fish cakes. He paused for a moment before adding with a playful grin, “Let’s see if you still remember how.”
I picked up the knife slowly, turning it in my hand as I looked down at the cutting board. For a moment, doubt crept into my mind. What if I didn’t remember how to do something as simple as this?
Yunho must have noticed the hesitation because his voice softened. “Hey… there’s no pressure. We can figure it out together.” I nodded and carefully unwrapped the fish cakes. My fingers moved slowly at first, lining them up neatly on the board. Then I began cutting them into strips.
After the first few slices, something shifted.
My hands started moving more naturally, the knife gliding through the soft texture like my body already knew what to do. Yunho leaned lightly against the counter across from me, watching quietly.
A small smile spread across his face.
“You used to do it exactly like that,” he said softly.
I paused and looked up at him. “Really?” He nodded. “You always cut them into long pieces because you said they tasted better that way.”
I glanced back down at the cutting board, surprised. “I don’t remember deciding that.”
“You might not remember,” he said gently, “but some things stay.” His words settled warmly in my chest.
Soon the kitchen filled with the soft sounds of cooking. Yunho moved beside me, heating the pan while I finished preparing the ingredients. When he mixed the sauce, the smell of garlic and spicy gochujang slowly filled the apartment.
My stomach growled again.
“That smells amazing,” I said with a small laugh.
Yunho chuckled quietly. “You say that every time.”
I leaned against the counter beside him, watching as he added the rice cakes and fish cakes into the bubbling red sauce. The mixture began to simmer, thick and glossy, filling the whole kitchen with warmth.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the gentle bubbling from the pan.
Then Yunho reached up to a cabinet and grabbed two bowls. As he set them down on the counter, his elbow accidentally brushed a small jar sitting near the edge.
The jar tipped.
Before either of us could react, it fell to the floor with a loud crack.
I flinched slightly as glass scattered across the tile.
“I’m so sorry,” Yunho said quickly, crouching down. “I didn’t see it there.”
But as I stared at the broken pieces on the floor, something strange happened.
A sudden flash crossed my mind.
A kitchen.
The same counter.
Yunho laughing while flour covered his hands.
And me—standing right here beside him.
The memory disappeared as quickly as it came. My breath caught, and I grabbed the edge of the counter to steady myself.
“(Y/N)?” Yunho’s voice was instantly worried as he stood up. “What’s wrong?”
My heart was racing.
“I… I think I just remembered something.”
Yunho helped me over to the couch, guiding me carefully as I sat down. My head still felt a little light from the sudden rush of memories, but the warmth of his hand around mine kept me grounded.
He knelt slightly in front of me, his eyes searching my face with quiet concern.
“Do you know what you remembered?” he asked softly.
I nodded slowly, trying to piece the moment together. “We were laughing in the kitchen,” I said. “You had flour all over your hands… and then everything got fuzzy.”
For a moment Yunho just stared at me.
Then recognition lit up his face. “The cookie competition,” he said.
I blinked in confusion. “A cookie competition?”
He nodded, a small laugh escaping him as the memory clearly replayed in his mind. “You entered us in one at a local festival. I had no idea what I was doing, but you were determined we were going to win.”
I smiled faintly, trying to imagine it.
“We were making the dough,” he continued, his voice warm with nostalgia. “I kept throwing flour on the counter so it wouldn’t stick. At one point I accidentally touched my face with flour-covered hands.”
He gestured toward his cheek, laughing a little at the memory.
I couldn’t help but laugh softly too. “I see we have a history of cooking together,” I said.
Yunho’s smile softened. “We’ve always done it,” he replied gently. “You used to say a family that cooks together stays together.”
Without really thinking, I began fidgeting with his hand where it rested near mine.
“That’s what my mom always told me,” I said quietly.
For a moment Yunho went completely still.
His heart fluttered at my words, and something hopeful flickered in his eyes—like a small light finally turning on after days of darkness.
Before either of us could say anything else, a sudden smell drifted through the room.
Both of our heads turned toward the kitchen.
“The food!” Yunho suddenly shouted.
He jumped to his feet and rushed toward the kitchen so quickly that he nearly slipped on the tile floor.
“Whoa—!”
“Are you okay?” I called out, half concerned and half laughing.
“I’m fine!” he replied quickly, steadying himself against the counter. “I do that all the time.”
I giggled quietly as I watched him casually walk the rest of the way into the kitchen like nothing had happened.
And somehow, seeing him like that—clumsy, warm, and completely himself—made my chest feel lighter than it had in days.
Dinner turned out better than I expected. The tteokbokki was warm, spicy, and comforting, and honestly it was some of the most delicious tteokbokki I had ever tasted. I sat across from Yunho at the table, laughing as he shared story after story about us—little moments from our life together that I couldn’t remember but somehow still felt familiar.
“There was one time,” he said, barely holding back his laughter, “when you tried to surprise me with breakfast in bed.”
“That sounds sweet,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.
“It would have been,” he continued, “if you hadn’t tripped on the blanket and dropped pancakes all over me.”
I gasped. “I did not.”
“You absolutely did,” he laughed. “Syrup everywhere.”
I couldn’t help but laugh with him, even if I couldn’t picture it myself. The way he told the stories made them feel real, like pieces of a life slowly being returned to me.
After dinner we cleaned up together, rinsing plates and stacking dishes into the rack. Yunho turned on some music while we worked, and the soft sound filled the apartment as we wiped the counters and put away the ingredients.
It felt… normal.
Comfortable.
Like we had done this together a thousand times before.
I was drying my hands when a slower song began playing through the speakers. Yunho suddenly paused, listening to the familiar melody.
He looked at me for a moment before stepping closer and offering me his hand.
“This was our wedding song,” he said softly.
My heart skipped.
I looked down at his hand for a moment before placing mine in it. He gently pulled me closer, one hand resting carefully at my waist as we began to sway slowly in the middle of the kitchen.
I smiled softly, letting myself relax into the moment.
The room felt warm, the lights soft above us as the music wrapped around the quiet space. My eyes slowly lifted to meet his, and the moment our gazes locked, my heart began racing again.
There was something about the way Yunho looked at me.
So full of love.
Like he had been waiting his whole life just to stand here with me.
“I vaguely remember now,” I whispered.
Yunho’s movement stilled slightly.
Another memory flickered through my mind—soft and warm.
White lights. Soft music. Me in a flowing dress.
Yunho standing in front of me in a suit, his eyes looking exactly the way they did right now.
We were dancing. Just like this.
Then the memory slipped away again.
But this time, instead of frustration, I felt something warm settle in my chest.
I smiled quietly to myself. “I had another one,” I said softly. Yunho looked down at me immediately, his eyes searching mine with hope. “What did you see?”
I squeezed his hand gently.
“We were both dressed up,” I said slowly. “Wedding attire.” My voice softened as the image replayed faintly in my mind.
“We were slowly dancing to this song.”
Yunho froze for a moment after I said it.
His hands were still resting gently at my waist, but I felt the slight tremor in them. He looked at me like he was afraid to move, like if he did the moment might disappear.
“You remember that?” he asked quietly.
“Just a little,” I admitted. “It’s blurry… like looking through fog. But I remember how it felt.”
I paused before meeting his eyes again.
“I remember being happy.”
Something in Yunho’s expression softened immediately. Relief, warmth, and disbelief flickered across his face all at once.
“You were,” he said gently. “You were smiling the whole time.”
The song continued playing softly in the background as we kept swaying in the middle of the kitchen. This time Yunho pulled me a little closer, slowly and carefully, like he was checking to make sure it was okay.
I didn’t pull away. If anything, I stepped closer myself.
My head rested lightly against his chest, and I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. For a moment, everything felt peaceful.
“You cried during the vows,” Yunho said suddenly, his voice quiet above me.
I tilted my head up to look at him. “I did?”
He laughed softly. “You tried really hard not to. But the second I started reading mine, you lost it.” I groaned quietly. “That’s embarrassing.”
“No,” he said immediately. “It was my favorite part.”
I blinked in surprise. “Why?”
“Because it meant you really loved me,” he said simply.
My chest tightened slightly at his words.
For a moment we just looked at each other, standing close together in the soft light of the kitchen. The music was still playing, but it had faded into the background.
Then something unexpected happened.
Another tiny flash of memory.
Not a full scene this time—just a feeling.
Standing across from him.
Holding his hands. Promising something.
My breath caught.
“Yunho…” I whispered.
His eyes widened instantly. “Another one?”
I nodded slowly, trying to hold onto the fading moment. “I think… we were saying our vows.” His expression softened again, hope filling his gaze. “You told me something,” I continued, concentrating. “You said… you’d fall in love with me in every lifetime.”
Yunho’s breath caught.
For a moment he couldn’t speak.
Then he smiled softly, the kind of smile that carried years of love inside it.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I did.”
For a moment neither of us spoke.
We were still standing in the middle of the kitchen, the music playing softly around us as we swayed slowly together. Yunho’s arms remained around me, gentle but secure.
My heart was still racing from the memory.
It wasn’t clear, and it didn’t last long, but it was real.
Morning light slowly filtered through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the room. I lay still for a few quiet moments, listening to the faint sounds of the city waking up outside.
Then I noticed something else.
The steady sound of breathing beside me.
My eyes opened fully and I turned my head slightly. Yunho was asleep on top of the covers, sitting up against the headboard. His head was tilted to the side, one arm loosely folded across his chest while the other rested near the edge of the bed, like he had been trying to stay awake but eventually lost the fight.
My heart squeezed a little at the sight. He must have stayed there all night.
Carefully, I pushed myself up against the pillows, trying not to wake him. His hair was slightly messy, falling across his forehead, and the soft morning light made him look peaceful.
I studied him quietly. There were faint shadows under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Even now, though, his expression looked calm. I wondered how many nights he had spent worrying about me. Without really thinking, I reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair away from his face. The moment my fingers touched him, his eyes fluttered open.
For a split second he looked confused. Then he saw me.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “I think I’ve been awake for a while,” I admitted softly. He straightened slightly and ran a hand through his hair, clearly a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You slept sitting up all night?” I asked. He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ve done worse.” I couldn’t help smiling faintly.
“You know there’s plenty of room on the bed, right?” Yunho froze for a moment. A faint blush crept up his neck as he rubbed the back of it awkwardly. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said quietly.
Something warm spread through my chest.
Even now, even after everything, he was still being careful with me.
I glanced down at the blanket in my lap before looking back up at him. “You wouldn’t have,” I said gently.
The room grew silent and my stomach growled loudly.
Yunho blinked before laughing softly. “Well,” he said, pushing himself off the bed, “I guess that means breakfast.” I laughed too as I slid out from under the covers. “Please tell me we’re not having tteokbokki again.” He looked over his shoulder with a playful grin.
“No promises.”
And for the first time since waking up in the hospital, the morning didn’t feel heavy or confusing… It felt hopeful.
We walked into the kitchen together, the soft morning light spilling in through the windows. The apartment felt calm and quiet, the kind of peaceful start that made the whole place feel warm. “I think I’m in the mood for pancakes, bacon, and fruit,” I said as I leaned lightly against the counter.
Yunho smiled immediately. “That’s always been your favorite breakfast,” he said.
Something about the way he said it made my chest feel warm again. Even if I couldn’t remember it myself, he knew these little things about me so easily. He started pulling ingredients out of the cabinets and refrigerator, setting everything neatly on the counter. Flour, eggs, milk, a bowl, and a pan. “Alright,” he said, glancing over at me. “Teamwork again.”
“What’s my job?” I asked.
He grabbed a cutting board and set a small bowl of fruit in front of me. “You’re on fruit duty,” he said. “I’ll handle the pancakes and bacon.” I nodded confidently and started washing and cutting the fruit. It only took a moment before everything was sliced neatly into the bowl. “Done,” I announced proudly.
Yunho looked over at the bowl and then back at me with raised eyebrows. “You’re fast.” I laughed softly. “I had a very difficult task.” He shook his head with a quiet chuckle before turning back to the counter. I watched as he cracked eggs into the bowl and added the rest of the ingredients for the pancakes. His movements were smooth and practiced as he whisked everything together.
Without thinking, I leaned my elbows on the counter and watched him.
He had that same little squint again while he focused on measuring things, his eyebrows pulling together slightly in concentration.
It made me smile.
“You’re staring again,” he said suddenly, not even looking up.
My eyes widened. “I am not.” He glanced at me with a knowing smile.
“You do that when you’re thinking.”
“Oh really?” I said, folding my arms. “Yeah,” he replied casually while pouring batter into the pan. “You’ve done it since the day we met.”
The soft sizzling sound filled the kitchen as the pancakes began cooking. I watched him flip one carefully before asking quietly, “What was it like?” He paused slightly. “When we met?” I nodded.
Yunho smiled faintly, like the memory was one of his favorites. “You spilled coffee on me,” he said.
My jaw dropped. “I did not.” He laughed.
“You absolutely did.” I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “Please tell me I at least apologized.”
“Oh you did,” he said, flipping another pancake. “About twenty times.” I peeked at him through my fingers.
“And somehow you still married me?” He glanced over at me with that soft, warm smile again. “Best accident that ever happened to me.” I laughed, a little embarrassed as I leaned against the counter. “So… did I work at a diner or something?” Yunho nodded while carefully flipping another pancake in the pan. “Yeah,” he said. “You did.”
The smell of pancakes and bacon slowly filled the kitchen, making my stomach rumble again. I watched him for a moment before another question popped into my head. “And what were you doing there?” I asked. “Were you with your friends or something?” He nodded again. “Yeah. A few of us stopped in after practice.” I tilted my head, curiosity growing. “So wait… now that we’re on the subject,” I said, crossing my arms slightly, “what’s your job like?” Yunho glanced up at me briefly before looking back at the pancakes.
“Well,” he said casually, “I’m part of a boy group.” I blinked.
“A boy group?”
“Yeah,” he continued. “Our name is Ateez.” My eyes widened instantly. “Wait— I know Ateez!” I said quickly. “I used to be a huge fan.” Yunho tried to stay calm, but I noticed the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he flipped another pancake. “I even remember crushing hard on one of them,” I continued, thinking out loud.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding confidently. “It was Yunho.” Then I froze. My brain slowly caught up with my words.
“…Wait a damn minute.” Yunho burst out laughing.
I pointed at him dramatically, my mouth falling open as the realization hit me. “YOU!” He could barely hold the spatula from laughing. “You had a crush on me?” he teased.
I covered my face with my hands in pure embarrassment. “Oh my god.” He leaned against the counter, still laughing. “So technically,” he added playfully, “you married your celebrity crush.” I groaned loudly.
“Please tell me I didn’t fangirl when we met.” Yunho smirked. “Oh, you definitely did.”
“So wait,” I said, still trying to wrap my head around everything. “How did we start dating? I mean… I can imagine your schedule was busy all the time with fans, signings, and concerts.”
Yunho shrugged lightly, flipping another pancake onto the plate. “The diner kind of became my favorite restaurant after I met you.” I blinked at him. “Wait,” I said slowly, starting to smile. “So you came to the diner just to see me?” He nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world.“Every chance I got.” Heat rushed to my face immediately and I turned away slightly, embarrassed by the thought.
“You’re kidding,” I mumbled, trying to hide my blush.
“Nope,” he said casually, placing another pancake on the stack. “At first I told the members it was because the food was good.” I raised an eyebrow.
“And was it?” He looked at me with a teasing smile. “It was. But that wasn’t the real reason.” My cheeks burned even more. “So what happened next?” I asked quietly. “Well,” Yunho said, leaning against the counter. “Eventually you started recognizing me.” I groaned softly. “Oh no.”
“But you were surprisingly normal about it,” he continued. “You didn’t treat me like a celebrity. You just treated me like… a guy who ordered pancakes too often.” I laughed a little at that. “So we kept talking,” he said. “Every time I came in.”
“Which was apparently a lot,” I added.
He smiled.
“A lot.”
The bacon sizzled softly in the pan as he continued. “Then one day I asked if you wanted to come to a concert.” My eyes widened slightly. “I did?”
“You did,” he said with a small nod. “You were nervous the whole time.”
“I can imagine,” I muttered. “But after that,” he continued, “you started coming to more shows.” I leaned against the counter again, listening closely. “You supported me through everything,” he said softly. “Comebacks, tours, late nights at the studio.”
Something warm settled in my chest hearing that.
“And eventually,” he added, “when we got married and moved in together, we agreed you didn’t have to work at the diner anymore.” I blinked in surprise. “Really?” He nodded. “You worked hard for years,” he said gently. “I wanted you to be able to do what made you happy.” I looked down at the counter, trying to imagine the life he was describing. “You really loved me, didn’t you?” I said quietly.
Yunho didn’t hesitate.
“Still do.” The kitchen slowly fell quiet.
The smell of pancakes and bacon still lingered in the air, but the lighthearted mood from earlier had faded. I leaned against the counter, my fingers tracing the edge of the bowl of fruit as a question sat heavily in my chest. “I do have one more question,” I said softly.
Yunho looked up from the stove.
“What is it?” I hesitated for a moment before asking the thing that had been bothering me since I woke up in the hospital. “What happened before the accident?” The moment the words left my mouth, I saw his expression change. His shoulders stiffened slightly, and the small smile on his face disappeared. For the first time that morning, he looked nervous.
The silence stretched for a moment.
“Well…” he began quietly.
He turned the stove off before resting his hands on the counter, staring down at it as if the answer was written there.
“We had gotten into an argument.” I felt my chest tighten slightly. “About what?”
“My schedule,” he said. “About how much I was gone.” His voice was calm, but there was a heaviness in it now. “You said you were tired of always being alone. That you wanted a normal life… one where your husband was actually home.” I swallowed.
“And you were right,” he added quietly. “But in the moment I wasn’t listening.” His fingers tightened slightly against the counter. “I was being selfish. I kept saying the group needed me and that you knew what you were signing up for when you married me.” The kitchen suddenly felt much smaller. “We both said things we didn’t mean,” he continued.
His voice started to shake.
“I remember you getting really upset… and you said you hated me.” My heart dropped.
Yunho let out a shaky breath as he ran a hand over his face.
“You grabbed your keys and left.” His voice cracked slightly. “And then…”
Tears slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them.
“I just wish I had stopped you,” he said quietly. “I wish I would’ve told you not to go.”
His shoulders slumped as the guilt he had clearly been carrying poured out.
“I should’ve protected you more.”
The words hung heavy in the air between us.
“Yunho…” I whispered, my chest tightening as I saw the tears still streaming down his face. A wave of guilt washed over me. Even though I couldn’t fully remember that moment, the thought of saying something like that to him made my stomach twist painfully. I stepped closer and gently reached up, wiping the tears from his cheeks with my thumb. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened,” I said softly.
My own eyes began to fill with tears as the emotion of everything finally caught up with me. “I’m sorry for saying that to you,” I continued quietly. “I know my words won’t take back what I said.” My voice trembled slightly as I looked up at him. “But I want to show you.” Yunho’s eyes searched mine, still glassy with tears. “I’m falling in love with you more and more every day,” I said.
The kitchen felt completely silent now except for our breathing.
“I want to spend every moment with you,” I continued. “I know I can’t remember the past and how we were… but I want to look forward to the future.” His expression softened slowly as he listened. “The memories we make from now on,” I added gently.
My hand slipped into his, squeezing it softly.
“You give me so many reasons to live for,” I whispered. “And I’m so lucky to have you.” For a moment Yunho just stared at me.
Then he pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest like he never wanted to let go.
“I love you,” I said softly, looking up at him. The words felt natural leaving my lips, like they had been sitting in my heart for a long time just waiting to be spoken again.
Yunho’s breath caught slightly.
I reached up and gently caressed the side of his face, my fingers brushing along his cheek. His skin was warm beneath my touch, and the way he looked at me made my heart race all over again.
Slowly, he leaned down.
Our faces were close now—so close that I could feel his breath against my lips. My eyes flickered down to his mouth for a moment before meeting his gaze again.
The moment stretched, quiet and fragile.
Then—
A sharp sizzle filled the kitchen.
The smell of burning bacon suddenly hit the air.
Yunho’s eyes widened.
“The bacon!” he shouted.
He spun around quickly and rushed back to the stove, grabbing the pan just in time. A thin trail of smoke curled up toward the ceiling as he hurriedly turned off the burner.
I couldn’t help it.
I burst out laughing.
Yunho glanced over his shoulder at me, looking slightly flustered as he waved the smoke away. “Well,” he said, trying to salvage the moment, “romantic timing isn’t exactly our strength.” I leaned against the counter, still laughing. “Apparently not.” He looked down at the pan and sighed dramatically. “On the bright side,” he added, “the pancakes survived.” I walked over beside him and peeked into the pan.
The bacon, however, was a different story.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Define ‘survived.’”
Yunho scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
“…crispy?”
We laughed over the burnt bacon, teasing each other about our “romantic timing fail,” but honestly, it didn’t matter. The pancakes were fluffy, the fruit was fresh, and the simple act of eating together made the breakfast feel perfect. To me, it didn’t matter that a little bacon had sacrificed itself—it was the moment that counted.
After clearing the dishes and tidying up the kitchen, we got ourselves ready for the day. I chose something comfortable, and Yunho went with casual as well, though he still looked effortlessly put together. There was a quiet excitement between us, a shared understanding that today didn’t need to be anything extraordinary.
Once we stepped outside, the afternoon air greeted us softly. It was crisp, fresh, and just a little cool, with the sun casting gentle warmth on our faces. We walked side by side, fingers brushing occasionally, and I found myself smiling more than I had in days.
Yunho kept stealing glances at me, his expression soft and content, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. I felt it too—the comfort, the familiarity, even if my memory hadn’t caught up yet. Every step felt like a new memory waiting to be made, and somehow, walking beside him in the quiet afternoon, it felt like home.
The evening sky was soft and golden as Yunho and I returned to the apartment, our fingers intertwined like they had always belonged together. The city hummed quietly outside, but inside, it felt like our own little world. Every step, every touch, every glance reminded me of the connection that had never truly gone away, even when my memory had.
Once inside, we settled on the couch, still holding hands. The apartment smelled faintly of the pancakes and bacon we had burned this morning, a reminder of the imperfect, yet perfect, day we had shared. Yunho’s arm came around me naturally, and I rested my head against his shoulder, letting the warmth of him seep into me.
“I’m glad I get to fall in love with you all over again,” I whispered, feeling the words settle in my chest like sunlight.
Yunho smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “And I’m glad I get to hold your hand through it every step of the way,” he replied, his voice gentle, full of everything I needed to hear.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. There was no rush, no need to fill the quiet with words. Instead, we let the evening stretch around us, a soft cocoon of warmth, love, and new memories waiting to be made.
I tilted my head up slightly to meet his gaze. “I know I can’t remember everything,” I said softly, “but being with you… it feels right. Like it’s always been this way.”
Yunho leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. “It always has been,” he murmured. “And it always will be.”
I smiled, feeling a flutter in my chest that was both familiar and new. The past didn’t matter anymore—not the argument, not the accident, not even the lost memories. What mattered was here, now, in this moment.
We stayed like that for a long while, holding each other, letting the world fade around us. Every laugh, every touch, every heartbeat reminded me that some love doesn’t need to be remembered to be real. It just needs to be felt.
And as the evening turned into night, with the city lights twinkling like tiny stars outside our window, I knew one thing for certain: no matter what tomorrow brought, we would face it together. Choosing each other, every single day, was enough.
Because love like ours wasn’t just about memories. It was about moments. And this right here, right now was ours.
They’re convincing. That’s why no one knows. That’s why it hurts.
Pairing: idol!Mingi x staff!Reader
Tropes: Secret Relationship / Forbidden Love, Mutual Pinning.
Genre: Smut. Hurt-Comfort.
Warnings: explicit sexual content, porn with plot, semi-public sex, p in v, light size kink, manhandling, possessiveness, scratching, rough sex, cremapie, hair pulling, spit play, chocking, spanking, emotional sex, interrupted sex, emotional intensity, workplace consequences, career/ pressure impacting relationship, frustration from inability to express love openly, emotional vulnerability, crying, interpersonal conflict, arguments, hierarchical pressures, light jealousy?
Word Count: 5.9k
masterlist
His desk digs into your hips, cold against overheated skin, papers crumpling under your palms as he bends you further.
Your clothes are barely out of the way, hanging awkwardly off your bodies, leaving you exposed in all the right ways.
You’re bent over it, one leg hooked up, cunt spread open and dripping, breath already ragged before he even lines up again.
Mingi doesn’t give you time to think.
He slams back in, stretching you wide in one punishing thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
He crowds in tight behind you, chest plastered to your back, all furnace heat and heavy muscle pinning you down until your chest is flush with the surface again.
A sharp moan tears out of you, too loud, too sudden.
“Shh—” he breathes instantly, like a reflex.
sweat-damp hair from your face before sliding down to grip the meat of your thigh. Fingers dig in hard, yanking your leg wider, spreading you obscenely so he can sink even deeper.
His forehead drops between your shoulder blades.
You feel it in the way he exhales. Heavy. Shaky. Not controlled.
His other hand finds yours on the desk, fingers slipping between yours without looking, squeezing once like he needs it. Like he needs you to steady him while he fucks you apart.
“God… fuck, you’re so tight,” he mutters against your back, voice low, strained.
You swallow, shifting slightly, and that’s enough to make him react. His grip tightens, his hips thrusting faster, sharper, each movement leaving a sting where his nails scrape against your skin.
Too sensitive. Too gone already.
His hand rears back and comes down sharp. Once, twice. Hard spanks that sting across your cheeks.
You jolt, cunt clenching tight around him; he groans like it hurts him too.
“Fuck—do that again,” he growls, spanking once more, lighter this time but possessive, palm lingering to knead the reddening skin. “Squeeze me like that, baby. Let me feel how much you want it.”
Your lips part on a choked sound.
“You’re gonna get us caught…” you whisper, breathless, but there’s no force behind it. No real protest.
He huffs something that almost sounds like a laugh, but it breaks halfway through.
“Then stop me.”
You don’t. You push back instead, driving him deeper until his cockhead kisses your cervix and you both shudder.
That’s all it takes.
His hands are suddenly everywhere, like he doesn’t know where to hold you, like he needs to touch all of you at once or he might lose his mind.
His mouth follows the same pattern. Messy. Unplanned. Your shoulder. Your neck. The curve where your spine dips.
Not slow. Not careful. Hungry, like he’s been holding it in too long.
You gasp again, quieter this time, biting it back, your fingers tightening in his as your forehead presses harder into the desk.
Everything feels too loud.
Your breathing. Your slick-soaked thighs slapping together. The wet squelch every time he bottoms out. The faint creak of furniture under you.
Mingi lifts his head just enough to glance at the door. Quick. Automatic. Then he’s back on you immediately, because he can’t stay away longer than a second.
Every touch, every shift, every small scrape of him against you feels like it’s marking you.
“We shouldn’t be doing this here—” you murmur, voice barely there.
His hands still. Just for a beat. His breath ghosts over your skin, slower now, heavier.
“We shouldn’t be doing this at all.”
It’s quiet. Not teasing. Not playful. Something else. It lingers between you for half a second too long.
Then he moves again, rougher this time, faster, like he’s trying to outrun the thought, bury it somewhere neither of you has to look at.
The slapping of skin against skin, muted by the papers beneath you, fills your ears.
Your own moans start small, shaky, then louder, betraying you until his large hand clamps over your mouth, fingers pressing firm but careful.
He keeps thrusting, hips grinding, needing every reaction, every sound.
His free hand cracks down on your ass again, harder, then soothes the burn with a rough palm rub before gripping tight to hold you still while he fucks into you relentlessly.
Your grip on the desk tightens. His on you does too.
Between grunts he presses soft, reverent kisses to your temple, murmuring your name like a prayer. Your moans fight for escape, caught each time by his hand, muffled but urgent.
“Mine,” he breathes against your skin, voice cracking. “You’re fucking mine.”
And for a moment, it’s just that. Heat, breath, hands, the two of you too close, too much.
Then, footsteps. Voices. Right outside his studio.
Everything stops. Not gradually. Instantly.
Mingi stills behind you, chest pressed to your back, both of you frozen in place like if you don’t move, the world won’t notice.
Another step. Closer.
Your heart jumps into your throat.
“Fuck—” he breathes, barely sound.
You move first. You always do. You push yourself up too fast, pulling away from him like you’ve been burned, fixing your clothes with shaking hands that you force steady.
Mingi takes a second longer. Just one. Like his body hasn’t caught up yet.
He pulls out quickly, then hastily adjusts both your clothes and his own, trying to look presentable, dragging a hand through his hair, breathing hard, trying to pull himself together.
The handle turns.
And just like that, everything soft between you disappears.
The door swings open and Hongjoong steps in, already mid-sentence, tablet in hand.
“Mingi, I need you to—”
He stops. His eyes flick between you, the room, the air that still feels too warm, too thick.
You don’t give him time to think. You straighten, fast, expression snapping into place like a switch flipped.
“What?” Your tone is sharp. Flat. Annoyed.
Mingi blinks. Just once. He’s still too close to you. Still breathing a little too hard. Still not fully there.
You step away from the desk, putting space between you like it means nothing.
“I asked you for the revised track yesterday,” you continue, already moving, already creating distance. “And now I have to come here and chase you down for it?”
Mingi looks at you like he doesn’t recognize you. Like he’s still catching up.
Hongjoong’s gaze sharpens slightly. “Mingi?” he prompts.
That’s when it hits him. You see it. The moment his expression hardens. The shift. The mask sliding into place, not as smooth as yours. Never as smooth. But there.
He exhales through his nose, slow.
“Maybe if you didn’t change the notes every five minutes, I’d actually have something finished.”
There’s bite to it.
But underneath? Something off. Something tight.
You scoff, crossing your arms.
“Oh, right. It’s my fault now.” A dry laugh. “You’re the one who’s always late, Mingi. Not me.”
He steps back, finally putting more space between you, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, because I have to redo everything you send me.”
Hongjoong shifts his weight, watching.
You don’t let up.
“Maybe if you took things seriously the first time, we wouldn’t have this problem.”
That one lands. You see it in the way his jaw tightens. In the way his shoulders square just a little too stiffly.
He laughs, but it’s hollow.
“Or maybe you just like having an excuse to micromanage everything.”
The room feels colder now. Like nothing happened here minutes ago. Like your pulse isn’t still uneven.
Like his eyes didn’t just—
No.
You cut it off.
“That’s literally my job,” you snap. “Which, by the way, I’m doing for the whole group. Not just you.”
Hongjoong raises a hand slightly.
“Okay—”
But you keep going. Because you have to sell it. Because hesitation is dangerous.
“And I’d appreciate it if you acted like you cared about that for once.”
Silence.
Mingi stares at you. Something flickers across his face. Not anger. Something quieter. Heavier. Then it’s gone.
“Fine,” he says, flat. “I’ll send it tonight.”
“Please do,” you reply, just as cold.
Hongjoong clears his throat, stepping in before it can stretch any further.
“Alright. That’s enough.” His tone is calm, but firm. “Mingi, just get me the updated take before tomorrow morning. We’ll review it together.”
Mingi nods once.
“Yeah.”
Hongjoong glances between you again. Suspicion? Maybe. Or maybe just discomfort. Either way, he doesn’t push it.
“I’ll leave you two to… not kill each other,” he mutters, already turning toward the door.
It closes behind him with a soft click. Silence drops heavy in its wake.
For a second, neither of you moves.
Until he turns, slow, and sits back against the edge of the desk like his legs suddenly don’t feel like holding him up anymore. Arms crossing over his chest, gaze dropping to the floor.
Then you exhale, tension draining out of you in one slow breath.
And just like that, you turn back. Easy. Light. Like nothing really happened.
A small smile pulls at your lips as you step into him again, slipping between his legs like you always do, closing the space without hesitation.
“We’re good at that,” you murmur, almost amused. “No one suspects anything.”
Your hand slides up his chest, fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt like you already know what comes next.
You lean in, pressing a quick, wet kiss to his neck, right where you left off minutes ago. Your lips linger there for a second longer this time, softer, teasing.
“See?” you whisper against his skin.
Your fingers move to his shirt, already working at the buttons again, slow but sure, like you’re just picking up where you left off. Like you always do.
But this time he stops you. His hand catches your wrists mid-motion. Firm. Not rough. But enough.
You freeze.
Your lips hover near his skin, your breath still warm against him, but your body goes still almost instantly.
That’s new.
You pull back slightly, blinking up at him, a small crease forming between your brows.
“Baby…?”
He doesn’t look at you right away.
His grip loosens, but he doesn’t let go immediately either, like he’s not sure what to do with your hand once he has it.
And that’s when it hits you.
Something’s wrong. Because normally, normally he would’ve followed you. Would’ve let you pull him right back in. Would’ve wanted it just as much.
Your other hand comes up instinctively, softer this time, brushing lightly against his jaw, instead of gripping.
“Hey…” your voice drops, concern slipping in under the warmth. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Flat. Immediate.
You almost roll your eyes at that. Almost.
“Don’t do that,” he scoffs.
“Do what?”
“This.” His jaw tightens. “Act like that didn’t just happen.”
You tilt your head slightly, like you don’t fully get it. Like you’re not standing in the exact same tension he is.
“What?” you shrug, light on purpose. “We handled it, didn’t we? That’s the point.”
His head lifts. And the look he gives you makes your stomach drop. He doesn’t look like he did two minutes ago. He looks tired.
“Do you even hear yourself?”
Your brows knit, a small edge creeping in now.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re talking about this like it’s a system. Like it’s… I don’t know, something we just execute and move on from.”
Your hands press a little firmer into his shoulder, grounding yourself more than him.
“It is a system,” you reply, sharper now. “It has to be. That’s how we keep it from blowing up in our faces. If anyone finds out—”
“I know what happens if they find out.”
He cuts you off, sharper this time. Something in his tone makes you stop.
Mingi shifts forward slightly, but not toward you. Not into you. Just away from where you had him.
“I know exactly what we’re risking,” he says, quieter. “You don’t have to keep reminding me like I haven’t thought about it every single day.”
There’s something sitting under his words. Not anger. Something heavier.
You swallow, but you don’t back down.
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“Because I’m tired of feeling like I only get half of you.”
That knocks the air out of you. Your hands falter.
“Baby, that’s not fair.”
“It is fair,” he pushes, not louder, just more certain. “I can’t even look at you the wrong way when someone’s around. I can’t stand too close, can’t touch you unless I’m checking the door first like we’re doing something wrong.”
Your chest tightens, but you don’t interrupt.
Because you know.
“I have to pretend I don’t care about you,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Do you have any idea what that does to me?”
“I do,” you snap back, quicker than you meant to. “You think I don’t?”
He stills.
And that opens something in you too.
“You think it’s easy for me to walk past you like that?” your voice shakes now, not loud, just full. “To hear you laugh with someone else and not even be able to look at you for too long in case someone notices?”
You shake your head, breath uneven.
“I hate it too, Mingi.”
That hangs there. Heavy. Real. But it doesn’t fix it.
He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair.
“Then why does it feel like you’re okay with it?”
That one stings.
“I’m not okay with it,” you say, softer now, but firmer. “I’m surviving it.”
Silence.
“I don’t want to hide you,” you add, quieter, your hands slipping away from him now, folding into yourself instead. “I don’t want to act like you don’t matter to me. I don’t want to fake argue with you in front of people just so no one gets suspicious.”
Your throat tightens.
“I don’t want any of that.”
“Then why are we still doing it?” he asks, and there’s no anger left in it. Just exhaustion.
Because that’s the question, isn’t it.
You inhale, but it catches halfway.
“Because if we don’t,” you say slowly, forcing the words out steady even when your chest isn’t, “I lose everything I’ve built.”
Your eyes meet his.
“And I’m not willing to throw my life away just to prove that I love you.”
That lands between you, sharp but honest.
Mingi flinches slightly, but you don’t take it back.
“I’ve worked for this,” you continue, your voice steadier now, even as your eyes start to burn. “This job, this position… I didn’t get it because of you. I got it because I’m good at what I do.”
He nods faintly, because he knows that.
“I love what I do,” you add, softer now. “I love being there. I love creating, being part of it, building something that’s mine.” Your voice wavers just slightly. “I don’t want to give that up.”
A pause.
“But I don’t want to give you up either.”
Your composure slips, just a little.
“I want both,” you admit, a tear finally spilling despite the way you blink it back. “I want to be able to stand next to you and not feel like I’m about to lose my career because of it.”
Your breath shakes.
“I want to hold your hand without thinking about who’s watching. I want to look at you without calculating angles and timing and excuses.”
Another tear follows, quieter.
“I’m tired too, Mingi.”
That one comes out smaller.
More honest than anything else.
“I’m tired of being careful all the time. Of turning everything into strategy. Of having to think three steps ahead just to kiss you for five seconds.”
You let out a weak, breathless laugh that doesn’t really land.
“I hate it.”
Silence stretches again, but this time it’s not empty.
It’s full of everything you’ve both been holding in.
“I just…” you shake your head, frustrated now, overwhelmed by how impossible it all feels. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
Your voice drops.
“Because if we get caught, I lose my job. Not maybe. Not eventually. Immediately.”
You look at him, eyes glassy.
“And I don’t want you to fix that for me,” you add quickly, almost before he can speak. “I don’t want you paying for me or finding me something else or making it easier.”
Your head shakes again.
“I want my life. The one I built. And I want you in it.”
That’s the conflict.
“I don’t think that’s unreasonable,” you whisper, even if it feels like it is.
Your fingers curl into your palms, like you don’t know where to put them anymore.
“I just don’t know how to have both without risking losing one.”
A breath. Small. Fragile.
“And I’m scared that if I choose wrong…” your voice softens even more, almost breaking now, “I lose you anyway.”
You press your lips together, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s uneven now, emotions catching up too fast.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say, barely above a whisper.
“I know.”
“I just—” you shake your head, frustrated, overwhelmed “—I don’t know how to do this without ruining everything. I don’t want this to be the last time I get to hold you,” you admit, voice barely there now, weak in a way you hate.
But that’s it. That’s the truth of it. Not fear. Not avoidance. Just no good options.
What’s left is you standing there in front of him, eyes wet, shoulders tight, like you’ve been holding this together for way too long.
And for the first time, you’re not trying to fix it, you’re just letting him see it.
Mingi exhales slowly, like he’s trying to hold himself together.
He fails.
“Hey… baby—” it slips out of him, rough, immediate, like he can’t keep the distance anymore.
His hands come up fast, firm around your waist, pulling you into him in one solid motion until you’re flush against his chest.
The impact knocks a small breath out of you.
His arms wrap around you tight. Strong. Not letting you go anywhere.
Your hands clutch at his shirt instantly, gripping like you need to anchor yourself.
“Mingi—”
“Stop… breathe,” he murmurs, voice low, sweet, completely different from before. “I’m right here.”
One hand slides up to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, holding you there gently as his chin rests against you. His other hand moves slow over your back, rubbing small, grounding circles.
You melt into him without thinking, pressing closer, like you can get closer than this.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, quieter now, but there’s something unmovable in it. “You hear me?”
Your breath stutters against his chest.
“But—”
“I’m not leaving you,” he insists, pulling back just enough to look at you.
His hand comes up, thumb brushing under your eye, wiping away the tears you didn’t even realize were still falling.
“You really think I’d let you go that easily?”
There’s something almost offended in the softness of his voice.
You let out a weak, shaky giggle, your hands still fisted in his shirt.
“I’m scared,” you admit, barely above a whisper.
“I know.”
His chin rests lightly against your hair.
“I know you are,” he says again, softer. “I’m not asking you to throw your life away.”
His hand slides down your arm, slow, reassuring, until his fingers lace loosely with yours, squeezing once.
“I would never ask you to do that.”
That settles into you.
Because you believe him.
“I just…” he exhales, eyes flicking over your face like he’s trying to make you see him. “I don’t want to feel like loving you is something I have to hide.”
Your chest tightens again.
“I don’t want that either,” you whisper quickly. “I don’t, I just—”
The words tangle.
You drop your forehead against his collarbone, your grip tightening on him again.
“We could lose everything,” you murmur. “This could ruin you too, Mingi.”
His hands shift, slower now, sliding over your sides, thumbs brushing back and forth like he’s keeping you anchored right here.
“I know,” he says. Not dismissing it. Not brushing it away. Just knowing.
You lift your head, meeting his eyes properly this time.
“And you’re still asking me to risk it?”
There’s a small flicker of something in his gaze. Not doubt. Conviction.
“I’m asking you to try,” he answers quietly. “With me.”
Your breath catches. Because that’s the difference. Not jumping. Not falling. Not burning everything down.
Just stepping forward together.
You study him a second longer, memorizing the mole on his cheek, the way his lashes dip when he’s sad. Weighing everything you could lose against everything standing right in front of you.
You look at the way he’s holding you like you’re something he refuses to lose.
At the way his thumb keeps brushing your skin like he needs the contact as much as you do.
At the way he’s not backing away from any of it.
You swallow. Then, softer, “We can try.”
It’s not loud. Not dramatic. But it’s enough. You see it in the way something in him loosens. In the way his shoulders drop, just slightly, like he can finally breathe.
His hand comes up to your face, slower this time, thumb tracing your cheek, catching the last of your tears.
“You’re not losing yourself,” he murmurs. “You’re not losing your work. I’ll be right there, okay? Whatever happens… we deal with it together.”
Your chest tightens again, but this time it’s different. Full. Overwhelmed.
You nod faintly, but your thoughts start spiraling anyway, words slipping out before you can stop them.
“I just— what if I mess everything up? What if we don’t even know how to do this right… if we tell the company or wait until it gets out, and then they think I used you to get here, and the others feel like we’ve been lying to them this whole time, and all of this pressure just… changes us and—”
He doesn’t let you finish.
His hand tightens at your jaw just enough to stop the spiral, and then he kisses you.
Not soft. Not hesitant. It’s immediate. Deep. Like he needs you to feel it instead of overthinking it.
It cuts through everything.
Your words dissolve against his mouth, your breath catching as his other hand pulls you even closer, like there’s still space between you he doesn't allow to exist.
You melt into it instantly, your hands sliding up into his hair, pulling him closer without thinking.
“Baby,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls back just enough to speak. “One thing at a time.”
The kiss deepens on its own. Not rushed, but inevitable.
Like everything that’s been building between you finally has somewhere to go.
His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against him until you feel every hard inch of him pressed against your stomach.
A small shiver runs through you at the way he holds you now, like he’s not afraid to anymore.
“Come here,” he murmurs against your lips.
He doesn’t wait.
He turns you with a firm hand at your waist, the other sliding under your thigh as he lifts you just enough to set you on the desk himself.
His hands don’t leave you. They spread your legs just enough for him to step in between, settling there like he’s done it a hundred times before.
His chest presses into yours again, breath heavier now, lips brushing yours without quite kissing you again.
He’s holding himself back by a thread.
“Stay right there,” he murmurs, low, almost strained.
Your fingers curl tighter in his hair, pulling him the last inch.
You’re close. So close. Same place. Same space. But everything feels different now.
No pretending. No rushing. No looking over your shoulder. Chosen.
Mingi’s hands find your waist again, but this time they don’t hesitate. They hold. Firm. Hungry. Like he’s allowed to. Because he is.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, breath already uneven.
You do.
And it hits all over again. The weight of what you just said. What you agreed to. What you’re risking.
For him.
His thumb presses into your skin, grounding, like he feels it too.
His mouth is on yours again, deeper this time. Hungrier. Not careful anymore. Not holding back.
Your hands tug at his shirt, and his laugh is breathless against your lips as he helps you, both of you fumbling, pulling, not patient enough to be neat about it. Fabric bunches, slips, disappears somewhere behind you.
He yanks your panties down with your help, the fabric catching briefly on your thighs before it’s gone. His own pants shove down just enough. Dick springing free, heavy, already leaking at the tip.
You gasp when his palm slides down to cup your ass. Squeezing hard, possessive, lifting you just enough to drag your hips forward until your his dick rests just against your entrance.
“Gonna go slow,” he promises, voice wrecked. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
You nod, legs spreading wider, inviting.
He pulls back just far enough to wrap his hand around himself. Two slow, firm strokes, spreading your wetness along his length while his eyes stay locked on yours. Then he lines up again, the head nudging your folds.
He pushes in.
Slow. Constant. No pause.
You whimper, thighs shaking. He’s splitting you open inch by slow inch, walls clenching around him. When he’s halfway in you already feel stuffed. Full in the best way.
“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, thumb circling your clit gently to ease you. “Let me in.”
The stretch is sharp and sweet. Your walls yielding inch by inch as he sinks deeper, until his hips finally press flush to yours and he’s buried balls-deep, filling you so completely your breath snags in your throat.
You both moan at the same time. Low and broken. Your nails biting into his shoulders as your body flutters helplessly around him.
“Fuck,” he exhales against your mouth, like the word got stuck in his chest. “Still— yeah… still so good.”
He stays still for a long second, letting you adjust, forehead pressed to yours.
“You’re taking me so good,” he whispers, voice reverent. “Look at you… stretched so pretty around my cock.”
You clench involuntarily at his words. He groans like it hurts.
Then he starts moving.
Slow rolls at first.
Pulling out halfway, sliding back in, letting you feel every drag. His hands grip your ass again, squeezing hard enough to leave marks, using the handfuls to guide your hips in a slow grind against him.
You don’t even realize you’re arching into him until his grip flexes, like he’s encouraging it.
“Don’t hide from me again,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again. “I don’t want to feel like I have to steal you.”
“I’m not,” you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair, holding him there. “I’m right here.”
He groans softly at that. Not loud. Not showy. Just real, his cock pulsing once inside you like your words punched straight through him.
His forehead presses to yours for a second, grounding himself.
Then his hands move again. Urgent now. Desperate. Like he needs to feel every inch of you to believe this is real.
You gasp into his mouth when he pulls you closer, your legs move to circle his waist, heels digging into his ass to keep his cock buried exactly where you want it.
“Yeah,” he breathes, voice rough. “Like that. Don’t—don’t let me go.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” you whisper, almost teasing, but it comes out softer. More honest than you meant.
That does something to him. You feel it in the way his grip tightens. The way his breath stutters.
“Say that again,” he murmurs, but there’s no teasing in it. Just raw need.
“I’m not letting you go.”
His eyes close for half a second.
And when he moves again, it’s deeper. Closer. Like he’s trying to carve himself into your body. Each thrust now drags his tip over that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.
You moan brokenly. He leans down, tongue dragging hot and wet up the column of your throat, then lower, tasting the salt of your skin.
His hand fists the hem of your top and shoves it up roughly, bunching the fabric high against your ribs. Fingers hook the bra cup and yank it down in one impatient tug, freeing your breasts.
His mouth closes over one nipple. He sucks. Hard. Teeth grazing just enough to sting. You arch, scratching down his back, nails leaving red lines he’ll feel tomorrow.
He switches to the other nipple, nibbling, tugging with his lips until it’s swollen and shiny with his saliva.
“Harder,” you gasp.
He obeys.
His pace picks up. Deeper, faster. Each thrust makes the desk tremble underneath you.
The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room. He’s fucking you harder every minute. Control slipping, cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you until your thighs are shaking uncontrollably.
“Mine,” he breathes without thinking, the word falling out of him raw. “You’re—fuck— you’re mine.”
Your fingers tighten in his hair. “Yours.”
It comes out just as broken. Just as real.
That’s when something in him snaps. Not control. Restraint.
His hands are everywhere now. Your waist. Your back. Your hair. Pulling you closer every time you move, like even a sliver of space is unbearable.
His cock hits deeper, stretching you to the limit, the head kissing your cervix with every thrust.
His hips snap harder. The desk creaks under the force. A pair of headphones and a stack of notebooks slide off the edge and hit the floor with soft thuds you barely register.
“Let them see,” he mutters against your mouth, words spilling now, unfiltered. “I don’t care anymore. I want them to know. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
Your breath catches hard at that.
“Min—”
“I mean it,” he presses, softer now but somehow more intense. His forehead drops to your shosulder. “I’m not hiding you. Not ever again.”
Something in your chest cracks open.
“I know,” you whisper.
And you do.
That’s what makes this different.
The way he looks at you now. The way he holds you. The way he says things without pulling back.
You cling to him tighter, your voice breaking when you speak again.
“I'ts too much.”
“I know,” he answers immediately. No hesitation. No dismissal. Just truth.
His hand comes up to your face again, thumb brushing your cheek, grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning.
And then he’s kissing you again, like he needs to prove it instead of just saying it.
It turns messy after that.
Breath mixing. Words breaking apart between kisses. Your name falling from his lips like he can’t stop saying it.
His hand slides up, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat, not squeezing, just firm enough to guide.
His thumb presses under your jaw, tilting your head up slowly, forcing your gaze to meet his. Dark eyes burn into yours, holding you there while his cock still throbs inside you.
“Look at me,” he rasps, voice wrecked and low.
You do.
His thumb shifts, dragging across your lower lip, parting it roughly. “Open.”
Your lips part on instinct, mouth falling open for him.
He leans in close, and spits. A thick, warm string landing right on your tongue.
You taste him instantly, salty and raw; your walls clenches hard around him in response.
“Swallow,” he growls softly.
You do. Slow, eyes never leaving his.
He groans like the sight alone could ruin him, then crashes his mouth back to yours. He kisses you harder, deeper, tongue plunging in to chase every trace of himself on yours, hand still cradling your throat like he owns the very breath you take.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs. “Right here. Don’t drift.”
“I’m here,” you gasp. “I’m right here.”
“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s my girl.”
He pushes forward more, crowding you until your back arches, forcing you to lean back on one hand braced flat against the table to keep from toppling backward with him.
But he doesn’t let the space grow. He just buries his face deeper into the crook of your shoulder, hot breaths fanning your skin.
Low moans spill from him, turning ragged, almost whimpers. Desperate. Close. His whole body trembles against yours like he’s unraveling thread by thread.
“Need you,” he pants into your neck, voice wrecked. “Fuck—need you so bad.”
His hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing firm, fast circles exactly the way you like, the way he’s learned makes you break.
Your thighs shake harder around him, your braced arm trembling as you try to hold the angle.
And in the middle of it, soft. Unplanned. Like it slipped past every wall he had left, “I love you.”
Everything stills for a second.
Not the movement. Not the closeness. Just something inside you.
You look at him. And he doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t look away.
“Say it again,” you whisper.
“I love you,” he repeats, firmer this time.
Your chest tightens.
“I love you too,” you breathe.
His hold tightens, his face pressing into your neck, your shoulder, like he needs to feel it, not just hear it.
His rhythm stutters, then drives even harder, deeper, chasing. His fingers rub messy, desperate circles on your clit, determined to drag you over with him.
Everything after that is overwhelming. Close. Intense. Real. He doesn’t let go.
His other hand claws down your back, nails dragging red lines as his hips slam once, twice more. Your breasts bouncing with each thrust.
“Gonna cum,” he warns, voice shredded. “Inside you—fuck—baby, can I—?”
You nod frantically between pants, thighs shaking around him.
A deep, guttural groan rips from his throat when he buries himself to the hilt and comes, pulsing inside you, his whole body shuddering against yours.
You arch harder into him at the feel of it, clenching tight around every thick spurt, tipping over the edge with a sharp, broken cry.
Your free hand fists in his hair, holding him close to your neck as waves crash through you. You press shaky kisses into his hair while he rides it out, trembling, spilling everything he has.
Even when you both fall apart, breathless, shaking, you’re clinging to each other like the world outside doesn’t exist.
He stays there.
Slowly, still buried deep inside you, he straightens just enough to meet your eyes again. He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t even think about it.
Your legs stay wrapped around him. His arms cage you against his chest. You’re still perched on the desk, thighs spread, his cum slowly leaking around where you’re joined.
One hand comes up, gentle now, brushing sweat-damp strands of hair back from your face. His thumb traces your cheekbone. A small, wrecked smile curves his lips. So proud of you, so soft, so full of love.
“You did so good for me,” he murmurs, voice low and tender, eyes shining. “Look at you. My beautiful girl.”
He leans in, presses a long, lingering kiss to your forehead. Then another. Breathing you in.
You laugh softly between breaths, a little shaky, a little disbelieving. He smiles against your lips, pressing a slow kiss there. Then another. Softer now. Gentle.
You’ve never asked him to choose you out loud. You assumed he would anyway. Until today, when someone else mistakes you for something temporary, and you decide to stop being patient and start being seen.
Pairing: Dom!Yunho x Brat!Reader
Tropes: Age-gap (40/mid-20s) Established Relationship. High Society Romance.
Genre: Smut. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff.
Warnings: explicit sexual content, dom!yunho, public sexual activity, power dynamics, spanking, dirty talk, sexual humiliation elements, unprotected sex, heel play, objectification, orgasm denial, impact play, degradation, exhibitionism, emotional vulnerability, crying, possessive behavior, jealousy, insecurity, emotional distress, miscommunication, perceived emotional neglect, relationship insecurity, fear of public perception, age-gap relationship, explicit language,
Word Count: 9.3k
a/n: i need everyone to know that i don't even like feet. at all. so naturally i wrote almost 10k words where they're basically a supporting character. and the whiplash of going from writing sub mingi to dom yunho should honestly be enough to give anyone a headache.
based on [this] request
masterlist
Yunho still believes in dating you. Not because the relationship needs saving. Not because he thinks grand gestures are the secret to lasting love. He simply refuses to let the person he loves become someone he only sees between meetings.
Which is how you end up here. The restaurant glows with warm amber light reflected across crystal glasses and polished cutlery. Conversations dissolve beneath soft piano music, waiters glide silently between tables, and every detail, from the pressed linen to the wine list, whispers the kind of quiet luxury people spend weeks trying to reserve.
Yunho booked it the moment he found an evening that belonged to neither work nor obligation. Not because it's exclusive. Because he missed you.
Across the table, you shift for what must be the third time since sitting down. His eyes flick briefly beneath the table before returning to your face.
"The shoes?"
You sigh dramatically. "They're trying to kill me."
"They look beautiful."
"They're weapons."
"They're beautiful weapons."
You can't help smiling.
"You say that because you're not the one wearing them."
"No." His gaze lingers for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, warm enough to make your cheeks threaten a blush. "I'm the one who gets to look at them."
You shake your head, hiding your smile behind your wine glass.
The conversation slips easily into familiar territory after that. His latest project. Your week. A trip the two of you keep promising to plan and never quite finding the time for.
Somewhere in the middle, you mention a singer that's apparently impossible to escape these days.
Yunho frowns thoughtfully.
"I've never heard of them."
You look at him over the rim of your glass.
"You're making your age very obvious tonight."
"I've spent forty years carefully building that privilege."
"You could at least pretend to know."
"I could." A beat. "I'd rather have you explain it."
You laugh quietly, shaking your head.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
There's something wonderfully unfair about the way he says it. Completely unbothered. Never defensive. Never trying to convince you he's younger than he is. He wears the years between you with the same quiet confidence he wears one of his tailored suits, as though neither has ever occurred to him as something needing justification.
You tease him because it's easy. He lets you because he likes the sound of your laugh.
By the time your starters appear, you've somehow moved from music to books to the strange corners of the internet that never seem to find their way onto Yunho's phone.
He only understands about half of what you're talking about. You know because he tells you. And yet he never stops listening. His attention never wanders.
Every now and then, you catch him looking at you over the candle between you. Not saying anything. Just watching with that quiet, unwavering fondness that has always belonged to the two of you.
It never feels like being observed. It feels like coming home.
The interruption slips so easily into the evening that, at first, you don't think anything of it.
"Yunho?"
He looks up.
For the first time all night, surprise brightens his face before settling into a smile you haven't seen since you walked into the restaurant.
"...Wow." He stands almost instinctively. "It's been years."
She laughs as she steps closer, arms already opening. Yunho returns the hug without hesitation, one hand resting briefly against the middle of her back before they separate again. Easy. Familiar. The kind of greeting that belongs to people who've crossed paths enough times for formality to disappear.
"You look exactly the same."
"So do you."
"No chance."
"I've become a much better liar."
He laughs, and something inside you softens.
Of course he knows people. He's spent twenty years building a career that seems to exist somewhere between boardrooms, charity galas and airports. It would be stranger if old acquaintances didn't recognize him.
She fits naturally into that world. Elegant dress. Confident smile. Around his age. The sort of woman who never looks intimidated by expensive restaurants because she's been having dinners like these for years.
They fall into conversation without effort. Fundraisers. Old colleagues. Someone retiring. Someone getting married. Names you've never heard and places you've never been.
You let yourself fade into the background for a while, content to listen. You know Yunho likes introducing people properly rather than interrupting conversations halfway through. He'll get there.
"I haven't seen you at anything lately," she says eventually.
"I've been hiding."
"Still?"
He smiles.
"Work."
She shakes her head, pretending to be disappointed.
"What a shame."
There's something in the way she says it that makes you glance up. Not inappropriate. Just interested. Interested enough that, without realizing it, you find yourself waiting.
Surely now. Surely this is where Yunho smiles, reaches across the table, brushes his fingers against yours and says the simplest sentence in the world.
I'm here with my girlfriend.
He doesn't. Instead, he answers whatever she'd asked next, completely unaware that you've stopped following the conversation.
You tell yourself not to be ridiculous. He's just being polite. Another minute passes. She laughs again.
"So you finally found a reason to leave the office?"
"I try."
"I was beginning to think you'd married your work."
"I've considered divorcing it."
She laughs harder than the joke deserves. You smile politely. Still waiting. Still giving him the chance. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turns to you.
"And you?"
You blink. "Sorry?"
"What do you do?"
You answer, and she listens with genuine interest. She asks about your work, compliments it, tells you it's impressive.
For one brief moment, the knot inside your chest loosens. Then she looks back at Yunho.
"You've always had good taste." He raises an eyebrow. "In people," she clarifies with a smile. "You always surround yourself with interesting company."
Yunho nods once.
"I've been lucky."
Lucky. That's all. No glance toward you. No quiet smile that says she's mine. No effortless correction. Nothing.
The conversation moves on, but something inside you doesn't. Because the awful part isn't that she's flirting. The awful part is that she has absolutely no reason not to. She's speaking to a man she believes is single. And the only person who could have told her otherwise keeps choosing not to.
When she finally excuses herself, her fingers brush lightly over his sleeve.
"You should come to the gala next month."
"We'll see."
"I'd love to catch up properly."
Her smile lingers for a heartbeat longer before she disappears into the restaurant. Yunho watches her leave with the absent familiarity of someone remembering an old colleague. Then he sits back down, reaches for his wine and smiles to himself.
"She's exactly the same as she was ten years ago."
"Mhm."
You smile because smiling costs less than speaking. Because saying what you're actually thinking would ruin the evening.
"As I was saying..." He settles back into his chair, picking up the conversation exactly where he'd left it. "The board wants to move the launch to September, which makes absolutely no sense because we'd have to renegotiate every supplier."
His voice fades into the background. You hear it. You just aren't listening anymore. Not really. You're still sitting at the same table as him, but your mind is trapped five minutes in the past, replaying every smile, every laugh, every opportunity he had to choose you out loud. All you can think is how easy it would've been. One sentence. One look. One absentminded reach for your hand.
Anything that said she's with me. Instead, for ten long minutes, you felt like the centerpiece on the table. Beautiful. Expensive. And entirely decorative. Less like the woman sharing dinner with him and more like someone who happened to be sitting at his table.
"That's nice."
Yunho pauses. He mistakes the tightness in your voice for exhaustion. Or maybe he notices it and decides to give you space. Either way, he lets it pass.
"I wouldn't call it nice."
You blink, as though you've only just remembered he's speaking. "What?"
"I asked what you thought."
You shrug lightly. "I think you should do whatever makes you happy."
His brows knit together.
"Dove."
"Hm?"
"I stopped talking about work a while ago."
"Oh." You take another sip of wine, buying yourself a second. "I must've missed it."
His eyes stay on you. Long enough that you almost think he's going to ask what's wrong. Long enough that a tiny, hopeful part of you waits for him to.
Instead, a waiter stops beside the table. Perfect. This is the moment you decide you’re done being mature. Which is unfortunate. Because you’re usually very good at it.
You look up with a smile so bright it surprises even you.
"Sorry," you say, almost apologetically. "Can I ask you something?"
He's young. Pretty in the effortless way university students always seem to be.
You ask about the desserts. Then whether the cocktails are actually worth ordering. Then which dish he likes best.
He answers easily. You laugh at one of his jokes. It isn't even that funny.
Yunho watches the exchange in silence. Not because there's anything inappropriate about it. Because there isn't. Which somehow makes the knot in your chest tighten even more. You're doing exactly what he did. Being polite. Being friendly. Nothing more.
When the waiter finally excuses himself, Yunho doesn't say anything straight away. He waits until the young man disappears around the corner. Only then does he look at you.
"What was that?"
You tilt your head. "What was what?"
"You've asked him more questions in two minutes than you've asked me all night."
"I was being polite."
"You were interviewing him."
"He seemed nice."
"I'm sure he did."
You smile into your glass. "I liked his smile."
Silence. You don't need to look up to feel his eyes on you. When you finally do, his expression has changed almost imperceptibly. Not jealousy. Confusion.
"You liked his smile."
"It was a nice smile."
He studies you for a long moment. Like he's waiting for the punchline. Like he's convinced this version of you can't possibly be real. Eventually he shakes his head, choosing not to take the bait.
"So..." he tries again, "I was thinking maybe we could..."
You pick up your phone. His voice stops. You unlock it. Scroll. You couldn't say what you're looking at if someone asked. The screen is just somewhere else to put your eyes.
"Dove."
"Hm?"
"Put the phone away."
"Why?"
His patience holds. Barely.
"Because I'm talking to you."
You don't look up. "So?"
The word hangs there. Small. Careless. Sharp enough to cut.
"So..." He exhales slowly, choosing every word with visible effort. "I'd appreciate it if you listened."
You laugh quietly. "I listened to her."
Silence. Real silence. The kind that empties the space around it.
"...What?"
You finally meet his eyes. "I listened very politely."
Something flickers across his face. Not understanding. Recognition.
"You've been upset ever since she left."
"I'm not upset."
"No?"
"No."
"You've barely looked at me."
"I've looked at you loads."
You punctuate the sentence by stealing a bite from his plate. Not because you're hungry. Because it's his. Because you know he'll stop you.
His fingers close gently around your wrist before your fork reaches the food. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make you stop. He looks down at your hand. Then back at you.
"...Really?"
You smile with infuriating sweetness. "I wanted to know if yours tasted better."
"You ordered the exact same thing."
"It does."
"Dove..."
"It tastes different."
"It's the same recipe."
"It isn't."
"It objectively is."
"It isn't to me."
He lets go of your wrist with a slow breath, rubbing a hand across his mouth as though he's physically trying to hold onto the last thread of his patience.
"You are being impossible."
"I'm eating dinner."
"No." His eyes don't leave yours. "You're trying to punish me."
The words catch you off guard. For just a second. Long enough for him to notice.
"I haven't argued with you once," you say quietly.
"You don't have to." His voice drops lower. "You've spent the last fifteen minutes trying to make me feel something."
You force another smile.
"What exactly am I trying to make you feel?"
"I don't know." There's frustration there now. Real frustration. "That's the problem."
He leans back, studying you with the same expression he wears when something at work refuses to make sense. Like he's looking at all the pieces and none of them fit.
"I know you." His voice softens despite himself. "This..." His eyes search yours. "...isn't you."
Something twists painfully inside your chest. You could tell him. You could end this right now. You could say, You made me feel invisible. Instead, you swallow it. Smile. Tilt your head.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
And for the first time all evening, Yunho stops trying to continue the conversation. Because whatever happened to the woman he walked into this restaurant with, he has no idea how to reach her anymore.
You know you're being unfair. You know this isn't you. But the version of yourself that spent the last ten minutes feeling invisible is louder than the one who usually knows better.
You just want him to look at you.
You casually drop your napkin and bend down to retrieve it, taking just a second longer than necessary to adjust the strap of your heel. When you straighten again, Yunho is already looking at you.
"Something wrong?" you ask, all innocent eyes.
"Nothing," he replies, a little too quickly.
"Hm."
You smooth your napkin back across your lap as though you've finally decided to behave. Yunho almost believes it. Then you reach for the dessert menu.
"I think I'm getting dessert."
"We haven't finished dinner."
"I like planning ahead." Your finger drifts lazily down the list before you smile to yourself. "This one sounds nice."
Yunho doesn't even look.
"What one?"
"The vanilla mille-feuille." You tilt the menu toward yourself. "I've heard the chef is very generous with the cream."
His fork stops halfway to his mouth.
"Dove."
"What?" You glance up. "I like cream."
His jaw flexes. "You know exactly what you're doing."
"I do?" Your eyebrows lift with practiced innocence. "I'm ordering dessert."
"You haven't ordered anything."
"I'm thinking about it."
His jaw tightens.
"Think about something else."
You hum as though you're genuinely considering the suggestion.
For a heartbeat, neither of you speaks. Around you, cutlery clinks against porcelain, conversations drift lazily through the restaurant, and somewhere a bottle of wine is uncorked.
Only your table feels painfully quiet. You smile into the menu.
"I just want something sweet."
His eyes finally meet yours. "You are testing my patience."
"No." You lower the menu carefully. "I'm participating in the conversation."
"Dove."
"You said I wasn't talking enough."
"I also said to behave."
"I am."
"You've never looked less convincing."
The corner of your mouth twitches.
"Really?" you say with a shrug, crossing your legs slowly under the table, letting your foot brush against his calf. "I'm just enjoying dinner."
His breath hitches at the contact, and he pulls his leg away slightly. "Don't."
"Don't what?" you ask, voice dropping to a whisper as you lean closer. "Don't touch you? Don't talk about dessert? Don't breathe?"
"You're playing games," he accuses, but his voice has lost some of its edge.
"I'm just being myself," you reply with a small smile, tracing patterns on the tablecloth with your finger. "Unless you'd prefer I be more like her?"
Yunho's jaw tightens at the mention of the other woman. "That's not what I said."
"Then what did you mean?" you challenge, your foot finding his leg again and staying there this time.
For the first time that evening, something flashes across Yunho's face. Not anger. Not yet. Impatience. The kind that only exists because he cares enough to keep trying. And somehow, that only makes some childish, wounded part of you decide that's still not enough.
You let your other foot join the first, the expensive Louboutins he bought you last month now hidden under the tablecloth. The ones he always says make your legs look endless. The ones he loves seeing you in when he's buried inside you.
"Dove," he warns, his voice tight.
"Yunho," you mimic, your voice syrupy sweet as you apply more pressure with your foot. "Problem?"
Your pointed toe traces the seam of his trousers until you reach his balls. You press gently, just enough to make him shift in his seat. His knuckles turn white on his fork, but he doesn't look away from you.
Yunho keeps acting as if everything is normal. But his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He has a thing for your heels, always has. The way they look on you, the sound they make on marble floors, the marks they sometimes leave on his thighs when you're riding him.
"Behave," he grunts under his breath.
You blink innocently. "I am behaving."
His eyes darken. "No, you're not."
You smirk slightly. "Don't you like it?"
Yunho doesn't push. Not yet. Because you’re in public. Because he trusts you. Because he likes it when you want him. Because maybe you're just having fun. And god help him, because his dick is already responding to your touches.
"Remember when you fucked me in these?" you whisper, leaning forward. "How you said they should've been illegal?"
Yunho remembers. He also remembers paying for them. Looking back, he should've left them in the shop.
He grows increasingly tense. Because this isn't you. Because something is wrong. Because you’re choosing a spectacularly inconvenient time to express it. And because despite his concern, he's getting painfully hard.
Then you cross the line. Not maliciously. Desperately, your foot travels higher, the pointed toe now rubbing against his length. You can feel him twitch and grow under your touch. His jaw clenches, but he doesn't look away from you. He's trying to win this silent battle, trying to pretend you're not affecting him.
"Stop," he mouths, his eyes dark with fury and arousal.
You just smile, rubbing your foot against him in slow, torturous circles. "Make me."
His hand shoots out under the table, fingers wrapping around your ankle in a grip that's both punishing and possessive.
"Enough," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You need to stop."
His voice is low enough that nobody else hears it. You do.
The hand around your ankle loosens almost immediately, his fingers sliding away as though he's only just realized how tightly he'd been holding you. The warmth of his palm lingers against your skin for a second longer than the touch itself.
Neither of you moves. Neither of you says anything. The restaurant keeps existing around you. Glasses clink. Someone laughs two tables over. A waiter walks past carrying a bottle of wine as if the world hasn't just tilted on its axis.
Yunho looks at you. His breathing is uneven. His jaw is locked so tightly you can see the muscle jump beneath his skin. There is still frustration written all over his face, but underneath it, buried somewhere deeper, is something that twists painfully in your chest.
Worry. Not embarrassment. Not annoyance. Worry.
He pushes his chair back.
"Come with me."
You don't answer. He leans down instead, close enough that only you can hear him.
"Now."
The word isn't loud. It doesn't need to be. Yunho has never raised his voice at you. He doesn't have to.
You stand without another argument. His hand finds your wrist first, then slips lower until it settles against the small of your back, guiding you through the restaurant with a firmness you've never felt from him before. Every step keeps you tucked against his side.
The walk feels endless. Your heels catch against the polished floor more than once, forcing you to stumble to keep up with his pace. Usually he'd notice. Usually he'd slow down immediately, his hand tightening instinctively around yours before asking if your feet hurt.
Tonight he doesn't. Not because he doesn't care. Because his mind is somewhere else entirely.
"What were you thinking?"
His voice is quiet. Controlled. Which somehow makes it worse.
You swallow. "I don't know."
A humorless laugh escapes him through his nose.
"Clearly."
The word lands harder than if he'd shouted. You flinch.
The bathroom door clicks shut behind you, sealing away the music, the conversations, the comfortable illusion that tonight had started as a date.
Silence settles immediately.
Yunho turns to face you. His tie sits slightly crooked. His hair is messier than it was twenty minutes ago. The picture of composure is still there, but only if someone doesn't know where to look.
You do. His jaw is set so tightly it almost hurts to see. For a long moment, he simply looks. Like he's trying to recognize you again.
"Explain."
"I..."
Nothing.
He waits. Not impatiently. Expectantly. When you still don't answer, he exhales through his nose, rubing a tired hand across his face.
"Talk to me."
You stare at the floor.
"I didn't like her."
"I gathered that."
"You were flirting with her."
His expression doesn't change. "No."
"You were."
"I wasn't."
"You laughed at everything she said."
"I was being polite."
"You hugged her."
"She hugged me."
"You let her touch you."
"And?"
The question lands harder than if he'd argued. You stare at him.
"You never stopped her."
For the first time, Yunho goes quiet. Not because he doesn't have an answer. Because he's finally hearing the one thing you've been trying so desperately not to say. He studies your face for a long moment before speaking again.
"...There it is."
Your throat tightens.
"What?"
"That's what this has been about."
You look away before he can see your eyes burn. He notices anyway. He takes one slow step closer.
"Dove." You keep staring at the floor. Another step. "Look at me."
You hate how difficult that suddenly is. When your eyes finally lift to his, your voice comes out so much smaller than you intended.
"You never told her."
A small crease appears between his brows.
"Told her what?"
"That I was your girlfriend."
Silence. Real silence. Yunho blinks once. Not because he's caught. Because the thought genuinely never crossed his mind. You let out a brittle laugh.
"...See?"
"Dove."
"No."
You shake your head before he can interrupt.
"She looked at me like I was... I don't know... your assistant. Someone you brought because you didn't want to eat alone."
His face changes. Just enough.
"I don't care what she thought."
"I do."
The words break apart on the way out.
"I do because you never gave her a reason to think anything else."
Yunho's shoulders still. His eyes search yours. Not defensive. Thinking. Working backwards through the evening. Then, very quietly...
"Is that what you believed?"
You don't answer. Because answering would make it real. He watches you for another second. Then your whisper finally comes.
"Sometimes..." Your voice almost disappears. "Sometimes it feels like you keep me separate."
He doesn't answer. Which somehow hurts even more. Instead, he closes his eyes. Only for a heartbeat. When they open again, something inside them has shifted.
You fill the silence yourself. "Maybe you're embarrassed."
His head lifts. "No."
"Maybe you don't want people wondering why you're dating someone younger."
"Dove."
"Maybe you think they'll look at you and..."
"Stop."
The word lands like stone. Certain. He closes the distance between you in two measured steps, stopping just close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. One hand wraps gently around your forearm. Grounding. Not restraining. His thumb strokes your skin once.
"Don't do that."
Your eyes finally spill over. "Do what?"
His own jaw tightens.
"Don't tell me what I think." A beat passes between you. "Don't tell me what I feel." His voice is still calm. Still measured. But it cracks ever so slightly around the edges. "Especially when you're so wrong."
You don't argue. You don't defend yourself. Because for the first time that evening, you hear your own words the way he heard them. And they're ugly. You weren't accusing him. You were telling him you'd believed, even for a little while, that the man who loves you was ashamed to stand beside you.
The fight drains out of you all at once, leaving nothing behind except embarrassment and the quiet realization of how badly you've needed him to understand.
Yunho sees it happen. He watches your shoulders fold inward. Watches your eyes drop. Watches the bravado disappear as quickly as it arrived. And in that instant, the irritation he's been carrying since the restaurant slips away almost completely.
Because you were never trying to make him miserable. You were trying, desperately and terribly, to ask one question you didn't know how to put into words.
His hand loosens around your arm. His shoulders drop with a tired exhale. When he speaks again, the steel is still there. But now it's wrapped around something infinitely softer.
"...Do you really think so little of me?"
The question steals the air from your lungs. Not because he's angry. Because he's hurt. Because beneath every stern word since you walked into this bathroom had been something else entirely.
Fear. Fear that something had happened to you. Fear that he'd somehow missed it. Fear that the woman he loves had spent an entire dinner convincing herself she wasn't enough.
You drop your eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"No." His voice is gentle now. "I am sorry."
You look back up confused. He reaches out then, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips linger for just a second against your cheek, almost hesitant after everything that was said.
"I don't talk about my private life at work."
You frown. "I know."
"No." His thumb strokes your cheek once. "I mean..." He searches for the right words, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don't talk about it. Ever."
The confession sounds strangely vulnerable coming from him. Yunho always knows what to say. Except now.
"I don't talk about my parents. I don't talk about my brother. I don't talk about holidays." A faint smile pulls at one corner of his mouth, humorless this time. "Half the people I work with barely know anything about me."
You listen quietly. Because it's true. You've heard him dodge personal questions before. Seen him redirect conversations so smoothly people never realized he'd done it. You'd just never put yourself in that category.
His hand slips from your cheek to the side of your neck, warm against your skin.
"I've spent years building that habit." His thumb moves absentmindedly beneath your ear. "So naturally..." He lets out another slow breath. "I did the same thing tonight."
Your chest tightens. He isn't defending himself, he's retracing his own steps, trying to find the moment he got it wrong.
A sad smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.
"I thought I was protecting my peace." His gaze softens. "I didn't realize I was asking you to carry the cost of it."
Something inside you gives way. Not all at once. Quietly. Like ice finally cracking under spring sunlight.
"I should've seen it," he murmurs. "I should've realized what that looked like from where you were standing. I should've introduced you." Your eyes close for half a second. "I should've made it obvious."
The first tear escapes before you can stop it. Yunho catches it with the pad of his thumb almost instinctively. Not because he found the perfect explanation. Because he isn't looking for one. He's simply standing in front of you, taking responsibility for a hurt he never intended to cause.
"I'm sorry, Dove."
You laugh weakly through the tears.
"You never apologize."
"I do."
"No, you don't."
"I do," he repeats softly. "When I'm wrong."
The corner of your mouth lifts despite yourself. Relief flickers across his face so briefly you almost miss it. He studies you for another moment, then sighs, the last of the tension leaving his shoulders.
"You scared me tonight." The confession is barely above a whisper. "I didn't know who I was sitting across from."
Shame crashes over you all over again.
"I'm sorry..."
"I know."
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he leans forward until his forehead rests lightly against yours. The contact is warm. Familiar. The kind that always slows your breathing before you even realize it's happening.
Then he kisses you. Softly. Nothing like the way he kissed you earlier. Nothing demanding. Nothing that steals the air from your lungs. Just a slow press of his lips against yours, gentle enough that it feels less like desire and more like reassurance.
I'm still here.
When he pulls away, he doesn't move far. One hand is still cradling your jaw, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek as though letting go isn't something he's ready to do yet.
"You really aren't embarrassed?" you ask quietly.
The question slips out before you can stop it. You regret it immediately. Yunho's eyebrows draw together so quickly it almost hurts to watch.
"Embarrassed?" He searches your face as if he's trying to understand how your mind could've built that conclusion. "Of you?" He lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath.
His other hand comes up to cup your face, leaving you held between both of his palms as though you're something far more fragile than either of you would like to admit.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Heat rushes to your cheeks. You want the floor to open beneath your feet.
"I just..."
The words refuse to come. Instead, another question does. Quieter this time.
"You still love me?"
Yunho simply stares. Not because he's offended. Because he genuinely can't believe that's the question you've been carrying around.
"That's your question?"
You look away instantly. "I shouldn't have asked."
"No." His fingers guide your face back toward him before you can hide. "You don't get to run away now."
His thumb brushes beneath your eye again, wiping away another tear before it falls.
"After everything we've just talked about..."
He smiles then. Small. Disbelieving. So full of affection it makes your chest ache.
"I love you." Simple. Certain. No hesitation. "I loved you when we walked into that restaurant." His thumb strokes slowly across your cheek. "I loved you while you spent an hour driving me out of my mind." The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself. "And I'm still standing here loving you now." Your breath catches. "There isn't a room in this world where I'd be embarrassed to stand beside you."
His forehead rests lightly against yours.
"If anything..." He continues with a quiet smile. "I'm usually wondering what I did to deserve being the man who gets to walk in with you."
Your eyes close. Not because you're crying anymore. Because your heart simply doesn't know what to do with that.
"You are not something I hide." A beat. "You are the best part of my life."
The silence stretches comfortably between you. This one doesn't hurt. This one heals.
Then Yunho leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead. Another against your temple. One more against your cheek, each one slower than the last, as though he's trying to erase every ugly thought you'd carried into this room.
You smile despite yourself. It lasts all of two seconds. Because when he leans back, there's something new in his expression. The misunderstanding is gone. The hurt has been named. You've forgiven each other.
Which means there's only one thing left to deal with. The spectacular disaster you created out there. And judging by the look Yunho gives you, you're not getting away with that conversation quite so easily.
"You caused me a great deal of trouble tonight."
The words aren't harsh. They're quiet. Which somehow makes them impossible to hide from.
You drop your gaze. "I'm sorry."
"I know." His hand finds yours again, turning it over gently until your fingers rest against his palm. "I forgive you."
Hope flickers across your face. Then he continues.
"But forgiveness doesn't erase the problem."
Your breath catches. You look back up at him. His expression is unreadable. Calm. Patient. Completely in control again.
"What... problem?"
Yunho pulls your hand and places it against the obvious tension beneath the expensive fabric of his trousers. Heat rushes into your face as you inhale sharply.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Yunho lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "You knew exactly what you were doing."
You immediately look away.
"I said I was sorry."
"You did." His fingers tighten around yours, pressing your palm more firmly against the hardness beneath his trousers. "And I accepted your apology."
You swallow. "Then...?"
"Then we address the consequences." His voice drops lower.
He steps closer. Your back finds the wall. Not trapped. Just nowhere else you'd rather be. Yunho reaches up, thumb brushing lightly across your jaw. Patient. Composed. Entirely too in control.
"You started this, Dove." His eyes darken. "Now you're going to finish it."
You bite your lip. "Here?"
"Where else?" His thumb traces your bottom lip. "You wanted to play games in public. Let's see how well you play when the stakes are real."
Your knees feel weak. "Yunho..."
"Unless you'd rather I take care of this myself?" He challenges, his voice low and rough. "But I don't think that's what you want, is it?"
You shake your head slowly, unable to form words.
"No." His hand moves from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. "I didn't think so."
He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You wanted my attention? You have it. All of it. Now, are you going to fix what you broke?"
You nod, your heart pounding. "Yes."
"Good."
The word has barely left his mouth before he's pulling you toward him.
One hand remains firm around the back of your neck, fingers spread wide beneath your hair. The other lands at your waist with enough certainty to steal the breath from your lungs, drawing you flush against him in a single, decisive movement.
"Now, be a good girl and show me how sorry you really are. Come here."
It's the last warning you get.
His mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is deep before you have time to think, your startled gasp swallowed immediately as he claims the space between your lips. There isn't an ounce of hesitation in him now. No careful testing. No gentle reassurance. Every slow, measured restraint he's held onto since dinner seems to disappear into the kiss instead.
Your fingers instinctively clutch at the front of his jacket, wrinkling the expensive fabric beneath your fists as your balance disappears beneath the force of him.
Yunho doesn't let you drift away. His hand tightens at your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you, his breathing rough against your cheek every time the kiss breaks for the briefest heartbeat before he finds your mouth again. Like he's still angry. Still relieved. Still trying to convince himself you're here and that you're finally letting him in.
By the time he finally pulls back, neither of you is breathing properly. He doesn't give you room to recover. His forehead settles against yours almost immediately, his grip on your waist never loosening, your bodies still pressed together so completely you can feel the rise and fall of every uneven breath.
His eyes stay closed for a long moment.
"So stubborn," he murmurs, the words almost disappearing between your mouths.
His thumb presses once against your side, firm enough to remind you exactly whose arms you're standing in.
The silence between you changes. The misunderstanding is gone. The tenderness is still there, buried somewhere beneath everything else. But what hangs between you now is heavier. Tighter. The kind of tension that makes the room suddenly feel too small to contain either of you.
Before you can smile, before your arms can find their way around his neck, his hands shift. One slides to the small of your back. The other gently catches your wrist. With one smooth movement, he turns you until your back meets his chest.
His body follows yours immediately, close enough that you feel the warmth of him through the fabric of your dress as he guides you forward. Two careful steps. Then your thighs meet the cool marble of the sink, and he stops behind you.
"Hands on the counter," he commands, his voice a low rumble against your ear.
You comply, your palms flat on the stone, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"You are a dangerous woman," he mutters against your shoulder before he bites down harshly, teeth sinking into skin where your dress won't cover it.
"Yunho," you whimper softly.
"Spread your legs," he commands.
You don’t have time to comply. He kicks your feet apart with his own, widening your stance.
His gaze drops to your feet, still encased in the shoes he bought you.
"Still wearing these," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "The ones that were torturing me all night. Every time you crossed your legs, every time you tapped that fucking heel against the table... I wanted to bend you over right there."
His hands are rough as they hike your dress up, bunching the fabric at your waist. The cool air hits your exposed skin.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his gaze predatory in the mirror. "All dressed up, and so beautiful but so, so misbehaving."
"Sorry," you whisper, your voice shaky.
His hand comes down hard on your ass. The sharp smack echoes in the tiled room. You cry out, more from surprise than pain.
"Louder."
"Sorry!" you repeat, stronger this time.
Another smack, this one on the other cheek, leaving a warm sting. "Good girl."
His hand comes down twice more in rapid succession, the sharp smacks echoing in the tiled room. Your flesh stings when he digs his nails into the sensitive skin, scratching hard enough to leave faint pink trails that make you whimper.
Yunho hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Instead of sliding them down, he grips the delicate lace and pulls with brutal force.
The fabric tears with a sharp sound, your knees trembling at the violence of it. Before you can collapse, he bucks his hips forward, pinning you more firmly against the cold marble of the sink.
"I'll be keeping these," he states. "A reminder for you to behave next time we're out."
He spreads your ass cheeks, exposing you completely.
"Teasing me all night got you this wet? Such a messy girl for me."
He spits, watching the saliva trickle down your cleft before using two fingers to rub it over your clit and entrance. You push back against his hand, a desperate whine escaping your lips.
"Ah ah," he tuts, withdrawing his hand. He brings his glistening fingers to your mouth, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror. "Open. Taste yourself."
You obey, parting your lips as he slides his fingers into your mouth. You suck greedily, swirling your tongue around them, tasting your own arousal, mixing itself with the wine from dinner. His eyes darken as he watches you.
"Fuck," he groans, pulling his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop. "You don't get to dictate the pace. Not tonight. Tonight, I use you."
The sound of his belt buckle clinking open makes your heart race. Then the slow rasp of his zipper being lowered follows, each tooth releasing with agonizing slowness that has you trembling with anticipation.
He frees himself with one hand, the other pressing down firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you bent over. He rubs the head of his cock through your wetness, coating himself in your arousal but not entering.
"Please, Yunho," you beg, trying to push back onto him.
He delivers another sharp slap to your ass.
"I said no."
He lines himself up with your entrance and, without warning, slams into you in one brutal thrust.
You both groan. He's impossibly deep like this, the angle unforgiving. The marble digs into your thighs with the force of his entry.
He gives you no time to adjust, setting a punishing rhythm from the start. Each thrust is hard, fast, designed to stake a claim. The sound of skin slapping skin is obscene, mixing with your helpless whimpers and his low grunts.
Your high heels tremble dangerously beneath you, the stiletto points scraping uselessly against the tile as your legs struggle to support you under the force of his movements.
He captures one of your wrists, twisting it behind your back and pinning it there. He uses the leverage to push you further down, until your face is inches from the mirror, your breath fogging the glass.
His other hand finds your hair, winding it around his fist. He pulls, just enough to arch your back and force you to look at your reflection in the mirror.
"Watch," he growls, his hips never ceasing their assault. "Watch me fuck you. See how you take it? How desperate you are for my cock?"
Your eyes are glassy with tears of pleasure and pain, your mouth slack.
He looks so powerful behind you, his expression dark with lust, his expensive suit still perfectly tailored and pristine while you’re a mess beneath him.
"You teased me all night," he pants, his grip on your hair tightening. "Rubbing your little foot on my dick. Making me hard in front of everyone. This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked like the little brat you are?"
"Yes!" you cry out. "Yes, I'm sorry!"
"You will be." He releases your hair only to grab your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pistons into you. Your legs start to shake, but he continues his relentless pace, driving into you again and again.
He lowers his body, the expensive fabric of his suit brushing against your back as he leans down.
His tongue traces a path up your spine, making you shudder. He licks the exposed skin of your neck, then bites down on your earlobe, just enough to make you gasp.
Then he places his lips against the back of your head, not kissing, just pressing there to keep you in place and muffle his own moans.
"Fuck," he grunts against your hair, his voice muffled. "So tight. So perfect for me."
He presses a soft peck to your hair before straightening up, his gaze fixed on where you two are connected. His hand comes down hard on your ass once again. Then he grips the reddened flesh tightly, spreading your cheeks apart to watch himself disappear inside you with each powerful thrust.
Your forehead presses against the cool glass of the mirror, eyes closed as you focus on the sensation of him filling you so completely.
Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through your body, his length hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes the coil in your stomach tighten, ready to snap.
"I'm gonna… Yunho, I'm close..."
"No, you're not."
With a sudden, cruel movement, he pulls out of you completely, leaving you empty and aching. You cry out at the loss, your body trembling with the denied release.
"Yunho, please..."
"Please what?" he growls, wrapping his hand around his slick cock and stroking himself a few times. Your juices glisten on his length in the dim light.
"You don't get to come yet. You haven't earned it. You're going to take what I give you, and you're going to thank me for it."
His hand comes down hard on your left cheek, then your right, two rapid, harsh smacks that echo in the tiled bathroom.
The sharp sting makes you gasp, your flesh blooming red under his touch. He soothes the burning skin with his large palms, the contrast of roughness and tenderness making your head spin.
"Such a pretty color on you," he murmurs appreciatively before gripping your hips again.
He slams back into you without warning, even deeper than before. Your legs nearly give out. He slows his pace slightly, making each thrust more deliberate, more punishing.
"You wanted to act like a bitch? Fine. Now you're getting fucked like one. No relief. Just me, using this tight little pussy until I'm satisfied."
The bathroom door swings open. You freeze, a gasp caught in your throat as humiliation washes over you. Through the mirror, you see the woman from earlier pause in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.
Your hands fly back, trying to push Yunho away, to create any distance between your bodies, but your arms feel like lead.
His arm circles your chest, pulling you upright against him until your back is flush with his chest. The new angle allows him to drive into you even deeper, his hips snapping with more intensity.
Defeated, you rest your head on his shoulder, your eyes rolling back involuntarily, your mind going blank with overwhelming pleasure. You can't think, can't speak. You can only feel him filling you so good.
"Don't get embarrassed now," Yunho snarls in your ear, his thrusts never faltering. He doesn't even look at the intruder. His eyes are boring into yours in the mirror, a silent, possessive challenge. "Let her see who makes you feel this good. Let her see what my woman looks like when she's being properly fucked."
Your hand shoots out, gripping his wrist desperately to maintain your balance as your knees threaten to give out. Your other hand presses flat against the sink surface, fingers splayed wide as you try to anchor yourself.
The woman watches for another second before muttering an apology and backing out quickly, pulling the door closed behind her.
Yunho lets out a dark chuckle. "Good girl. You did so well."
When one particularly loud moan escapes, he covers your mouth with his hand.
"Shhh, baby. I know, believe me, I know." He groans low when you squeeze around him involuntarily. "You know I love hearing you, dove, but I'd rather not have security escort us out of a restaurant I spent three weeks getting reservations for."
Then he replaces his hand with two fingers in your mouth. You immediately suck and lick them, drool falling down your chin. He bites his own lip as he watches you, his eyes dark with hunger.
"Fuck," Yunho groans, his eyes darkening with pure devotion and angry lust. "That's it. So pretty."
He guides your chin toward the mirror, forcing you to look at your reflection.
"Look at you," he murmurs against your temple. "So beautiful when you're falling apart for me."
Your body is like putty against him, your dress disheveled with one strap fallen down your shoulder, your hair a mess, mascara smudged beneath your eyes.
He removes his fingers from your mouth, slick with your saliva, and traces them over your lips.
"Watch," he commands softly.
Then his hand slides down your body, finding your clit. He begins circling it, watching how easily you respond to his touches in your reflection with such intensity it feels like he's devouring you. Your hips buck against his hand, against his cock still buried inside you.
"Now, since you were so good... you can come," he pants against your lips. "Come for me, Dove. Squeeze my fucking cock."
That's all it takes. Your orgasm tears through you, violent and overwhelming. You scream his name, your body convulsing as your vision whites out.
He follows you over the edge a minute later with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, hips jerking with the force of his release.
He grabs your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back. He cradles your face with his other hand, forcing you to meet his gaze as he continues to thrust through his orgasm.
"I love you," he breathes, desperate and raw. "God, I love you so much." he grunts as he pulses inside you.
"Love you too," you whisper, tears in your eyes. "So much."
Before you can say more, his mouth crashes against yours. It's not a kiss of gentleness, but of raw, overwhelming need. It's sloppy and desperate, filled with spit and drool as your tongues clash.
He kisses you like he's trying to breathe you in. It's uncoordinated and filthy, a perfect counterpoint to the tender words just spoken, a testament to the storm of emotions raging between you.
He stays there for a moment, breathing heavily against your mouth, the only sounds in the room your ragged breaths.
Then, as quickly as the intensity began, it softens. He pulls out gently, and you feel his warmth leave you. He uses a handful of tissues to carefully clean you up, his touch impossibly tender now.
"Can't have my perfect girl leaking all over her pretty dress," he teases softly.
He helps you stand, your legs trembling, and pulls your dress back down into place. He turns you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as he wipes away the tear tracks and smudged mascara with his thumbs.
"I've got you," he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your nose, your lips. "You did so good for me. So perfect."
He helps you fix your hair then. The same fingers that had tangled mercilessly through it only minutes ago now move with impossible care, smoothing down loose strands before tucking them neatly behind your ear.
He straightens the stubborn strap back to your shoudler, brushes an invisible crease from your waist, then steps back to inspect his work with quiet satisfaction.
Only after deeming you presentable again does he adjust his own tie and smooth his jacket, slipping effortlessly back into the composed man who walked into the restaurant.
"There."
Your hand flies instinctively to your shoulder.
"Oh, absolutely not."
Yunho catches your wrist before your fingers reach the mark. His mouth twitches.
"You did that."
"I think it suits you."
You glare at him. He doesn't look remotely sorry. A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest as he leans in, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead.
"My beautiful girl."
The words settle warmly beneath your ribs.
"So now you'll fuck me in public," you murmur, "but I'm not allowed to hide the evidence?"
His smile is small. Unapologetic.
"No."
The answer is so simple, so certain, that your heart forgets how to beat for a second.
When you step back into the restaurant, Yunho reaches for your hand without hesitation. His fingers weave through yours naturally, like they've done it a thousand times before. Firm enough that you couldn't pull away if you wanted to. Gentle enough that it feels less like possession and more like certainty.
You barely make it a few steps before your free hand flies to your shoulder.
"This is awful."
A quiet laugh escapes him.
"You seemed very enthusiastic about it five minutes ago."
"Yunho."
His smile only deepens. You try to pull your hair over the marks blooming across your skin. Yunho simply brushes it back over your shoulder again, his fingertips lingering for the briefest second.
"Stop."
"No."
"They're going to see."
His eyes flick toward you, warm with something that makes your chest tighten.
"I know."
You stare at him. He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. The meaning settles somewhere beneath your ribs before you can stop it.
Then you see her. Still sitting at her table. Still talking to the people around her. Your entire body locks.
"No."
Yunho doesn't even slow down.
"No."
"Dove."
"I am not walking past her."
"You are."
"I'll die."
"You won't."
You make one last pathetic attempt to hide behind him, but he only chuckles softly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before lifting it between you. His lips brush across your knuckles. Your breath catches.
Before you can recover, he leans down and presses another absentminded kiss against your temple as you walk, the gesture so effortless it almost feels unconscious. Like this is simply what he does when you're together. Like loving you has become muscle memory.
The woman looks up. Recognition flashes across her face. Her eyes fall to your joined hands. To the kiss. To the way Yunho never once lets go of you.
Heat rushes to your cheeks so quickly you're convinced the entire restaurant can feel it. But Yunho keeps walking as though nothing remarkable has happened, guiding you back to the table with the same calm confidence he'd walked in with an hour earlier.
This time, however, he pulls your chair out first.
His hand lingers briefly against the back of your seat before he walks around to his own, settling opposite you with infuriating composure.
You reach for your wine immediately. Desperately, because you need it. Bad.
"You never finished your risotto."
You blink over the rim of your glass.
"That's your concern right now?"
"It’s expensive."
You stare at him, waiting for the joke. It never comes. His mouth twitches just enough to betray him as he reaches for his own wine.
Around you, the restaurant carries on exactly as it had before. Cutlery clinks against porcelain. Conversations overlap. Someone laughs near the window. You're convinced every single one of them knows.
Yunho, meanwhile, opens the dessert menu as though the last twenty minutes never happened. He flips a page, the corners already beginning to curl beneath his fingers.
"So," he says, glancing up briefly. "Do we want the tiramisu?"
You swirl the last of your wine around your glass.
"Do we?"
His mouth twitches.
"Good point." He turns another page. "Chocolate soufflé?"
You don't answer. You simply keep looking at him. Long enough that he eventually lowers the menu, meeting your eyes over the edge of it.
"What?"
You tilt your head, pretending to consider the question.
"I kind of hate you."
A quiet smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. Small. Certain.
"No," he says. "You really don't."
You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrays you before your face can.
For the first time all evening, silence settles comfortably between you. No misunderstandings hiding beneath it. No sharp edges waiting to catch. Just the familiar quiet that has always belonged to the two of you.
You shift in your chair, wincing almost imperceptibly as the heels remind you how long you've been wearing them.
Yunho notices immediately. His eyes drop beneath the table for half a second before returning to your face.
"They're hurting."
It isn't a question. You sigh dramatically.
"A little."
Without another word, he extends one hand beneath the tablecloth, palm open.
"Give me your foot."
You eye him suspiciously.
"...Didn't we already establish that was a terrible idea?"
A slow smile appears at the corner of his mouth.
"Which is why I'm asking for your foot." His eyes meet yours. "Not your ideas."
Heat creeps up your neck.
"Yunho."
"I'm choosing to believe you've learned from the experience."
You wisely keep your mouth shut. Judging by the look in his eyes, the only thing Yunho enjoys more than winning is watching you realize you've lost.
His hand pats his thigh twice, waiting patiently. "Foot."
You know that tone. The one that isn't asking because it already knows you'll give in.
With an exaggerated sigh, you shift in your seat. One leg first, then the other. A moment later, both feet are on his lap. The movement is practiced. Unremarkable between you now, which is its own kind of problem.
"This time I'd like you to keep it above my knee."
You nearly choke on your wine.
"Yunho."
"Too soon?"
You can hear the smile in his voice long before you see it.
His hand settles around your ankle, thumb pressing slow circles into the sore skin. Then, almost absent-mindedly, his fingers find the tiny buckle fastening your heel.
You frown.
"...What are you doing?"
"Fixing the problem."
Before you can protest, he unfastens the delicate strap with practiced fingers, easing the shoe from your foot as carefully as though it were made of glass. He sets it beside his leg beneath the table, then repeats the motion with the other one.
The relief is immediate. A quiet breath escapes you before you can stop it. Yunho pretends not to notice.
He simply settles both of your bare feet across his lap again, one broad hand wrapping gently around your arches while his thumb works patiently at the muscles that have been aching since you left the apartment.
It's so automatic. So unceremonious. Like this isn't an act of devotion at all, just another item on the list of ways he takes care of you.
You watch him for a long moment. He doesn’t look up. That, more than anything, makes you smile.
“You’re being weird.”
"Hm?"
"You're... affectionate."
That earns you his attention. He looks up from the menu, genuinely considering the accusation.
“I’m always affectionate.”
You give him a look.
"You are." You hesitate, searching for words that don't sound quite so vulnerable. "Just... not where people can see."
Something shifts in his expression. Because he's realizing you aren’t accusing him. You’re simply telling him how lonely you felt.
His hand stays on your ankle.
“Maybe I should’ve been.”
The words are quiet enough that no one else could hear them. They don't sound like an apology. They sound better than one.
Across the room, your eyes catch the woman for just a second. Her eyes dip beneath the table for just a moment, lingering where Yunho's hand rests around your ankle as though it's the most natural place in the world for it to be.
For a heartbeat, you wait for the embarrassment to come. It doesn't. You look back at him instead.
"So. Chocolate soufflé then?" Yunho asks.
"Get both," you murmur, nodding toward the menu.
His grin is immediate. "I was hoping you'd say that."
You laugh, shaking your head as his thumb absentmindedly traces another circle over your skin.
Dessert arrives a few minutes later. Your feet never leave his lap. Neither does his hand.
Conversation returns as though it had never been interrupted. Work. Travel. Which wine is better. Ordinary things. Comfortably ordinary.
And somewhere between the first spoonful of tiramisu and the last sip of wine, you realize the knot in your chest is gone. Not because the evening had been perfect. Because when it stopped being perfect, the two of you chose each other anyway.
He stopped in his tracks at the demand- particularly the choice of words-, before doing a swift one 180, raising a brow as he glanced around before looking down, short-
You stood there arms crossed, staring up at the moron as you frowned, intended on not letting him go to class in that attire, you had a reputation to uphold. It did not matter to you if he and his hooligan friends were smart, especially if they decided that their intellect justified being poorly written thugs, the ones written as extras in a movie. To be fair, you just assumed they had cheated and made it into your class this year, no way eight students who consecutively remained in section D since middle school and half of high school just managed to bump into section A in their last year.
San blinked at you before walking towards you, registering how you slowly began to walk backwards, until your back was pressed against a wall. Perfect. Placing each palm flat beside your head he leaned closer, snickering when someone behind him, probably Mingi telling him to “Back off, I heard it bites.”
The moment he had tilted his head to glance at his friend you did exactly what he was warned of, which he realised the moment he felt a mind numbing pain between his legs, a hand slipping off the wall as he almost toppled onto you, only to fling backwards when your head collided with his nose- the sheer amount of pain that he was not used to only lead to an unforeseen event, especially when his vision turned black.
.
“I can't believe you got me in trouble.”
San, who was pinching his nose with a tissue, head titled back, resting against the cold wall of the infirmary, unsure of how he let this happen in the first place, side eyed you at the statement, much to your displeasure.
You sat there, one leg crossed over the other, reading a book, trying to calm yourself down. The nerve of the councillor to drag you in this too, adding a ‘Your reaction was a bit too much’ when both of you were getting an earful.
“You almost broke my nose?” He mumbled earning an eyeroll from you as you slammed your book close and got up, huffing to yourself, a hand reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear, only to freeze. He raised a brow at the way your eyes widened, touching your left ear, your right hand instinctively shooting up to touch the other ear as you gasped to yourself, “My earring- shit.”
Before he could even register what you had said you had run off, book in hand, ignoring a group of girls who waved at you- pretentious princess indeed.
.
“Man, she did a number on ya, huh?”
He side eyed Wooyoung who was lounging on a bean bag, San's favourite purple bean bag, tsk, before looking in the wall mirror hanging before him, tilting his head to examine the blue-ish bruising around his nose that was secured by an ugly bandaid, tsk.
“Word on the street is that Choi Mountain was taken down by a gremlin.” the youngest, who was apparently busy smashing buttons on the console controller like he was in some form of rush, which he was considering in an hour he had to go for math coaching with Mingi and Yunho, who at this very moment too, were playing a uno at the round small table in the corner of the room.
“I was not taken down by anyone, how'd I know she's a gremlin!?” He huffed, fighting his blazer off and throwing it on the bed, there was something pinching him between his shoulders every time he moved. He ripped his shirt off and threw it on the floor, followed by a loud groan, flexed his shoulders, kicked the discarded shirt only to raise a brow as something golden and shiny caught his eye.
“Hmm~ what's that Sannie~” Wooyoung sang, now standing right next to the boy who huffed in annoyance, when the younger one picked up the bloodied shirt, plucking the shiny item from the fabric- an earring, no ...her earring.
“I knew you two were gonna get rough, but this is new.”
He rolled his eyes at the statement before snatching the earring out of Wooyoung’s hand, thinking of how it belonged to the person responsible for his bruised nose. Should he return it to her? Should he blackmail her, asking her to apologise first? Or should he just throw it away and pretend he never saw it-
“Give it back to her.”
He visibly shivered at the calm voice, noting how the room had gone silent, craning his neck to look at the empty room, next to him calmly stood Knag Yeosang, the angelic faced beast of the bunch. The blond man nudged San’s shoulder, gesturing towards the earring, “It’s important, give it back.”
Choi San scoffed, flopping down on the bed, raising the earring up into view as he stared at the small gold loop, “How do you know? Rich kids can afford things like these, especially if they’re as pretentious as her.”
His friend let out a soft chuckle, before his deep voice resonated with words heavy enough to have the blue nosed teen swiftly sit up, and look around the vacant room, a form of guilt settling within the pit of his conscious, “Can’t afford to replace something that belonged to her late mother, no?”
.
Walking down the corridor, hands stuffed in his pockets, he twirled the piece of jewellery with his fingers inside his pocket, unsure of how to give it to her. He had spent the whole night thinking about it, which led him to hunt you down online, trying to do a background search. Information is vital, as Hongjoong would always say- know your enemy.
Somehow everything he learnt about you would agitate him. You were the eldest daughter out of two siblings- no wonder you were so bossy. You were the head editor of the school page, sharing your weekly blogs, a lot to say huh, princess? Your grades were perfect, which would explain why you were present in so many posts on the school page, how did you get time to study when you were part of all these activities? You would do a lot of volunteer work too, of course you would, one needs to wash off their sins after assaulting poor defenseless students like him. What irked him the most was that after two hours of looking through your posts on the school page was that, once he was done with that, he had come to the realisation, your personal account was completely private, he could find nothing on your- nada.
So, at the moment, the sleep deprived lad dragged his feet across the corridor at 7 a.m. , trying to reach the AP-math class on time, even though he was perhaps a few minutes late, what worried him more was his latter fear, will I be able to stay awake during class?
The answer was no. No, he could not and did not stay away, only woke up to a soft touch, something or someone caressing his nose, he hummed to himself, somewhat relieved at the light touch, almost like someone was stroking a cat- he wasn’t a cat though! Swiftly sitting up straight, taking a deep breath as he looked around, the empty classroom, must have been his imagination. With a heavy sigh he began to collect his things, only to pause at the new addition on his desk, a small bandaid pack- is that…
.
Mingi raised the box up towards the sky, admiring how the metallic material on the boxshined, , a mini rainbow under the light of the setting sun, “My Melody and Cinnamonroll, cute- did you know Cinnamonroll’s a guy?”
San raised a brow at the taller male, making a face at the fact- which he was already aware of by the way- before glancing at Wooyoung who was quietly walking beside them, too quietly.
“You know the gremlin is in this class with us.”
The two looked at the boy with fox-like features, waiting for him to continue his brilliant deductive skills, or lack thereof, before the two would shoot it down.
“I think she gave it to ya, she’s usually on clean up duty anyway, and knowing she broke your nose means you can hold it against her- you should definitely blackmail her.”
“No.”
Both Mingi and Wooyoung stopped in their tracks to look at San who averted his gaze, mumbling an, “Gonna buy strawberry milk,” as he jogged into the nearest store, ignoring how the two snickered at his blunt response. To be fair, he wasn’t all mighty and nice, did he think of blackmailing her? Yes, but something had begun to fester within, especially when Wooyoung had mentioned the culprit behind the bandaids- the gremlin. As much as he’d try to deny it, the idea of it being you, the thought that it was you who was gently caressing his nose, you who watched him silently sleep, you who gave him the bandaids, was something he….liked?
“You know, women like men with scars.”
He chuckled at the statement of the taller giant, both staring at the various brands of strawberry milk, “Yeah? Who told you that, Song?”
“Maomao- though that was for Jinshi who is pretty, you on the other hand- eww ugly!”
.
Wooyoung patiently waited outside for the two, leaning against the cycle stand, staring at the lavender sky, man, winter autumn was almost over, and he hated winter, hated the snow, hated how it always brought with it was the cold bitter end of everything, which included their time in highschool- their last year, final year before they would step into a more ruthless, a more serious world. Till then he had promised himself to make most of whatever time they had left, but he could see how this upcoming end was taking a toll on all of them, that’s why he had thought of bringing up an all boys trip- though San’s recent antics had diverted their attention, not to mention how today had been one of the weirdest days he’d witnessed and he was sure that twinky boy in a mountains body had not noticed how the gremlin may have taken a liking to him, almost like how a little girl finds a stray kitten and refuses to let go.
“Are you Ch-Choi San?”
Great, just when he thought this day couldn’t get any weirder. The boy raised a brow, looking around before glancing down at a shorter boy- pfft nerd- standing there in his school uniform, wearing a bag a few sizes bigger too bigger than his own frame.
“Who wants to know?”
“T-today’s y-your last day, delinquent!”
.
San ran out of the shop, hot on Song’s trail who was screaming like a maniac before slamming into the boy who had abruptly stopped, forcing him to clutch his already bruised nose in pain, groaning, “The hell Song?”
“You know this kid, San?”
Gently pushing Mingi aside, San came face to face with Wooyoung, who was holding a kid- middle schooler for sure- up in the air by his collar, shaking him a bit, causing his glasses to fall. Unfortunately, he did not know who that was, more importantly, what concerned him more was the anger in Wooyoung’s eyes- the silly fox of the group, the boy would never attack, only react, most of all, the lad who never fought someone weaker than him.
“I…don’t, drop him Wooyoung.” he mumbled, raising his gently wrapping his fingers around the shorter one’s wrist, “Come on.”
“So, you-” Wooyoung shook the boy furiously, causing his glasses to slip off, luckily caught by San before they could fall onto the concrete pavement and break, “Just decided to take a swing at me, even though you’ve never met San? Did someone put you up to this or are you just stupid?” Wooyoung pulled him closer, staring at him dead in the eyes, a form of disrespect swirling in the smaller boy’s eyes, a kind of look he’d seen before, something snobby, something pretentious, something-
“I-I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”
That’s it.
.
The three high schoolers stared at the freshman who sat on the bench, who was sitting there, hands clasped together, hunched over, staring at the ground teary eyed, much like a guilty puppy. San sighed and placed his glasses beside him on the bench before kneeling closer and pouting, “Little man, I don’t think your sister would appreciate knowing you're picking fights…especially with us.”
“W-well what am I supposed to do?” he glared up at San teary eyed, he looked cute, like an angry little pup, San had to stop the urge of ruffling the kid’s hair, messing it up even more than Wooyoung had messed up while shaking him, “Ever since you took you down-”
The poor lad couldn’t even finish his sentence when two out of three- definitely not San- burst out laughing, much like hyenas, clapping like seals and squawking like eagles, one on his knees the other hunched over like he was about to hurl his lunch. Typical. This is exactly why San couldn’t have a moment of peace! He glanced towards the boy who sat there as red as a tomato, blushing either with anger or embarrassment, something San could not address because as soon as the words reached the tip of his tongue a loud booming caused all of them by surprise.
“KANG JI-HOO!”
The three of them turned around to see the gremlin stopping towards them, pulling her blazer closer to her frame, causing San to frown, why was she wearing a blazer, it wasn’t chilly today- most of them weren’t wearing it, including other prefects. He also noticed how the younger boy shivered, quickly standing up as you stomped closer, stopping a foot away from them, as if they were…infectious.
“Come here, right now.”
Wooyoung raised a brow at the tone before pulling Ji-hoo back to him, holding him by the back of his collar, “Those who instigate do not get to make demands, princess.”
Within a second your eyes met San, a pleading look meeting his cold stare, enough for his cold facade to falter- that wasn’t a command, no, you were afraid, afraid of…them.
“Well, Ji-hoo, won’t you tell your sister how you-”
“I apologise on his behalf.”
Well, they weren’t expecting that. Not when you did a proper 90 degrees bow, repeating your apology, “I apologise for his foolishness…please… let him go.”
Before Wooyoung could react San slapped his wrist, lightly, but enough for his grip to recoil, allowing the boy to run to his sister, to you, and for a split second San noticed the fear, once more, in your eyes as you scanned him up at down before pushing him away, as if urging him to leave, which he reluctantly did, before she turned to look at the three.
“Your brother started the fight-” Mingi tried to explain, only to be cut off.
“I apologised for it. Stay away from him. Stay away from us,” you spat, before turning around to leave, only to whimper when you felt someone wrap their fingers around your wrist, turning you back around.
San frowned at the sound that escaped your lips, his hold was gentle, as if he was holding a kitten, and he’d know how to do that. His blank stare met your trembling eyes, noticing how you started to pull away, especially when he pushed back your sleeve, only for your to shove him back with your free hand, causing him to stumble back, shocked at the force, even more so hurt by your words, “I said stay away! Especially you, you jerk!”
With that you had run away in the direction that you had sent your brother in earlier, not looking back even once. San stood there confused and hurt, he knew you two were different, worlds apart- but this was…not something he would expect from you.
.
“She literally head butted you and broke your nose, you should have expected at least that much.”
Wooyoung’s words echoed in his head as he flopped down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling before fishing something out of his pocket staring at the earring, a scoff escaping his lips as he tossed it across the room, ignoring the clink he heard as soon as it collided with the ground, instead curling into himself as he picked up his phone, deciding to doom scroll when he noticed Yeo’s text,
“What happens when someone conquers a mountain?”
Why…was he always so cryptic?
.
You took a swift turn, to think they would follow you to school was insane, especially when you had done everything in your power to blend in with the normal students. If you’d survive this hunt, you’d definitely let the school management know about the poor security system. If, you’d survive. Who knew almost breaking Choi San’s nose would basically bring you closer to your demise.
It started a day after you had done that, right after math class, you’d stay back to clean up, only to finally turn around to a loud snore. Your eye twitched at the sight of the man hunched over his desk, drooling on his desk, snoring away without a worry in the world. Must be nice to be like that. You had approached him cautiously, a bit afraid because of his feral feline instincts- that and you had assaulted him a day ago. Chuckling to yourself you leaned closer, blinking at him, inspecting the damage, the blushing halo around his nose, an ugly bandaid on the bridge of his nose, he looked so…calm…so…hand-blushing at the thought, oh my god, Maomao was right. Leaning closer you gently caressed the bandaid, smiling at the way his furrowed eyebrows relaxed, before placing something on his desk and walking out, maybe he was tired- you’d apologise to him properly later.
INCORRECT.
You were NOT going to apologise to him! God forbid you involve yourself with a hooligan and suddenly your life’s turned upside down. Since that day, random bullies- no- random jerks from different schools had been trying to ‘take you down’ all because - apparently- you had taken down Choi San, Ateez’s mountain. As amusing as that was, you had learned quickly that teenage boys are stupid and irrational, which is why none you had been trying to avoid since that day listened to you, or your explanation, a bit too excited at the sight of a girl they could ‘touch’. If that wasn’t bad enough, just yesterday, you had almost been caught, one of the guy’s had gripped your wrist so hard that your scream was loud enough to alert a security guard near by, giving you enough time to escape, running to the nearest part, where you…you saw them…him, cornering your little Ji-hoo.
Granted, once Ji-hoo had explained what had happened you had come to one final conclusion, all men are stupid, genes just don’t affect them. To be fair, his actions were sweet, but very illogical, and if San and his friends had not cleaned up their acts this year, if they were still the same guys as last year, they really would have made an example out of your brother, especially Wooyoung and San.
One more turn and you’d reach the back grounds, from there you could run around the school to the main gates, finally escaping, sweet freedom, or so you thought, for as soon as you took the last left you collided with something, almost falling, only to be held in place with a firm grip around your waist, your head instantly shooting up to look at the new source of dangers, words leaving quicker than you could register who it was, “I am actually a boy.”
San blinked at you quietly before slowly leaning closer, pulling you flush against him when you tried to pull away, the tip of his poorly abused nose kissing yours, “Oh good, I prefer little boys actually- DON’T YOU DARE!!” with his free hand he gripped the top of your head, glaring at you, which was not working, considering you had been too busy staring at the pink My Melody bandaid plastered on his nose, that and you were a bit ashamed of how he had deduced you were, once again going to headbutt him.
With a small pout you gently pushed against him, only for him to grip your wrist, eying you carefully when you flinched, “What happened?”
“Apparently everyone thinks I whooped you good.”
He only chuckled at your response before bumping his forehead with yours, causing you to whine, using your other hand to rub the sore spot, only for him to gently pull you behind him when he heard someone call out your name, “You think you’ll owe me after this?” he asked casually only to let out a boyish hearty laugh at your response.
“I promise to never headbutt you again.”
Frankly, after the first boy had landed on the ground, unconscious, the will of the others began to waiver, especially when they realised something, looking up at something behind you, causing you to turn to look at the same - oh. Behind you, from the open balcony, a few feet above the ground was the rest of them, lazily lounging around, but you knew they were prepared, which was evident by the way the other Choi of the group sat on the railing, legs dangling off, their captain leaning over the railing, staring quietly, waiting for someone to make a move, only for the high pitched fox-eyed member to cut through the silence, “Hurry up Choi! Before she headbutts you again!”
Just like that something snapped within the man in front of you, which led you to cover your eyes with your hands, peaking through your fingers ever so often to make sure he was not hurt- he was not, not a scratch on him, which you noticed when he walked closer, wrapping his fingers around your wrists as he gently peeled your hands off your face, smiling at you sweetly, “Let’s go?”
.
You sat next to him, staring at the apple juice in your hands, before turning to look at him only to catch him already staring- freak.
“You should have told me this was happening.”
You nodded at his statement, mumbling, “I thought you wouldn’t help me after what I did,” tilting your head you averted your gaze, choosing to stare at his hands instead, his reddened knuckles, those were not the hands of someone who would choose to let you suffer.
“Of course I would have…you apologised to me already…no?”
“Huh?”
“Y-you did leave…these…” he pointed at the bandaid on his nose, looking at you expectantly, “Right?”
You nodded quietly, sighing, “I did…I…I’m also sorry about what I said yesterday.” Your grip on the juice tightened, somewhat relieved that your brother was safe, but all this trouble could have been avoided if you had just talked to him? You almost risked your brother’s safety because of your own pride-
He ignored the way you flinched at his touch, eyes widening at the way he leaned closer, tucking your hand behind your ear, noticing how you wore an earring only on one ear, mumbling, “You…lost something that day…right?” He didn’t pull back when you nodded, especially when you let his hand trail down your arm to your bruised wrist, fingertips gently stroking the tainted skin mindlessly, “How did Yeo know they belonged to your mother?”
“He’s my cousin.”
Exhaling through his nose he closed his eyes for a moment, ignoring the way you snickered, definitely laughing at how dumb he was, was this a trait every member of the Kang family had?
“So…you gonna give it back to me?” you asked, smiling up at him, only for him to roll his eyes and place something in your open palm, mumbling how stupid this was, and how he actually assumed you and Yeo had something going on and he’d have to win you over.
“I mean, I prefer men with scars anyway.” with that you stood up and pecked his cheek, leaving the boy speechless and stunned, waving at him as you skipped your way to your first class, only to end up running when you heard his hurried footsteps, probably demanding you give him something in return, since you had just left two things, your lost earring and his heart.
╰┈➤ in which: wooyoung calls you while you’re out with your friends but hes home all by himself…. the poor thing uhuhuuu ㅠㅠ (that freak)
pairing: jung wooyoung x gf reader
˗ˏˋ wc: 532 >.o
contains : writing & texts, fluff, suggestive, wooyoung is a tease and annoying and embarrassing and cocky and horny, banter, bad dirty jokes, reader is sarcastic and maybe a little mean (it's with love ❤️) (dw he likes it), established relationship, mostly dialogue, reader is referred to as girlfriend and woman, implied switch wooyoung & reader, nicknames used - woo, beautiful, baby, lowercase intended <3
i want u so bad jung wooyoung pls hmu… 👅👅👅
9:42 PM
brrrring… brrrring…
[ INCOMING CALL - wooyo 💗🐈⬛ ]
you were enjoying a night with your friends at a local bar, but you sigh dramatically at your phone and lower your voice.
“hi, woo.”
“hiiii,” he drags out the syllable like a kid. “am i on speaker?”
“no… why? don't start being weird just ‘cause no one else can hear you,” you mutter, aware of his embarrassing track record.
“i would never!”
all men do is lie.
“yeah, yeah, what do you want?” you ask, rolling your eyes.
“why so hostile? i miss you.” this kiss-ass.
your friends laugh next to you and you sigh, suddenly fond.
“i’ll be home later, baby.”
“why not now, beautiful? i know you miss me too.”
“i’m gonna hang up,” you deadpan.
“nonono i’m sorry, don’t cut me off,” he says hurriedly and you can hear something like sheets shifting under him, like he's rolling onto his side.
“woo, i’ll be home in a bit, did you need me for something or are you just talking to talk?”
“oh, i need you alright…,” you can feel the grin on his face and the scoff in his voice.
“uh-huh. well, i’m gonna go. text me if you actually need anything.”
the red hang up button is millimeters from your fingertip when-
“wait wait wait! please, not yet,” he rushes, whiny and impatient.
“don't tell me you’re fucking jerking off.”
“what?! don’t say things like that, you’re so perverted…” he sounds oddly offended.
“i’m the perverted one?”
“well, yes.”
“sure.” annoyance sparks in your chest. can this guy get a grip…
“you know i’m not alone right now.”
“mhm.”
“everyone can hear my side of this.”
“mhm.”
“you’re doing this on purpose, aren't you?”
“maybe a little bit.”
there’s a pause. wooyoung makes a sound, and you get ticked off another degree, despite the way his soft voice feels in your ear.
“i just really want my girlfriend,” wooyoung pouts.
“did you lie to me when you said you weren't jerking off?”
“do you think i’m that shallow???... i’m not jerking off, i promise. kinda.”
“what the hell does that mean?”
“i just keep thinking about before you left, when you were being so nice, so good for me.”
“wooyoung.”
“you sounded so pretty. i’m so lucky to be your favorite stress relief.”
“you’re lucky i’m not there right now.”
…
he voice drops - just a little, ridiculously intimate and definitely too much for a phone call in a busy bar.
“so… when you get home…”
“you are so embarrassing,” you mutter as your cheeks turn a traitorous pink.
“what? i’m a yearner, i can't help it.”
“don’t say that, you’re just horny.”
“guilty as charged.”
“you’re not slick, wooyoung.”
“i don't know, i feel pretty slick.”
“oh my god, can you be normal for five seconds?”
“but you’re mad at me and you’re so beautiful and i bet you’re wearing that sexy outfit i like which is so fucking unfair because i can't even see y–”
beeeeep.
you hung up.
wooyoung sits speechless on the sheets, miles away, and scoffs with a grin and his dick hard in his sweatpants, an empty shot glass on the bedside table. he watches the call screen switch back to your messages and pokes his cheek with his tongue.
masterlist ───────────── @my1003soda 2026 <3
lmk if you guys like this i enjoyed writing it, if u caught the reference ur a real one 👀
A short drabble of a slightly possessive!choi jongho
a/n:
hi loves!! sorry I havent really been posting, and especially sorry that this isn't even a full fic just a short lil ramble of possessive!jongho cause ive been so whipped for that man recently its crazy
— ᨳଓ Pairing:
bf!choi jongho x female!reader
— ᨳଓ Audience:
smut
— ᨳଓ Word Count:
562 (short drabble)
— ᨳଓ Tags:
possessive!choi jongho, soft dom!choi jongho, scent kink, thigh riding, hand job, nothing is explicitly explained, just some cute sentences of how id think jongho would act, smitten!choi jongho
Thinking about soft!dom Jongho, who absolutely loves to spoil you rotten. He loves seeing you in whatever he's bought, an almost primal instinct growing in him at the sight.
But also how absolutely feral he would get whenever you decided to wear a shirt of his. How you smelled exactly like him, wherever you went.
How shamelessly possessive he would get the second another member lent you a hoodie or shirt cause you were cold, knowing that he wasn't mad at you or the band member, but the fact that their smell now overshadowed his own.
How he'd pull your naked core flush against his clothed leg as you whine from the friction—thick, strong hands pushing you down as he guided your hips back and forth.
You would nestle your face into his neck, feeling delirious and overwhelmed all over as your senses were filled with his smell and from pleasure.
The unevenness of his chest rising up and down, a staggered breath leaving his slightly parted lips being the only sign of how affected he was, too.
How, no matter how many times you begged for his cock, his fingers would dig deeper into the skin of your hips to stop you from grinding down further.
“P-please, Jong—ah—please.”
“You'll stay just like this, baby. Until every nook and cranny of your body smells like me.”
How the man would just stare at you, eyes half lidded but irises so dark with lust you felt like prey under his gaze.
“Just like that, so good for me, princess.” Jongho would say with a growl, your wetness seeping through his clothes from how deliciously turned on you were.
How he would fight with all his might to keep his eyes from shutting, to just let his arousal overtake him while the sounds of your needy, desperate whines clung to him like a melody he never wanted to end.
How he'd eventually free his achingly hard cock that had been neglected for far too long, not able to resist how beautifully yet shamelessly you'd rub against the muscles of his thighs, sweat mixing from your foreheads touching.
How he'd chuckle when your eyes met his thick, swollen, red, flushed cock and whimper at the sight of it—hands coming down to wrap around it carefully, like you were afraid he'd swat your hand away any second.
How the two of you would come just like that, Jongho's mumbled praises threatening to pass the wall of pleasure your ears had put up, ringing as the world around you slowly morphed into a cloud.
How he had picked you up, the faint feeling of a soft shirt covering your body, along with delicate, soothing touches across your face, arms and wherever the man could reach.
How you had whined in frustration from the familiar warm, comforting body leaving your side—only to be met with something wet but so warm against your skin as he made sure you were clean.
How the two of you fell asleep like that, head resting soundly against his chest as he held you in his arms, the beat of his heart and the rise of his chest as he breathed, along with the gentle praise and soft kisses against the top of your head—reminding you that you are loved. And he will make sure you feel nothing less than exactly that.
warnings: minors dni !! barely proofread (oopsie i got too excited), dom!yungi, sub!reader, reader is lowk a flirt, degradation + condescending praise (they’re MEAN…), petnames (doll, baby, babydoll…) slight bondage (belt used to tie up hands), dacryphilia, light spanking (thighs + pussy), mxm action (mainly kissing and some touching), edging/orgasm denial, fingering, oral (both f! and m! rec.), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it gng !!), mention of safe word/signal, aftercare
w.c. 1.7k
a/n: my first request !! I had an absolute BALL writing this, I truly hope you enjoy lovelies !! (as always, feedback and comments are more than welcome)
You loved being a tease, your boyfriends knew that much. Getting all dolled up in a skimpy outfit, being oddly flirty with some other person, just to rile them up. And the best part? Yunho and Mingi loved being rough with their girl, it worked far too well for both sides.
Tonight, you’d gone with Mingi to eat at Hongjoong, Wooyoung, and Jongho’s apartment. You knew the three men very well, they were your boyfriends’ group mates after all. You were all sitting around the coffee table, takeout boxes, beer bottles, plates, cups, and plastic cutlery strewn about the surface. You sat between Mingi and Wooyoung, and he’d watched all night as you flirted with the younger man. Laughing a little too much at his jokes, leaning towards him as he spoke, seemingly innocent touches on his arm; Mingi could tell you were trying to get him worked up.
Wooyoung himself knew it was all in good fun, and so did you, he’d been a great friend of yours for years, and had actually been the one to introduce you to Yunho and Mingi in the first place. Even so, Mingi couldn’t stand your blatant flirting right in his face. To make matters worse for yourself, you had the most shit-eating smirk on your face every time you caught his eye, you knew what you were doing. And once the drinks and the food were through, you said your goodbyes and headed out.
“So, that was quite the little show you put on for me, doll. I’m sure Yunho will be thrilled to hear all about it…” you felt his hand on the back of your neck as he lead you back to the car. You were so fucked…just what you wanted.
—☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆—
The drive home was quiet, Mingi’s hand stayed on your thigh the whole way, heavy and warm. He parked the car, opened the passenger door for you and helped you out. “When we get inside, take your shoes off and go straight to the bedroom, no questions.” You obeyed, as soon as you unlocked the door you took off your sneakers, your socked feet padding down the hall to your shared bedroom.
“Mingi tells me we have a little attention whore on our hands, hm?” You heard Yunho’s voice before you saw him, sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread and arms bracing his torso as he leaned back. He waved you over with two fingers, to which you walked over to him immediately. His thighs bracketed your body as you stood between them, Mingi coming in soon after you. You felt his arms encircle your waist, holding you in place. “You know what happens when you act out like this…” he continued, looking you up and down with those dark eyes that made the heat pooling in your stomach flare.
Of course you knew. The rules were the same as always: no touching, no cumming until they said so. “Understood, baby?” You simply nodded, which earned you a smack to the back of your thighs. “Words.” You felt Mingi’s hand reach from behind you to grip your jaw.
“Yes…” your voice was soft, but loud enough for him not to make you repeat yourself. With that, they guided you down to the bed, shockingly gentle for two men who were about to ravage you.
Yunho positioned himself behind you, your back against his chest, while Mingi got between your legs, pulling them up and over his shoulders so you couldn’t close them, even if you wanted to. “Color?”
“Green…” your tone sounded sure, albeit a little meek. They gave each other a look, and then started right away. Mingi ate you out like a man starved, while Yunho snaked a hand around to rub at your clit. They worked in tandem, bringing you up to the edge over and over, then pulling away right before you’d cum.
They’d switch positions every once in a while, would make out above you as if you weren’t even there, as if you weren’t craving their lips on yours, one your neck, on your collarbones…safe to say you were getting impatient. In your haze of lust and frustration, your hands kept wandering, you really couldn’t help yourself. Their thighs, their hair, anything you could squeeze and pull and ground yourself with. At first, they’d simply smack your hands or pull their tongues and hands away until you’d behave; but they couldn’t stay so lenient for so long.
“I told you no touching…you just wanna make this worse for yourself, don’t you babydoll?” True to his word, Yunho gave Mingi a look, and in less than a minute your hands were bound behind your back by your boyfriend’s belt. Once you were secure, they got right back to work, and if anything they were worse. Mingi pressed his fingers down harder, rubbed faster, while Yunho’s tongue kept working at you, adding in his own fingers, curling them against that spongy spot inside of your walls. You couldnt take it anymore, the tears which had been welling up in your waterline finally streaming down your hot cheeks.
“Can’t— Please— Let me cum!” You managed to whine out between your broken sobs. They simply laughed at your tears, Mingi’s hand squeezing your cheeks together. Yunho added a third finger inside of you, while Mingi smacked your puffy, abused clit. You let our a wanton scream,
“You were acting like a fucking slut, so you’re getting treated like one. Isn’t this what you wanted baby? To get punished?” You couldn’t answer him, all you could do was sob louder, his tongue licking up your salty tears as they fell. You were straining against the belt on your wrists, more sobs breaking away from your chest as they took yet another orgasm away from your grasp. You’d lost count of how many times they’d edged you, by the time they pulled away you felt so dizzy and disoriented, didn’t even notice that they were undressing, all you felt was the loss of warmth. You whined, eyes half lidded, and then you noticed hands on your wrists, undoing your binds.
“Took your punishment so well, baby…gonna fuck you now, okay?” Yunho’s voices felt like velvet, his hand slithering around your neck, pulse beating against his fingers. He was laying next to you now.
“Yes please…” you managed to breath out, leaning into his touch. He kissed your cheek and you felt him smile into your skin.
“Hands and knees.” He softly smacked your thigh, and without a second thought you got in position. Mingi was now kneeling behind you, cock heavy and leaking in his hand. Yunho reached over, stroking the younger man a couple times before kissing him. You could hear Mingi moaning into his mouth, it was all spit and tongue and teeth. They finally broke away, and soon you felt Yunho’s tip against your lips.
“You know what to do, baby…” his hand caressed your hair, and immediately you opened your mouth, wrapping your lips around his cock. As you began bobbing your head, Mingi pushed his tip into you, bottoming out in one single thrust. You moaned loudly around Yunho, allowing him to push himself deeper. You choked and sputtered around him, his grip on your hair tightening as he began fucking your throat. Mingi rocked into you harder, hands gripping at your waist and your ass. You couldn’t even warn them when your first orgasm ripped through you, the scream you let out sent vibrations down Yunho’s cock.
“Such a fucking slut, you just needed to be dicked down to be put in your place, hm?” Yunho laughed to himself, his groans getting louder and more frequent. Soon, his thrusts got sloppier and he came down your throat, pulling your mouth off of his cock. You could barely stick your tongue out, with Mingi still pounding into you from behind, but you managed to show him you swallowed it all. “So good for me…you wanna cum again baby?” You nodded frantically, your sweet moans and whines finally spilling out as they were no longer muffled by you giving him head.
“Gonna fucking fill you up like a good cumslut…fuck— fuck— cum with me!” Mingi’s voice was reduced to a series of whines and moans as he pumped you full, triggering your own orgasm. You felt the tingling heat of it bloom across every limb, stars danced across your vision as you finally collapsed on the bed. He pulled out of your sopping cunt, watching in awe as his seed dripped out of you. He wanted so badly to fuck it back into you, but your body was spent, and frankly he was unsure he himself had the energy to do so. They helped you lay down against the pillows, then set themselves on either side of you.
“Hey baby, look at me…you okay?” Yunho smoothed a hand over your hair as he spoke, to which you nodded, far too fucked out to speak. Your eyes were starry, staring up at them with nothing but adoration and exhaustion.
“Wanna get cleaned up, doll…?” Mingi’s gaze searched yours, his hand rubbing mindlessly little patterns against your hip. You whined out a ‘yes’, and once the three of you caught your breath, you got up to shower. “Sure you don’t need help?” you shook your head, trying to get up on your own.
Mingi did end up carrying you; your legs felt like jelly. As they cleaned you up, they were so gentle, taking care of each other too. Yunho loved washing both of your hair, there was something soothing about running his hands through his lovers’ locks, the smooth suds of the shampoo. Once the three of you were all clean, you got into your pajamas and turned on whatever series you’d been binging this week. It felt safe, being between them, tuning out whatever silly pillow talk they were having as you drifted off. As much as you loved to be a brat, you truly did love your boys.
ddeonggrami 2026, do not publish or share to other platforms without permission.
taglist: @onlyforwoosan @rottingfictive (send an ask to be added)
trigger warning: minors do not interact. sensitive content ahead, read at your own risk.
word count: 22,5k
୨୧
y/n:
hey, it's san, you already know that. okay, you know i'm bad at this, so i'm sorry in advance. there might be a right way to write this and i don't think i know it, but for you i'll try. please don't judge the handwriting too much. or the wording, or how short or long it is. i rewrote the first part four times and it still feels bad. anyway, i'm sorry, here's the letter. i guess i should start from the beginning, no? is that stupid? i don't know. [scribbled] the first time i saw you was in that class we both didn’t want to be in. i don’t even remember what the professor was saying, but i remember you. you were leaning over the desk, hand on your cheek, resting your head. i remember thinking you looked easy to be around. i don’t know why, but it did. this is embarrassing but i think i knew i wanted to marry you way earlier than i probably should have. i didn’t say it, obviously, that would've been creepy. i just knew you looked so so pretty and now that i know you, you became so beautiful. not that you weren't beautiful before being with me, you always were, i'm just saying from my perspective just how mesmerized you had me from the start, you know? you are just so smart, so creative, so diligent. [scribbled] it's like when you balance numbers and they finally add up the way they’re supposed to, that's what it kind of felt like, but in the romantic way. i'm sorry i'm not good at expressing my feelings and all that, you know that better than anyone else. but i want you to know that choosing you has never felt like a decision i had to force myself into. i want this more than anything, with you. we have this apartment now. it’s small and the walls are kind of thin and the kitchen light flickers sometimes, but it’s ours. i keep thinking about how this is the place where everything will start. mornings, dinners, normal days, hard days, all of it. and i like knowing you’ll be here at the end of the day. i like knowing i get to come home to you. i promise i’ll take care of you. i promise i’ll work hard. [scribbled] i know i don’t always say what i’m thinking, but i feel things even when i don’t show them right. does that make sense? well, [scribbled] i’m really proud to be your husband. that still feels strange to write, but in a good way. i hope we grow old together. i hope we don’t stop choosing each other, even when life gets busy or complicated. i hope you always know that you’re my favorite person in the world, even if i forget to say it out loud sometimes. i’ll always try to try, even if i’m bad.
i love you.
san
tucked beneath the neatly folded cashmere sweaters, exactly where you left it. lace covered box, meant for letters he had promised to fill with, yet a year and a half later, only the first one stood alone. you weren't angry, not even sad. it actually made you chuckle a little. just a quiet grief for what had been started to root deep inside, for the vibrant colors that had softened into pastels, for the soft reverence in his eyes that had slowly faded into habit. you often found yourself staring at the box, a wry smile touching your lips.
the paper, once crisp, now yielded to countless revisits. you knew every word by heart, the rhythm of his awkward sincerity etched into your memory. you traced the faded ink. his handwriting, usually neat in ledgers, was a little clumsy here. each letter formed with an almost painful deliberation. it was short, a simple promise. a quiet declaration of his intent to build a life with you, to be your home. no extreme pronouncements of undying passion, but a solid foundation of devotion. san had never been one for grand gestures, at least not in words. his love manifested in the certainty of his presence, the steady rhythm of his life intertwined with yours. in fact, you had asked for the letter in the first place, at that diner right before receiving the keys to the apartment.
"a letter?" he'd shifted on his seat, a blush creeping up his neck. "i'm not... good with words, y/n."
you shook your head with an endeared smile. "you don't have to be shakespeare sannie, just you."
he seemed in thought for a moment, trying to resist looking at your puppy eyes asking pretty please before straightening his back, accepting the challenge. and he did. pen clutched tight, brows furrowed in concentration. you’d watched him, your heart swelling with a love so potent it felt like a physical ache. then when he finished, he slid it across the booth table, eyes avoiding yours with his shy offering.
now, the paper, soft as old linen, whispered between your fingertips. you didn't rush. each sentence, each carefully chosen word, you read them slowly, precious memory reexperiencie. tasting the hope, the fresh promise of that day when he later bought you the box, saying he'd get better at it and you'd have it spilling out with his loving written words. you ran your fingers over the intricate patterns of the lace, delicate threads contrasting the hollow space.
you folded the letter along it's original creases, the paper folding easily, and placed it back before checking your thight bun in the mirror, perfect posture, every single hair placed where it was meant to be. he still looked at you, of course, but the spark, the raw wonder, had dimmed. it wasn't his fault. life had a way of sanding down the sharp edges of infatuation, leaving behind the smooth, enduring stone of work life.
silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant city chorus. you tell yourself he just forgot. got busy, or thought one was enough. you're good at explaining things away. but when did trying turn into remembering? when did the promise of a future become the past?
the aroma of roasted chicken and rosemary filled the air, a comforting scent that tonight told a solitary performance. table was set, candles unlit, everything waiting for a moment that kept getting delayed. the antique clock sat on the mantelpiece. seven thirty, again. you waited for the familiar click of keys in the lock, the sound that usually signaled the end of day and the beginning of us.
when he comes in your head lifts before you even realize. smoothing your dress automatically, fingers brushing over fabric that was never wrinkled in the first place. a small smile already forming, reserved for him. san already halfway out of his shoes, shoulders slumped, a dark suit jacket draped over his arm. he didn’t glance at the table set for two, but knows everything looks exactly as it always does.
"hey," his voice tired, worn down. like business of the city still clung to him.
"hi," you answer, softer.
he leans in, presses a quick kiss to your temple. familiar, practiced.
"sorry i’m late," he adds, already loosening his tie as you walked towards the dining table. "we had to redo part of the quarterly report because... how do i put this- there was a discrepancy in one of the ledgers, and it threw off the whole reconciliation process. so we had to go back and..."
pulling out his chair. the heavy oak scraped across the polished floor. he loosened his tie, then unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. "had to redo a section. whole damn thing.” he ran a hand through his hair, already tousled from the day. “hours. just… hours.”
you watched him, spooning roasted vegetables onto his plate. you pushed his plate closer, then sat across from him. "must be frustrating," you offered, a soft murmur.
he picked up his fork, turning the chicken over. "frustrating doesn’t begin to cover it. the whole team, scrambling. for a single misplaced figure." he took a bite, chewed slowly. "it’s done now. mostly."
he keeps talking about work, deadlines, numbers, something about a client. you listen, always do. you don't understand every word, but you understand him in the way he talks when he’s tired. the slight edge in his voice, the way he explains things like he’s still in the middle of solving them. it’s easier for him to talk about numbers than about how his day actually felt.
nods at the right moments. hums of acknowledgement. small "and then?" once in a while, just to keep him going.
"…where did those come from?" he signals behind you at the counter. a faint lift of an eyebrow. a hint of a smile, almost.
you glance back, even though you know exactly what he’s looking at. the vase sits neatly by the sink, filled with fresh flowers. soft colors, carefully arranged.
"oh," you say, turning back to him, a warmth creeping up your neck. "mrs. jones gave them to me. i brought her some brownies earlier."
he paused, fork halfway to his mouth and exhales a small breath through his nose in genuine bewilderment.
"y/n," he says, setting his fork down for a second, "you need to stop baking so much."
you blink at him. "why?"
"i don't know, it's just..." he gestures vaguely, like the answer should be obvious. "it's every day. there's always something new. brownies, cookies, that cake from yesterday. the whole building must be swimming in your desserts." he didn’t sound angry, just... resigned.
"i like baking," your voice still gentle, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth
"i know, i know," he says quickly. "i'm just saying… it's a lot, isn't it?"
a small pause settles and you shrug, barely lifting your shoulders. "it keeps me busy."
he reached across the table, covering your hand with his. his palm was warm, calloused. "tell you what. how about i book you a day at that salon you like? the one on fifth street. hair. nails. the works. i can tell my sister to join you."
"what? am i starting to look like a hag?" you managed a weak laugh.
his grip tightened slightly. his eyes, usually so guarded, held yours with an intensity that surprised you. "you know that’s not what i meant." his voice was firm, no trace of humor.
the small joke withered and you nodded, slowly. "okay." you swallowed. "okay, that sounds... nice."
the candle flickered, casting dancing shadows across his face. he picked up his fork again, the brief moment of connection already fading.
later, the apartment settled into it's nightly quiet. you lay in bed, the soft glow of your reading lamp illuminating the pages of a novel you couldn't quite focus on. normal people by sally rooney, but the words blurred. beside you, san lay on his back, eyes fixed on the small screen in his hands. the blue light painted his face in stark contrasts. his thumb scrolled, scrolled, scrolled. numbers, probably. reports. another discrepancy.
you watched the subtle movements of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow. he was so focused, so far away. still, you reached out, tentative touch to his forearm. his skin was warm beneath your fingers.
he didn’t stir, didn’t look up. his thumb kept scrolling.
you moved your hand, gently, up his arm, over his shoulder, until your fingers brushed the nape of his neck, then threaded into his hair. soft, dark strands. you leaned closer, your breath stirring the air near his ear.
a soft sound escaped him and it almost seemed like he was leaning into it. a yawn. deep, stretching. he lowered the phone, placing it face down on the nightstand. his eyes, heavy lidded, met yours. fleeting moment, again.
"long day," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. he gave you a quick short peck on your cheek then turned onto his side, facing away from you, the duvet pulled higher. "good night."
lamp clicked off. darkness enveloped the room, thick and immediate. you lay there, listening to the soft, even rhythm of his breathing, soon turning into soft snores. beside him but alone in the quiet. the book lay open, unread. words still blurred.
୨୧
acetone and something floral, both sharp and comforting. hum of dryers and low chatter fills the space, blending into a steady background noise that makes everything feel easy. normal.
you sat in the middle chair, hands resting neatly on the small cushion in front of you, fingers relaxed but still. a sigh escaping your lips before you could stop it. the manicurist, a young woman with a bright, knowing smile, took your hand, her touch cool and precise. she filed your nails into neat, elegant ovals. you picked a soft, clean color without much thought. something simple, safe, that goes with everything.
across from you, two of your friends leaned into each other, their overlapping voices a stream of gossip. too loud and uncaring. the others chime in, voices overlapping. one of them threw her head back, a peal of laughter echoing, the other one nodded, eyes wide with feigned shock. they talked about a mutual acquaintance’s recent engagement, the scandalous details of a breakup, the endless parade of societal expectations.
"he actually said that?"
"no, stop-"
"i'm serious, i swear-"
to your left, rhythmic snip of scissors. noeul, san's older sister listened quietly, sat under a cloud of foil, her head tilted back as a stylist worked through her dark hair. but her attention drifts back to you more often than not. she owned a warm, reassuring glint. offering a small, conspiratorial smile whenever you caught her gaze in the mirror, silent acknowledgment of the shared escape.
a few chairs down, a woman with kind eyes spoke in hushed tones to her stylist. "she just graduated middle school with the highest scores," her voice, thick with a mother’s proudness, drifted over.
the stylist hums a singing note. "you must be so proud."
"oh, more than that" the woman exhales. "she's even already thinking about what she wants to study after high school."
she spoke of her daughter, a girl she’d poured her heart into.
your fingers still for a second on the cushion. the stylist murmurs something gentle back, and the conversation folds into the background. but it lingers.
your gaze drifted from the woman’s satisfied face to the neat row of polish bottles, then to your own hands, at the careful brush of polish gliding over your nails. you imagined those hands, smaller, softer, reaching for yours. a child. a son, perhaps, with san’s dimples and your own tendency to blush when surprised. or a daughter, with san’s quiet strength and your expressive eyes. the thought bloomed in your mind like a fragile hothouse flower.
you try to picture it. years stacked quietly on top of each other. a child in your apartment. toys where there are now empty surfaces. noise where there is now silence. san, coming home from work. would he pick them up? would he be too tired? would he talk to them the way he talks to you now, half there, half somewhere else? or would it be different? the thought catches you off guard. unfamiliar.
because you've never talked about it. not seriously. not beyond passing comments, vague things people say because they’re supposed to. someday. eventually. no timelines, no plans, no want or don’t want laid out clearly between you.
you don't even know if he wants kids. and for a second, that realization feels heavier than it should. there’s a whole future on a limbo sitting out of reach. not because it’s impossible, but because it’s never been named.
"y/n? you’re miles away!" the brightness of your friend's voice cut through your reverie.
the other leans forward slightly, "how’s married life treating you?"
you don't look up right away, only tilting your hand slightly when the nail tech asks you to. a practiced tug at the corner of your lips masked the tremor beneath.
"it's good, really good." you offered, voice light and airy.
"ugh," someone groans playfully. "of course it is. you guys were always like... perfect for each other."
you let out a soft laugh. "thank you, emma."
"it is," the friend grins. "seriously though, what have you guys been up to lately? anything fun?"
there’s a pause. you glance up for just a second, like you're checking your memory for something recent, something worth telling. "not really," tone still light. "just... normal stuff."
"that's adorable," another friend says, laced with genuine admiration. "no drama or chaos. must be so peaceful to marry an office guy."
"yeah," you nod, smile a little wider. "exactly."
the conversation shifts easily after that, flowing like a meandering river to other topics, someone starts talking about a coworker, someone else about a trip they want to take, and you listen, add comments here and there, smile when you're supposed to. their voices rising and falling in a comfortable rhythm. you watched them, their easy camaraderie, the way they finished each other’s sentences, and a familiar pang of loneliness pierced through the carefully erected wall around your heart.
noeul’s voice, soft but firm, cut through the din. she leaned closer, her perceptive eyes, meeting yours.
"how’s he been?” she asks.
you turn slightly. "san?"
a small nod. "yeah."
your smile didn’t falter. it felt glued on now, a permanent fixture. "he’s good," you say. "just busy with work, you know how he is." the words came out a little too quickly, a little too smooth. you avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the manicurist applying the top coat, making sure each nail was perfectly glossy.
noeul scoffs and tilts her head. "i do." a faint, wry smile touched her lips. "you know, i’ve known my brother a long time. longer than you, even." she paused, letting her words hang in the air. "i know how he gets. when things pile up and he forgets the rest of the world exists."
for a second, the façade threatened to crack. the truth, the bitter, stinging sensation, rose in your throat. you wanted to confess, to unburden yourself, to say, he’s not here, noeul. even when he’s here, he’s not here. i’m so lonely. i feel like i’m drowning in this calm. but the words remained trapped. fearful of conflict, ingrained habit of presenting things softly. you forced a small, reassuring nod. "yeah, it's nothing." the lie tasted like ash.
she watches you for a second longer, like she’s weighing something, then hums lightly and looks away, letting the moment dissolve back into the room. as the conversation drifts away again, your gaze lowers, unfocused.
the manicurist finished, buffing your nails to a high shine. she applied a cuticle oil, the scent of almond and rose a delicate perfume. your hands, now impeccably groomed, felt foreign.
"all done, dear." she announced, her smile bright.
you lift your hands slightly, turning them under the light. they’re perfect. smooth, even, untouched.
"thank you," you say, smiling.
for a moment, you imagine asking him. should be simple. do you ever think about kids? it doesn’t feel like a big question. it's not.
and yet, you can’t picture the moment clearly. when you'd ask, how he’d answer, whether it would feel natural or out of place, like introducing a topic that doesn’t belong in the quiet shape of their life. so you let the thought go.
you reach for your phone absentmindedly. no new messages. thumb hovers over the screen for a second, like you might type something, then you lock it instead and set it back down.
"do you guys want to grab something after this?" a girls asks. "coffee?"
"perfect! i’m craving that new lavender latte."
"oh, i can't," you say quickly, forcing another regretful smile. "i really should head home. dinner, you know." you gestured vaguely, as if the very concept of an empty fridge was an urgent, looming threat.
"alright, wifey," someone teases.
you simply smile again in a thin line as you stand, smoothing down your dress out of instinct and reach for your bag. giving everyone a small goodbye hug. as you pass behind noeul, there’s a brief brush of hands, intentional to pause you.
"hey, if it’s ever not nothing," she says quietly, a hint of concern still lacing her words. "you can tell me."
you hold her gaze for a second. then you smile. soft, reassuring, effortless. "i know." and you mean it, you just don't use it.
blur of city sounds and hurried footste. you stepped out, the cool afternoon air a sharp contrast to the salon’s warmth. rose scented oil on your nails, faint blush of pink, it felt like a disguise. you walked, footsteps echoing on the pavement, toward the quiet of the apartment, toward the silent kitchen, toward the dinner you had to make. the thought of it, a weight in your stomach, settled in with the dull ache of loneliness. the calm awaited.
୨୧
the last of the suds swirled down the drain, taking with them the faint scent of tonight’s braised short ribs. you wiped down the counter, movements precise, methodical. the clinking of ceramic plates against the drying rack was the only sound in the kitchen. you dried your hands on a towel, folding it neatly over the edge of the sink when you're finished. dishes done, kitchen clean again.
san's in the living room, laptop open, the soft glow of the screen lighting his face. he's not typing much. just staring, scrolling, thinking. you paused at the archway, shoulder pressing lightly against the cool plaster. the conversation from the salon, a snippet of motherhood, rang in your mind. it had all been a gentle nudge, a question mark in the back of your thoughts all afternoon. you hadn't realized how much space the idea of a child, of your child, could occupy until that moment.
the future, once a vibrant tapestry you and san wove together with eager hands, now a blank canvas. you’d painted the college days in bright, bold strokes, the wedding vows in shimmering gold. but the years beyond, the ones stretching into a quiet domesticity, remained unsketched. you found yourself wondering if san even saw that canvas anymore, if he still held a brush.
you watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he began typing, the subtle ripple beneath his shirt. his dark hair, a little longer than you usually liked, fell across his forehead. he didn’t look up, his focus absolute, a tunnel vision you’d come to recognize.
"still have a lot to do?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, a whisper against the keyboard’s clatter.
his fingers stilled for a beat, then resumed their pace. "almost," he murmured, eyes still fixed on the screen. "just finishing up these projections for the morning."
a breath, deep and slow, air cool in your lungs. you watch him for a second. the way his brows pull together slightly, the way his attention narrows into whatever’s on the screen. focused. distant. the question, the real question, the one that had been brewing since you left the salon, fell heavy on your tongue. it wasn't just about kids. it was about us. about the unspoken, the unasked, the growing chasm of silence. you wanted to ask if he ever thought about them, about a future that wasn’t neatly tied to quarterly reports and spreadsheets. you wanted to ask if he still saw you, really saw you, beyond the perfectly made bed and the carefully planned dinners. maybe, just maybe, this question could be the key, a small crack. it could lead to an actual conversation, a real one, not just about work or groceries or the weather. your heart beat a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
"hey," you start.
he hummed, signaling acknowledgement without breaking concentration. his head tilted slightly, silent invitation to continue.
do you ever think about kids?
words once so clear in your mind, so simple in your head, at least, suddenly tangled. they became a knot in your throat, a lump of unspoken fears and resentments. the image of him, so engrossed, so far away, solidified the doubt. what if he says no? what if he doesn’t want them? what if he thinks it’s a silly question? the fear of that disappointment in his eyes, was a known, suffocating weight. you’d spent years perfecting the art of soft landings, of avoiding any ripple in the calm surface of your shared life. to shatter that now, to introduce a potential disagreement, felt like a betrayal of your own carefully constructed peace. the question of children, of your future, of his love, dissolved into a vague, unformed anxiety.
"do you…" you began, then faltered, sentence dying on your lips. "do you want some tea?"
he looked up then, slanted brown eyes meeting yours, a faint smile touching his lips. the blue light softened the edges of his face, highlighting the dimples that appeared only when he was genuinely pleased. "yeah," he nodded. "sounds nice."
and just like that, the moment passed. the opportunity vanished. you offered a small, tight smile in return, then turned and walked back into the quiet kitchen, already reaching for the kettle. behind you, the quiet settles back into place. the question dissolves somewhere between the sink and the stove, blending into the rhythm of water filling, mugs being set out, something warm being made and offered instead of something uncertain being asked. by the time the kettle starts to hum, you can’t even tell if it would’ve been the right moment or if there would ever be one.
୨୧
the supermarket was colder than you'd expected when the automatic doors whispered open, spitting out artificial chill. paused just past the entrance, adjusting your grip on the heavy cart as the air settled unwelcome against your skin. for a moment, you just stood there, letting the quiet hum of refrigerators and distant chatter fill the space around you. a shiver traced it's way down your spine, cold reminder that you had to move, and so you pushed the metal basket forward as it's wheels squeaked faintly.
there was no reason to rush. you followed the aisles in a pattern you didn’t have to think about anymore. chicken first, hand reaching for the familiar white tray. then the vegetable section. flour, again. sugar, constant drain on the pantry, always seemed to run out faster than it should. everything found it's place in the cart without hesitation, each item chosen with the same steady certainty. each line on your shopping list crossed off with a decisive stroke of the pen. at some point, you realized you had already walked down the same aisle twice.
nothing missing, nothing forgotten. the necessities secured, a small indulgence felt earned. you slowed, then stopped altogether at the snack aisle. eyes drifted over the shelves, lingering on things you didn’t need. brightly colored packaging, a mental tally forming: which ones you wouldn't you buy, which ones would san wrinkle his nose at? the familiar ritual offered a brief, quiet comfort. you imagined his polite imperceptible nod of approval when you presented his favourite chocolate covered crispy biscuits, or the slight, teasing lift of his brow if you dared bring home something too exotic.
"y/n?" the voice came from behind, uncertain but enough to make you turn, the cart creaking in protest. you couldn’t place him until the crooked smile appeared and recognition settled in.
seonghwa.
he stood a few feet away, a half basket hooked over his arm. the boy you remembered, all sharp angles and adolescent angst, had softened around the edges, but the core was undeniably him. the piercings that once studded his ears and lip were gone, leaving only ghost like indentations. but new ink snaked up his forearms, dark tendrils against his skin, a testament to a life lived beyond high school hallways. his wolf cut, a shaggy, artfully dishevelled frame around his face, was longer, wilder than you remembered. his round eyes, still piercing, held a glint of surprise, then something else, something assessing.
"oh...hi," you said, a small, surprised smile breaking through. "wait, hi."
"wow, it's really you." he smiled back, a little wider, like he’d been more sure of it than you were. "i almost didn't recognize you. you... look good, exactly the same," he added, almost as an afterthought.
you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "that’s not true."
"it is," he said lightly. "just... older. in a good way."
you smiled again, more out of politeness this time, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as if to give your hands something to do.
"what are you doing around here?" he asked. "do you live nearby?"
"yeah," you nodded. "not too far. i just came to... groceries."
"right," he said, glancing at his own cart. "same."
there was a brief pause, the kind that should have felt awkward, but didn’t quite. not yet.
"so... are you still in touch with... what was her name? sarah? no- samantha?”
you smiled faintly. "no."
"right, yeah," he said quickly, waving it off with a small laugh. "i always mix those up."
you didn’t correct him. his gaze shifted then, catching on your left hand, lingering for a fraction on the thin band around your ring ringer. you followed his eyes, as if you hadn’t noticed it until that moment.
you offered a practiced smile, a smooth, well rehearsed performance. "oh, yeah. met him in college." the words came out light, airy, almost dismissive of the years of shared history, of the dreams whispered in dorm rooms, the silent promises.
"college, huh? that's nice," he said, and it sounded genuine.
"it is," you replied, too quickly. "his name is san, he's an accountant." the description felt flat, inadequate, a pale shadow of the man you loved.
"an accountant. fancy." he chuckled. "so, what have you been up to? still arguing about about freud versus jung for fun?"
"no, not really." you corrected gently. "i mean, i got a psychology degree but i'm… i'm a stay at home wife now." the phrase almost felt embarrassing on your tongue.
his eyebrow shot up. "huh... i always pictured you, like, running a therapy practice, saving the world from going insane."
you shrugged. "well, it’s nice, though. i get to... manage the house. bake. plan meals. save him from going insane, you know?" the words hollow, even to your own ears.
"i bet san’s a lucky man. always coming home to fresh cookies." he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
small, tight knot formed in your stomach. you baked when you were anxious, yes. but san rarely came home early enough for the cookies to still be warm. and most of them, you gave away to the neighbours, offerings of surplus comfort. "something like that," you murmured, deflecting. "what about you? still making music?"
his face lit up, a genuine, unadulterated passion sparking in his eyes. the words lingered between you for a second before dissolving into something lighter. you talked after that. nothing important, nothing that would be remembered in detail later. work, vaguely. life, in broad strokes. the kind of conversation that filled space easily without asking too much of either of them. he asked questions and waited for the answers. reacted in the right places. kept things moving without letting them settle too long in any one place. you found yourself talking more than you expected to.
"a few of us get together sometimes," he said, almost casually. "nothing big. just... hanging out. you should come, we’re going to a friend's house next week. old times' sake."
you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because you did. your mind immediately conjured a mental checklist: the laundry basket overflowing in the utility room, the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun on the living room floor, the intricate dinner you had planned for san, a quiet attempt to reignite a spark that felt increasingly dim. the thought of all those small, domestic duties, waiting patiently for your attention, made a familiar pang of guilt twist in your gut.
"i don’t know," you said lightly, automatic refusal on your lips. "i might be busy."
"with what?" he asked curiously.
you searched for something immediate, something obvious.
"just… stuff," you said instead, smoothing it over with a small smile.
he nodded, accepting it without question.
"well," he added, "if you’re not, you’re welcome. it’d be nice to catch up properly. it’s good to break free sometimes and let loose, you know?"
a small yearning stirred within you. the idea of an afternoon free from chores, from the quiet hum of your own thoughts, from the subtle ache of loneliness, held an unexpected appeal. "okay," you said, the word simple.
"yeah?" his eyes amused.
"yeah."
you exchanged numbers. nothing ceremonious about it, a small addition, barely noticeable in the moment. "well, it was good running into you, y/n. don’t be a stranger." he offered a quick, easy smile, then turned, his basket still hooked over his arm, and disappeared down the aisle towards the dairy section.
that night, you work through the knots in your hair in front of the vanity mirror. each stroke of the brush pulls a small discomfort. the rush of water from the tap in the en suite bathroom ceases. the door creaks open and san emerged, a towel draped low around his waist. water still clings to the dark hairs on his chest, glistening under the low light. he moves with a quiet efficiency, his broad shoulders filling the doorway for a moment before he crosses to his side of the bed, carrying the clean scent of his soap. he doesn’t look at you, not directly, as he peels the towel away, letting it drop to the floor. your gaze, however, finds the smooth expanse of his back, the hard lines of his muscles shifting as he reaches for the pajama drawer. you note the way his bicep flexes, the familiar curve of his neck, the slight slump of his shoulders that wasn’t there when you first met him.
you continue brushing, rhythmic scrape of bristles against scalp filling the silence. your heart a persistent bird, flutters.
"i ran into someone today," you say, your voice almost lost in the rustle of san pulling on a shirt.
a low hum sound from inside the fabric, he pulls the shirt down, smoothing it over his chest. he turns then, his eyes, dark and heavy lidded, finally finding yours in the mirror. a flicker of something unreadable passes through them before settling into a tired affection.
"at the market?" he asks as he pulls back the duvet on his side of the bed.
you nod, watching his reflection as he settles onto the mattress, propping himself up against the headboard. "an old friend. from high school." you pause, the brush still in your hand, it's bristles splayed. "apparently some of them still hang out, and i was invited."
the bed dips as he adjusts the pillows. "that’s good. you should go." his voice is calm, even. he picks up his phone from the nightstand, it's screen glowing blue for a moment before he sets it back down.
you turn fully then, the brush forgotten on the vanity. your bare feet touch the cool wood floor. "really? you don’t mind?" you walk to your side of the bed.
he looks up, his brows furrowed slightly. "why would i mind? it’s good for you to see people. you’re always here." his gaze sweeps around the room, then back to you. "you should get out more."
the words, meant to be reassuring, land with a surprising weight. always here. a small, sharp ache begins in your chest. you climb into bed, pulling the duvet up to your chin. the sheets, cool against your skin, feel vast tonight.
"i mean," you start, choosing your words carefully, "i haven’t seen them in years. since graduation, probably." you watch his face, searching for something, a hint of curiosity, a flicker of concern.
he just nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "people change. that’s okay. it’ll be nice to reconnect." he reaches over, his hand finding yours under the duvet. his fingers, warm and strong, intertwine with yours, a familiar comfort. "you’ve been cooped up. it’s good to have plans."
his thumb strokes the back of your hand, it’s a connection, yes, but one that feels practiced, automatic. you want to tell him more, to say, it was seonghwa, the boy with the emo hair, the one who used to draw skulls in his notebook during history class, but the words catch in your throat. the moment feels too delicate, too easily broken.
"i guess so," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. you squeeze his hand, a silent plea for more, for him to ask, who was it? what did you talk about?
soft exhalation that sounds like relief escapes him. he leans over, his head dipping. his lips, warm and soft, brush your forehead, then your temple, then your mouth. it’s a brief, chaste kiss, a familiar closing to the day. his lips taste faintly of mint. he pulls back, settling deeper into his pillow.
"good night, y/n," he says, his voice already thick with sleep.
eyes closing and breathing deepening almost immediately. the rhythm of his breath fills the room, steady and even. his hand, still holding yours, loosens it's grip. fingers, heavy with sleep, slide away.
darkness pressed in as you layed there, the silence amplifying the quiet hum of the city outside. your eyes trace the familiar contours of his face in the dim light. his eyelashes, thick and dark, rest against his cheekbones. faint smile, ghost of a dream, plays on his lips. he looks peaceful, untroubled.
he hadn’t asked. he hadn’t asked anything beyond the most superficial. he hadn't asked who. he hadn't asked if you wanted to go. he just assumed.
you turn onto your side, facing away from him, pulling the duvet tighter around you. the warmth of the blankets does little to chase away the chill that has settled deep within you. still, you tried to push the thought away. it’s not fair. san is tired. he works hard. he provides. this is what you agreed to. this is the life you built. you chose this, to be here. for him. but the loneliness curls around your heart. the perfection of the bed you made this morning, the carefully planned dinner, the unspoken anxieties baked into the pastries you gave away, all of it feels like a silent scream swallowed by the vast, quiet expanse of your days.
tears won’t come even if the knot in you throat screams for a cry. instead, your mind drifts to the closet, to the neat rows of clothes, the perfectly folded sweaters. tomorrow, you think, you’ll reorganize the winter section. it needs it. you need it. a small, manageable task to fill the endless hours.
y/n choi: hi, it's y/n from the store. i think i'm free that day if the invite still stands
seonghwa park: hey!
seonghwa park: yeah of course 😉
seonghwa park: glad ur coming, heres the address
seonghwa park: [location]
୨୧
the building wasn't what you expected. grimy canvas of faded brick and peeling paint that slightly unnerved you. you pulled your phone from your pocket a third time, checked the address, then glanced up at the entrance like it might correct itself if you stayed waiting long enough.
no, this was it.
bass vibrated through the pavement, pulse beneath your feet. for a second, you consider leaving, then you adjust your grip on the small container in your hands and step inside. the hallway swallowed you whole, narrow canyon that smell suspiciously of gasoline. when you reach the graffiti painted door, it was already slightly open. you knocked anyway.
there's a small shuffle inside before seonghwa emerges, his grin a flash of white teeth.
"y/n! thought you weren't gonna make it." he stepped aside, his arm sweeping an invitation.
you offered a small, polite smile, stepping into the room. the air hit you first, thick with a cloying sweetness you couldn't recognize and the acrid bite of stale cigarettes. the apartment was a controlled chaos. art adorned every available surface, canvases leaning against walls, sketches tacked to corkboards, a half finished sculpture draped in cloth in a corner. the room swam with bodies. girls, their midriffs bare, navel piercings glinting under the strung fairy lights. men, their arms drawn with ink, sprawled on beanbags or perched on the worn, leather couches. they moved with an easy, unhurried rhythm, as if the space molded itself around their presence. your modest linen shirt, a soft ecru, felt suddenly like a costume, an ill fitting disguise.
"hey everyone, this is y/n, from high school." seonghwa’s voice cut through the haze, a casual announcement.
a few heads turned, a couple of languid nods, but most remained immersed in their conversations, their laughter echoing off the high ceilings. your gaze swept across the room, searching for a familiar face, a flicker of recognition. nothing.
"it’s... nice to meet you all," you murmured, voice a little too soft, a little too formal for the raucous atmosphere. you clutched the clear container in your hands, the weight of it suddenly grounding.
a girl with a constellation of tiny tattoos climbing her neck, her hair a violent shade of fuchsia, pointed a perfectly manicured finger at your hands. "what’s that?"
you felt a blush creep up your neck. "oh. cookies. i made them." you held the container out, a silent offering.
a woman with striking, dark eyes and a generous smile detached herself from a group near the window. she wore spiked hair and her eyebrows seemed to be gone, but her presence offered a quiet anchor. "cookies! how cute. anna, by the way." she extended a hand, her grip firm and warm.
"y/n." you returned her shake, a surge of relief washing over you.
"i didn't know this was a bake sale," a gravelly voice grumbled from a corner, followed by a snort.
anna turned, her dark eyes narrowing playfully at the fat guy with a mohawk. "shut up, mark. you never bring anything." she gave his arm a quick, sharp shove. despite his joke, he came up as well.
a fresh wave of embarrassment hit you, cheeks burning as you began to stammer, "i just thought, you know, as a... a thank you for inviting me..."
anna waved your apology away. "no, it’s great! we love snacks. what kind?" she peered into the container, her eyes sparkling.
"chocolate chip. with sea salt." you offered, a small smile tentatively forming.
the lid popped open with a soft click. the aroma of warm chocolate and vanilla wafted through the air, momentarily cutting through the other scents. it was like a siren song. suddenly, a small crowd materialized around you, drawn by the scent. hands reached in, fingers deftly plucking cookies from their neat rows.
"someone brought cookies?"
"wait, i want cookies."
"no way, cookies?"
"save me one. i said save me one!"
the conversation dwindled, replaced by the soft sounds of chewing and contented murmurs. a lanky guy took the last cookie, giving you a between apologetic and grateful look and you laugh it off. within minutes, the container lay empty, a few crumbs clinging to it's clear sides. you felt a genuine smile spread across your face. the tension in your shoulders eased. "i’m glad you liked them."
for a moment everything was filled with overlapping conversations and easy movement, people drifting in and out without much structure. you sat at the couch with anna and mark. being spoken to, responded to, included without having to work for it. she asks you what else you like to bake. he asks where you live. the questions aren’t deep, but they come one after another and you answer, laugh and nod. the silence you've been carrying around doesn’t follow you in, it stays somewhere outside the door you walked through.
after a while, when the rhythm starts to feel harder to follow and topics shift quickly, you find your way back to seonghwa in the kitchen. he’s near the counter, talking to someone, but he glances over when you approach, like he’s been keeping track of where you are.
"hey," he says, turning slightly towards yo.
"hi," you answer before a small pause, then casually, "are any other people from our school coming?"
he doesn't hesitate. "nah," he says, shaking his head. "couldn't come."
"oh," you felt a pang of disappointment, small knot tightening in your stomach. you’d envisioned friendly faces, shared anecdotes, a comfortable bridge to this unfamiliar landscape. "okay."
"why?" he adds. "were you expecting someone?"
"no,no. i just thought maybe-" before trailing off, you shake your head lightly. "it's fine."
he watches you for a second, then nods once, like that’s enough.
"you’re good," he says. "don’t overthink it. come on, let’s get you a drink." seonghwa grinned, his hand briefly brushing your lower back as he steered you towards a cooler overflowing with ice and bottles.
you chose a sparkling water, the chill of the can a welcome sensation against your palm. you gravitated towards anna, who was now engaged in a lively discussion with mark about a band you’d never heard of. you hovered at the edge of their circle, listening, slowly piecing together fragments of their world. they spoke of gigs, of art installations, of obscure films, their words painting a vibrant, chaotic picture of lives lived on the fringes of convention.
as the evening continued it's slow, winding course, the hours passed by without warning, suddenly, it was later than you thought. through the subtle buzz in your veins and lightness you hadn't realized you were missing, the image of san already in bed, alone, stirred something in you. your small bag and empty container already in your hands.
"you can come in anytime, even if seonghwa isn't here." anna said before hugging you goodbye.
as you made your way towards the door, seonghwa intercepted you. "leaving already? come on, just one more drink." his voice was persuasive.
"i really should go. it’s getting late." you offered a polite, but firm smile.
he stepped closer, his hand briefly touching your arm. "you know, you’re really something, y/n. a real breath of fresh air." his eyes held yours, flicker of something unreadable in their depths.
"thank you, seonghwa. for inviting me." you pulled your arm away subtly.
"anytime. seriously. we should hang out again, just us two." his voice dropped, a low murmur intended only for your ears.
you felt a shiver, a faint unease prickling at your skin. "maybe," you said, voice noncommittal, then slipped out the door, back into the cool night air.
the street was quieter now, the bass from the building still a faint thrum in the distance. you walked and thought of the laughter, the music, the easy camaraderie, and a strange sense of longing settled in your chest. it was a world so different from your own, a world where boundaries seemed to blur, where emotions were worn on sleeves, where life felt raw and immediate.
stale cigarette smoke clung to your clothes, a new perfume you hadn't anticipated, but somehow, it felt less offensive than the lingering scent of dish soap from your day to day. your sensible sedan, parked a block away, seemed almost out of place among the battered vans and motorcycles. once you got in safely, you pulled out your phone, the screen illuminating your face with a single text from san from an hour ago: 'home. have a good time, night.' short, efficient, just like him. you stared at it and felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to talk to him, to tell him about the fuchsia hair, the tattooed arms, their reactions to your cookies, the melancholic music, anna’s kind eyes. but you tucked your phone back into your purse, the small, bright screen now dark.
you unlocked the apartment door, the click echoing in the silent space. the air inside was still, heavy with the scent of your carefully chosen strawberry cake diffuser. a half eaten bowl sat on the kitchen counter, remnants of the chicken stir fry you had prepared earlier, the pan still on the stove, a few grains of rice clinging to it's surface. a small sigh of relief escaped your lips. he had eaten. the simple act, a confirmation of your effort, brought a satisfaction to you. you moved through the kitchen, the soft clink of ceramic and metal as you rinsed the bowl, scrubbed the pan. it was a mindless task, your hands working on autopilot, while your mind drifted back to the vibrant chaos of anna's house.
the bedroom was a hushed darkness. san lay sprawled on his side of the bed, a rumbling snore escaping his lips, his face buried in the pillow. the sheet, pulled up to his waist, outlined the broad expanse of his back, the familiar curve of his spine. a sight you knew intimately, a tableau repeated almost every night. he worked hard, you reminded yourself, always.
you untangled your hair from the neat french twist, the pins scattering like tiny metallic insects onto the polished wood of your dresser. soft fingers massaged your scalp, releasing the tension that had gathered there throughout the day. you stripped off your clothes replacing them with silk pajama shorts and a matching camisole. teeth brushed and bathroom light off, the bed dipped slightly as you eased yourself in, careful not to disturb san. he remained a dark, unmoving mass beside you, his breathing deep and even.
sleep, usually a welcome embrace, felt elusive tonight. your mind buzzed, a kaleidoscope of new faces, loud music, and unfiltered laughter. the freedom of it all, the raw, unpolished authenticity, contrasted sharply with the quiet, ordered life you had carefully constructed.
shifting restless, silk rustling against the sheets. the image of the girl's fuchsia hair, defiant and vibrant, flashed in your mind. her confident stride, her easy smile. what did she worry about? did she ever feel this profound, aching quietness? you turned your head, watching the gentle rise and fall of san's back. the moonlight, filtering through the gap in the curtains, painted a silver line along his broad shoulder, the muscle defined even in repose. he was strong, reliable, your rock. yet lately, the rock was a mountain you couldn't climb.
a pang of something sharp, something akin to longing, twisted in your gut. you wanted to feel. you wanted to be seen. not just as the wife who kept the house, who cooked the meals, but as you, again. the you who had laughed tonight, unburdened. the one you knew san had fallen in love with.
your hand, almost without conscious thought, slipped beneath the silk of your pajama shorts. the fabric parted, your fingers, tentative at first, found the soft mound of your grown pubic hair, then the slick, warm folds beneath. a small gasp escaped your lips, swallowed by the quiet room. your core, already sensitive, pulsed beneath your touch. you stroked, slowly, deliberately, soft pressure building.
subtly, your hips began to tilt, involuntary movement, pressing into your palm. your fingers worked with a quiet urgency, tracing the delicate ridges, circling the peak of your clitoris. a moistness spread, warm, slick rush that dampened the silk shorts beneath your hand. the sensation intensified, a delicious ache blooming deep inside you, spreading through your belly. your breathing hitched, growing shallow, ragged.
wake up, i'm here.
you closed your eyes, a torrent of images flashing behind your eyelids. san, the warmth of his touch, a vague, undefined hunger. you pressed harder, your thumb finding a rhythm, a steady, insistent pressure. a low moan, barely audible, escaped your throat, a sound of pure pleasure. your whole body tensed, arching slightly into your hand. the climax a sudden, exquisite release, wave of heat that cascaded through your limbs, leaving you trembling, breathless.
୨୧
the shrill ring of the alarm ripped you from a dreamless sleep. your eyes fluttered open, the room still shrouded in pre dawn gloom. a glance at the clock sent a jolt of panic through you. 6:45 am. san left at 7:30. you had overslept.
you scrambled out of bed, the silk shorts clinging briefly before you shed them. the floor was cool beneath your bare feet.
"san, wake up," you whispered, nudging his shoulder. he grunted and slowly, reluctantly, stirred.
you moved with practiced efficiency, a whirlwind of motion in the quiet kitchen. the scent of brewing coffee began to fill the air, mingling with the sizzle of eggs in the pan. toast popped, butter melted, and the rhythmic thud of a knife chopping fruit filled the space. san emerged from the bedroom, showered and dressed, his black hair still damp, clinging to his forehead. he looked tired, his eyes still holding the remnants of sleep, but his movements were precise, methodical.
"morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. he poured himself a mug of coffee, the steam curling around his face.
"morning," you replied, already assembling his lunch. a neat stack of sandwiches, a small container of cut fruit, a handful of almonds. you wrapped it all meticulously, fitting it into his lunch bag.
"did you sleep okay?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. he leaned against the counter, watching you.
"yeah, eventually," you said, trying to keep your voice light. you packed a small thermos of tea. "i went to that thing last night, you know, the hangout thing?"
he nodded before picking up a slice of toast, spreading jam onto it. "how was it?"
"it was...different," you began, a small smile playing on your lips. you wanted to tell him everything, about the fuchsia hair, the tattoos, the unexpected warmth. "it was in this old building, kind of grungy, but everyone was so nice. there was this girl, sally, she had the most incredible hair, like, bright pink and her face was like a strainer, filled with piercings, it was so cool. and then i met anna, she had these dark intimidating eyes but she was actually really sweet. she’s a photographer for bands."
he turned to you with a slight frown. "y/n?"
"yeah?" you cleaned your hands with a kitchen towel.
"you're not... getting into anything dangerous, are you?"
you tilted your head, looking at him confused. "what? no, no. they were really nice people, they had this energy, like they just didn't care what anyone thought. it was kind of... inspiring."
"hmm..." he took a bite with a raised brow. "be careful y/n, you know how those types can be."
the warmth you’d felt, a flicker of shared experience, began to cool. "i am. but listen, there was also music, not like the music we usually listen to, more like a band sound," you continued, a little more emphatically, trying to inject some of the excitement you had felt into your words. "there was this guy, he had these huge arms filled with tattoos and he had a mohawk, i'd never seen one of those in real life."
he looked away again, finished his toast and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "just don’t get into anything foolish." he reached for his briefcase and lunchbox, already moving towards the door.
your shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, there was so much you still wanted to tell him. but there was also no time, you knew. there never was. he was already halfway out the door, his hand on the knob.
"i'll make your favorite soup for dinner tonight," you offered, a last ditch effort to connect, to anchor him for just a moment longer.
he paused, turning his head slightly. a small, tired smile touched his lips, revealing the faint indentations of his dimples. "thanks, that sounds great, i'll try not to be too late. love you."
"love you," you mumbled as the door shut and he was gone, the click of the lock echoing in the now silent apartment. you stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the lingering scent of coffee and eggs.
y/n choi: hi, it's y/n, i had a really good time yesterday.
seonghwa park: hey, me too
seonghwa park: everyone loved u btw, they were all talking about how sweet you were when you left
y/n choi: really? that's so nice to hear
seonghwa park: ur coming next week, right?
y/n choi: again?
seonghwa park: yeah
seonghwa park: we hang out every weekend
seonghwa park: always at annas
seonghwa park: come ooon, ull have t come
seonghwa park: ur a part of the group now
the words, simple and direct, landed like a soft blanket on your exposed nerves. a part of the group now. the phrase resonated, a balm to the quiet ache san’s rushed departure had left behind. it wasn’t profound, not a declaration of affection, but it was an invitation, a recognition. it felt like a small hand reaching out in the growing expanse of your solitude.
y/n choi: i’d like that, thanks seonghwa.
the next week crawled by, each day a slow, methodical march of chores and quiet anticipation. the perfect bed, the planned dinners, the reorganizing of the linen closet. each task a meticulous attempt to fill the hours, to ward off the encroaching loneliness. but seonghwa’s words, hummed beneath the surface.
a part of the group now.
as saturday evening approached, nervous flutter stirred in your stomach. you pulled out a simple, soft cotton t-shirt, one you usually wore for lounging. then, a pair of well worn dark jeans. your fingers went to your hair, letting it fall, then found a simple black velvet hairband, pushing back the front strands.
the grungy building loomed, a concrete behemoth adorned with a tapestry of peeling posters and vibrant graffiti. the door stood ajar again, inviting light spilling onto the cracked pavement. but politeness, ingrained deep within you, compelled your knuckles to tap softly against it.
the door swung open further, revealing anna. her spiked hair, dark halo around her face, seemed to defy gravity. thicker eyeliner from the last time, you noticed. a cigarette dangled from her lips, thin wisp of smoke curling lazily into the air.
"well, look who it is," anna’s voice, raspy like gravel, held a surprising warmth. a slow smile spread across her face, revealing a glint of metal in her upper teeth. "you bring cookies this time, wifey?"
you laughed, unforced sound that surprised even yourself. "i didn’t, i’m afraid." faint blush touched your cheeks.
anna leaned against the doorframe, taking a drag from her cigarette. "shame. your hair looks good though, so i'll let you in." she winked, a playful glint in her dark eyes.
you stepped inside murmuring a small "thanks." she led you into the living room as seonghwa, who was meticulously cleaning something that looked like a round bottom flask, rose from the couch.
"hey, you. where's my hug?" he grinned, a flash of genuine pleasure in his expression. he offered a thight hug, quick squeeze that felt surprisingly comforting. "glad you came back."
"come on, i’ll show you my current obsession." anna, having stubbed out her cigarette in a makeshift ashtray, clapped you on the shoulder and led you to a corner of the living room, where a makeshift studio was set up. a flash unit sat on a tripod, and a black backdrop hung from a makeshift frame.
she showed you her new lighting techniques, her raspy voice softening as she spoke about her craft, explaining each of the series of prints tacked to the wall. the subjects, all punk, stared out with an intensity that pulled you in. low groan emanated from the other side of the room. mark, with his pants that perpetually threatened to slide off his ample frame, was getting another tattoo. the machine buzzing like an angry bee.
you watched, a strange mix of fascination and unease stirring within you. the raw intimacy of the moment, the deliberate pain, the permanent mark being etched into skin. it was so far removed from your carefully ordered world. visceral, unapologetic. you thought of san, of his disciplined body, his aversion to anything that might disrupt his carefully constructed order. a tattoo, to him, would be an act of reckless abandon, an unnecessary defacement.
anna exchanged a few words with the tattoo artist and you followed seonghwa and sally into the kitchen.
"tacos?" you asked, a sudden urge to ground yourself in something familiar, something productive.
"attempting to," seonghwa repeated, a wry smile playing on his lips. sally, armed with a knife, was making a valiant but clumsy effort to chop an onion. tears streamed down her heavily made up face.
"this is harder than it looks," she sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing eyeliner.
"i don’t even know if this is cooked enough. it still looks… pink."
you stepped forward with quiet confidence. this, you knew. this was your domain. "let me help," you offered, already reaching for the cutting board. you gently took the knife, demonstrating a quick, efficient chop that produced even dice.
you moved with an easy grace, hands finding their rhythm. chicken seasoned, a blend of spices from the overflowing spice rack that seemed to surprise even seonghwa. you showed sally how to properly dice tomatoes and shred lettuce, your voice soft but instructive. the kitchen, which had been a scene of mild culinary disaster, slowly began to transform into an efficient workspace.
"wow," sally beamed, her fuchsia hair bouncing. "seriously, my mom just nukes everything."
it was a simple thing, a small act of connection, of contribution. but you felt useful, appreciated. the feeling was a pleasant counterpoint to the quiet solitude of your own kitchen at home, where your culinary efforts often met with san’s polite, but often silent, approval.
the group gathered at the living room again, something being passed from hand to hand. you saw it before you recognized it, it wasn't tobacco.
the joint made it's rounds, anna took a long drag, her eyes closing in apparent contentment. seonghwa inhaled deeply, then exhaled a plume of smoke that dissolved into the dim light. sally giggled, her eyes a little brighter, her movements a little looser.
then, mark’s hand, big with his new tattoo, extended towards you, holding the burning joint. the tip glowed orange, small pulsating ember. a hush fell over the group, subtle, expectant. no one said anything, but their gazes, soft and encouraging, rested on you.
your breath hitched. your mind, usually so clear, swam with conflicting thoughts. weed. the word echoed in your head, sharp and disapproving. san’s voice, clear as day, cut through the hazy atmosphere.
disgusting. it’s not a gateway. it destroys lives.
his lectures, delivered with a quiet intensity, about the dangers of drugs, of anything that clouded judgment, that compromised control. he hated it. he hated all of it. smoking, drinking to excess, any form of escape that wasn’t productive, wasn’t measured.
your gaze flickered to mark’s hand, then to seonghwa, who offered a small, reassuring nod. a strange defiance, a tiny spark of rebellion, ignited within you. san, with his rigid rules and his unspoken expectations, felt miles away, a distant, fading echo. here, in this room, with these people, there was an unspoken permission, an acceptance of difference.
you thought of the quiet mornings, the unasked questions, the emotional chasm that had grown between you and san. you thought of the lingering loneliness, the slow, insidious fading of sparks. you thought of his hurried goodbye, his preoccupation, his casual dismissal of your small joys.
a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped your lips. it wasn’t about wanting to get high. it was a quiet protest. a moment of reclaiming a sliver of yourself that felt lost, submerged under layers of wifely duty and unspoken disappointment. it was a fleeting, irrational thought, but it felt powerful in it's simplicity.
trembling fingers, usually so steady, reached for the joint. your eyes met seonghwa’s, then anna’s. they offered soft, almost imperceptible smiles.
the joint touched your lips. the paper felt rough against your skin. the smell, pungent and earthy, filled your nostrils. you hesitated for a fraction of a second, a silent battle raging within. then, you inhaled.
the smoke, harsh and acrid, scraped your throat. you coughed between involuntary gasps. tears sprang to your eyes. the group chuckled softly. your lungs burned, heat spread through your chest, then a dizzying lightness in your head. it wasn’t pleasant, not yet. but as the initial shock subsided, a curious sensation began to bloom. a loosening. a letting go.
the world around you, already vibrant, seemed to soften at the edges. the music, a low thrumming before, now seemed to pulse with a deeper rhythm. the faces around you, previously distinct, now blurred into a warm, accepting tableau.
you exhaled, a shaky, uneven breath. the smoke drifted upwards in a cloud, carrying with it a rebellious whisper.
the taco shell crumbled in your fingers, a warm, messy embrace of seasoned chicken and melted cheese. a laugh, sharp and high, tore from your throat. it wasn’t your laugh, not really, but it escaped anyway.
"y/n, these are..." sally kissed the tips of her fingertips at once. a piece of tomato, vibrant red, clung to her chin. you watched it, mesmerized, as it wobbled precariously. like a tiny significant event.
"no, for real. this is the best shit i've ever eaten," someone grunted as they took another bite, cheeks bulging. the sound of their chewing a symphonic rhythm, wet crunch that filled the room.
you smiled, you think, a wide, unbidden thing that stretched your face. your cheeks felt warm and tingly. the praise, usually a balm, now felt like a spotlight, too bright, too focused. you didn't need to respond. the air itself seemed to hum with approval.
seonghwa leaned in, his hair brushing your shoulder. the scent of his cologne filled your nostrils. it was a new smell, suddenly potent, a story in itself.
"you have to come over more often," he murmured. his words were slow, stretched out, like taffy. "we’d starve without you."
you nodded, or thought you did. the room swirled, a gentle eddy of color and sound. the soft glow of the fairy lights strung across anna’s living room became individual, shimmering points, each one a tiny sun.
anna, perched on the armrest of a worn armchair, watched you, her eyes unblinking. she held a half eaten taco, but she wasn’t eating. she was just watching. a flicker of concern crossed her face, or maybe it was just the way the light caught her smudged makeup.
you turned your head, the motion slow, deliberate, like moving through thick syrup. seonghwa’s face was inches from yours. his eyes liquid and half lidded. a tiny mole, small and innocent on his ear. you had never noticed it before.
"you know," he began, his voice dropping, a conspiratorial whisper meant only for you, "i actually lied to you."
the words themselves were like individual pearls, strung together on an invisible thread that made your breath hitch.
"about what?" you managed a reedy whisper. it sounded like someone else speaking.
he chuckled like it was obvious. "about keeping in touch with people from high school. i don't. not really. i just... wanted you to have a reason to come."
the confession ignited a fresh burst of laughter. bubbled up from deep inside, unrestrained, joyful. it felt like a new sensation, a freedom you hadn't known existed. the idea of him lying, out of all things, struck you as profoundly hilarious.
he smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips as his hand, warm and calloused, covered yours on the couch cushion. his thumb traced a slow, hypnotic circle on your skin. it wasn't unpleasant. it was just... there. a sensation.
"y/n, i know you’re unhappy."
unhappiness? that was a concept. right now, there was only the incredibly soft fabric of the couch, the taste of spices on your tongue, the intricate pattern on anna’s rug.
"you deserve so much more," he continued, voice thick and low, "than whatever you’re settling for."
you blinked. his face, so close, seemed to waver, like a reflection in water.
"i want you so bad," a whisper you didn't caught on the movements of his lips, his grip tightening on your hand. "i want to make you happy."
you don't know why he kept making sounds with his mouth. the words drifted past, like smoke. meaningless vibrations in the air. your mind, untethered, floated above them, observing.
then, the world tilted. a wave of warmth, heavy and comforting, washed over you. the trip slowed, the colors blending into a soft, indistinct haze. the universe faded into a gentle lullaby.
୨୧
rough wool blanket against your cheek, smelling faintly of incense and something vaguely sweet, covering you. your eyes fluttered open. the room was bathed in a dim, pre dawn light, a pale grey filtering through the blinds. you blinked, trying to orient yourself. the couch. anna’s couch.
a low snore rumbled from the floor. you peered over the armrest. mark, a lumpy silhouette, was sprawled on a pile of blankets, his mohawk flattened. sally was curled up near him, a splash of fuchsia against the muted tones. anna was nowhere in sight. seonghwa? you scanned the room. no.
dull throb resonated behind your eyes. your mouth felt like sandpaper. you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipping to your lap. the memories of the night were a jumbled mess, like a deck of san's numbers scattered on the floor. flashes of laughter, the taste of tacos, the feeling of warmth. but specific words, specific moments, they were gone, swallowed by the haze.
you fumbled for your purse, slung precariously over the back of the couch. chocolate. a small, dark bar, your emergency comfort. you tore off a piece, the rich, bitter sweetness a welcome shock to your tongue.
you pulled out your phone. three forty seven a.m.
your heart gave a sharp, painful lurch. san. you could almost hear the silence of your apartment, the empty space beside him in bed. a wave of guilt, cold and sharp, washed over you, chasing away the last vestiges of the warm fog.
as careful as you could be, you rose quietly to not disturb the sleeping figures. your movements quiet, deliberate.
the drive home was a blur of streetlights and silent roads. each turn of the wheel felt like a small act of atonement. the city was asleep, a vast, dark canvas. then you finally pulled into your parking spot, the apartment building quiet and imposing.
apartment dark, save for the faint glow from the digital clock on the microwave. you slipped off your shoes, the sink. a plate, crusted with dried sauce, sat precariously on the edge, a half empty mug beside it. san. he had eaten, gone to bed. done.
straight to the bathroom, you stepped under the spray, letting the hot water cascade over your skin. it wasn’t just the smell, but the night itself. the laughter, the forgotten words, the unsettling intimacy. you scrubbed, hard, as if you could scour away the memory, leaving your skin, and your mind, clean and blank once more. you wanted to emerge, refreshed, as if the night had never happened. as if you hadn’t tasted that strange, momentary freedom.
୨୧
the sound pulled at your teeth. tremor in the soles of your new sneakers, premonition of the chaos within. this weekend, anna's apartment building pulsed with an unholy rhythm. this wasn't the hazy, languid hum of last week. this was a beast unleashed.
seonghwa’s band, the ruptured veins or something like that, thrashed in the living room. how they’d squeezed a drum kit, a full amp stack, and three guitarists into the already cramped space remained a mystery. mark, sweat plastering his mohawk to his skull, pounded the drums with a primal ferocity that threatened to crack the plaster. sally contorted over her bass, each pluck a sharp jab to your eardrums. seonghwa, all flailing limbs and guttural shouts was at the center. the sound wasn’t music. it was a wall of noise, an excuse of distorted guitars and ear splitting percussion that clawed at your sanity.
bodies, too many bodies, swayed and thrashed in the dim light, a sea of black leather and ripped denim. you felt like an alien even if you tried dressing in your darkest clothes. a hand, sticky and warm, brushed your arm, offering a glass. you instinctively recoiled, the smell of cheap beer and something cloyingly sweet, making your stomach churn.
seonghwa’s eyes flashed you a grin across the room, a feral baring of teeth, and gave a thumbs up. you forced a weak smile back, the corners of your mouth feeling stiff and unnatural. the volume intensified, a new wave of sound washing over you, drowning out thought, drowning out everything.
a bong, you learned, it's glass bulb milky with smoke, appeared before your face. a girl with tangled dreadlocks and eyes that swam in their sockets pushed it closer.
"hit it, y/n!" she slurred a shout, her voice a gravelly whisper against the roar.
you shook your head, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "no, thanks!"
she shrugged, apathetic, and passed it to the next person. another, a lean guy with a spiderweb tattoo crawling up his neck, who had earlier complained about the brownies you brought not being the "fun ones."
the words felt like pebbles in your throat. you had enough, you needed quiet, needed to escape the relentless assault on your ears. you navigated the throng, each step a battle against jostling elbows and oblivious revelers. you reached the bathroom and pushed open the door for the now muffled sound to lower, then you saw her.
sprawled on the cracked linoleum, half hidden by a discarded shower curtain, lay a woman. her head rested at an awkward angle against the toilet bowl, a thin stream of saliva tracing a path down her chin. she looked older than the others, perhaps in her early thirties, though the lines etched on her face spoke of a life lived hard, not necessarily long. two distinct scars stood out against her skin. her face, even in repose, held a weary resignation, map of battles fought and lost. she wasn't breathing right. shallow, ragged gasps punctuated the silence, each one a struggle.
panic seized you. you knelt beside her, your fingers fumbling for her pulse, finding a weak, thready beat at her neck.
"hey," you whispered, shaking her shoulder gently. "hey, are you okay?"
no response. her eyes remained closed, her lips slightly parted. this wasn't a drunken nap. this was something else, something far more sinister.
your hand instinctively went for your phone, pulling it from your pocket. 911. ambulance. you needed to call an ambulance. your fingers, trembling, navigated the screen.
"i wouldn't do that if i were you."
a hand, heavy and surprisingly strong, clamped around your wrist. your breath hitched. you looked up, startled. a man stood over you. he was burly, with a shaved head and a face like hammered iron. his eyes, dark and flat, bore into yours.
"unless you wanna be trouble," his voice cut through the residual band noise. it wasn't a suggestion. it was a command, heavy with unspoken threat.
your heart hammered against your ribs. you tried to pull your wrist free, but his grip was unyielding, almost bruising. "she needs help," you managed barely a squeak. "she’s not breathing right."
mirthless chuckle rumbled in his chest. "she’s fine. just had a little too much fun." his gaze flickered to your phone. "you call anyone, you’ll regret it."
the warning hung thick and menacing. you met his stare, a shiver running down your spine. the flat emptiness in his eyes, the casual cruelty in his tone, left no room for doubt. he meant it.
slowly, reluctantly, you let your hand drop, your phone clattering softly against the tiles. his grip loosened, then released. you scrambled backward, away from him, away from the unconscious woman, from the suffocating threat. he watched you, unsettling smirk playing on his lips, then turned his attention back to the woman, nudging her with his foot.
you burst out of the bathroom, the music now a mocking roar. you needed anna. anna would know what to do. anna would understand. you pushed through the bodies, eyes scanning the faces, a frantic desperation clawing at your throat. "anna!" you shouted, the word swallowed by the sheer volume. "anna!"
no one heard you. no one even seemed to notice your distress. they just continued to push each other, lost in their own discordant revelry. you spotted a doorway, half hidden behind a towering speaker, and instinctively veered towards it, hoping to find a quieter space, a less crowded corner where anna might be.
it led to a short, narrow hallway, mercifully less populated. at the end, another door, slightly ajar, spilled a soft, yellow light onto the floor. you pushed it open, a desperate plea for help forming on your lips.
the room contrasted to the chaos outside. a single, bare bulb cast a warm glow over a small, unmade bed. and there, on the floor, surrounded by a haphazard collection of worn stuffed animals and bright plastic blocks, sat anna, but she wasn't alone. a small figure, no older than five, sat nestled against her side, a book with brightly colored illustrations open in it's lap. the child, a boy with a shock of dark hair and wide, innocent eyes, looked up as you entered.
"mommy, who’s that?" his voice, clear and sweet, pierced the lingering noise in your ears like a needle.
mommy.
the word echoed, reverberated, then shattered something fragile inside you. anna’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. a flicker of something, guilt? embarrassment? crossed her face before she quickly composed herself.
"y/n," she said, her voice lowered as she gently pushed the boy behind her. "everything alright?"
everything alright? the irony tasted heavy. now, a child. her child, in this suffocating place. the realization hit you with the force of a physical blow. this wasn’t just a party. this wasn't just a group of friends messing around. this was a life. a harsh, brutal, unforgiving life that you had no part in. the music, which had been an unpleasant background noise, now felt like a blaring siren, screaming the truth. you didn't belong here. not even close. this wasn't edgy. this wasn't rebellious. this was dangerous. this was real.
you shook your head, unable to speak, your throat tight with unshed tears. the image of the passed out woman, the man’s cold eyes, the innocent child, all swirled in a sickening vortex.
"i..." you started, then stopped, the words catching. you didn’t need to explain. anna, with her sudden shift in demeanor, her protective stance over the child, understood.
you turned, a silent retreat, your feet moving on their own accord. you didn't say goodbye. you didn't look back. the door clicked shut behind you, a soft thud against the relentless thrum of the bass.
you navigated the hallway, then the living room, a ghost moving through the throng. no one noticed your departure. the band still roared, seonghwa still shrieked into the mic as he kicked the audience in the face in a blur of motion. you pushed past the last lingering bodies near the door, the cool night air hitting your face like a lifeline.
the street was alive with a different kind of noise. the band’s sound, though fainter, still pulsed through the asphalt, relentless reminder of what you were leaving behind. a group of figures huddled under a flickering street lamp, their movements jerky, unnatural. as you approached, their eyes, glazed and vacant, fixed on you.
"hey, pretty thing, all alone?" one slurred, his voice hoarse, lewd grin spreading across his face.
"where you going in such a hurry?" another whistled, a long, drawn out sound that made your skin crawl.
you kept walking, pace quickening, eyes fixed straight ahead. don’t look. don’t engage. don’t acknowledge. your heart hammered a frantic drum against your ribs. you felt exposed, vulnerable, felt the harsh reality of the street.
your car door shut like a beacon of safety at the end of the block. you fumbled for your keys, fingers clumsy with fear, gripping the steering wheel with knuckles white the whole drive back home, breath coming in ragged gasps. not daring to glance in the rearview mirror once. you drove faster than necessary.
this was not your world. this was not where you belonged. you would never come back. you promised yourself that, a vow whispered into the empty, echoing space of your car, a promise etched in the raw, aching fear still thrumming beneath your skin.
the click of the lock echoed. inside, the air heavy with scent of instant noodles and something sweet, like canned peaches. a white plastic container sat on the kitchen counter, half-eaten, a pair of chopsticks resting beside it. san had takeout. a cold knot tightened in your stomach. you forgot to make him dinner earlier. another layer to the evening’s sour taste.
san, shirtless, was just shrugging out of his work trousers when you entered the room, his back to you. he paused, one leg still in the pant leg, turning his head at the sound of your entrance. his brown eyes, warm and steady, widened slightly.
"you’re back early," he said, the words a quiet murmur in the hushed room. a flicker of surprise crossed his face. he finished pulling off his pants, tossing them onto the laundry hamper with an easy flick of his wrist.
you managed a weak nod, the muscles in your face protesting the effort, too tired to feign a smile. your gaze slid past him, landing on the bathroom door. escape. you moved towards it.
"y/n." his voice stopped you mid stride. you looked over your shoulder, hand hovering over the cool brass doorknob.
"what’s that smell?"
you didn't turn around, the lie already forming on your tongue, bitter pill. "i... i fell into a puddle earlier."
a beat of silence stretched, taut and thin. you watched him, standing there, his brow furrowed, processing your words. you waited for the follow up, the gentle probing, the concern that used to laced his questions. but it didn’t come.
"oh," he said, the single syllable flat, devoid of inflection. he picked up his shirt from the bed, pulling it over his head, then pulled back the covers.
you finally turned, gaze fixed on his retreating back, already settling in. your eyes traced the strong line of his shoulder, the curve of his neck. he was there, and he wasn't. is that all you’re going to ask? the words hovered on your tongue, sharp and desperate. you wanted him to push, to see through your flimsy lie, to demand more. you wanted him to care enough to unravel the carefully constructed facade. almost, you wanted him to know. to know about the music, the drugs, the woman, the fear, the suffocating loneliness that had driven you there in the first place.
"is that all you’re going to ask?" you heard yourself say.
he paused, his hand reaching for the bedside lamp. "is there something else i should know?'
your heart hammered against your ribs. this was it. the open door. the invitation. a single word, a sigh, a broken sentence, and the truth would spill out. you needed to test the boundaries, to see how far he would go, how deep he would dig.
"no," you said, the lie tasting like ash. your gaze held his, searching for a flicker of doubt, a hint of suspicion, anything that would tell you he wasn’t buying it.
he held your gaze for a moment longer, then his lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "okay then." he reached for the lamp, plunging the room into near darkness. he shifted, settling deeper into the pillows.
a choked sound, a low groan of frustration, escaped your lips. he hadn’t pushed. he hadn’t questioned. he hadn’t cared enough to look beyond the surface. you turned abruptly, stalking towards the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind you with a satisfying thud. the sound echoed, a punctuation mark on your silent fury.
san lay in the sudden darkness, his eyes wide open. the faint aroma of something acrid you brought and he couldn't quite place, still lingered in the air. a puddle, he thought. she fell in a puddle. it sounded plausible enough. you were clumsy sometimes, always lost in your own thoughts. he trusted you. he trusted you completely. a small smile touched his lips. it was good you were out, seeing old friends. you needed that. a small part of him felt a pang of guilt for not being able to provide more excitement, more spontaneity in your life. but he was working for your future, for your stability, to provide for you. he believed that was love, that was care. he rolled onto his side, pulling the duvet up to his chin. he heard the shower running, the sound a soft, comforting hum. he closed his eyes, his mind already drifting to tomorrow's spreadsheets, the complex equations that made perfect sense in a world that often didn't. everything was fine. you were having fun. it was okay if you forgot dinner sometimes. you could always order takeout. he was happy. he assumed you were too.
the next morning, the apartment hummed with the usual rhythm of your routine. you woke before him, the first rays of dawn painting the bedroom walls a soft grey. you made the bed, pulling the sheets taut, plumping the pillows with practiced ease. the scent of freshly brewed coffee soon filled the air, followed by the sizzle of eggs in the pan.
san emerged from the bedroom, showered and dressed in his crisp white shirt and specifically tailored pants. he kissed your cheek, a soft brush of lips, and then sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone.
it became a monotonous cycle of routine.
you'd have your small talk, watch him eat, his movements precise, efficient, and then he was out the door. then, you'd wander into the bedroom, the perfectly made bed an ironic symbol of your life. you'd pick up your phone, cold blinding glass, and scrolled through social media. endless stream of meaningless shorts of nothing. you'd sink yourself in bed and let the hours melt. youtube videos, a reality show you cared about for two hours, articles about celebrity gossip. anything to fill the void, to drown out the insistent whisper of your own thoughts.
you woke him, prepared his meals, vaguely cleaned what was obvious. but the moments in between stretched, vast and empty. you spent them in bed, phone in hand, the world outside shrinking to the confines of your screen. at night, you wouldn't sleep. every shadow twisted into a threat, every creak of the floorboards a reminder of unspoken dangers. san had simply mentioned you seemed a little tired. you’d blame it on a bad dream, a headache. anything but the truth. the vibrant, productive life you once shared with san, the shared dreams, the late night conversations, they felt like a distant memory, replaced by this quiet, isolated existence.
one evening, san’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, the familiar jingle of his keys preceding his entrance. he walked into the kitchen, his briefcase thudding softly onto the counter. he paused, his eyes scanning the immaculate space. the stovetop was clean, the counters clear. no scent of cooking, no simmering pots.
"i ordered pizza," you said, voice flat, emerging from the living room where you sat on the sofa, scrolling through your phone. the thought of cooking, of meticulously chopping vegetables and stirring pots, felt like an insurmountable task. the effort, the pretense of normalcy, was too much. you simply couldn’t.
"okay," his voice quiet. you couldn't decipher his tone, surprise? confusion? whatever.
for once, he didn't immediately take his laptop. he watched you, his expression unreadable. he picked up a slice, silence punctuated only by the soft chewing sounds.
"i spoke to noeul today," he said, cutting through the quiet.
you froze, a slice of pizza halfway to your mouth. "oh?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice came out a little too sharp.
"she was wondering why you stood her up for lunch," he continued, took another bite of pizza, his eyes still fixed on you.
"i... i wasn't feeling well," you swallowed, the pizza suddenly tasting like cardboard.
he paused, chewing slowing. his dark eyes, usually so placid, held a new depth, a subtle intensity. he studied your face, his gaze searching, probing.
"is everything okay, y/n?" he asked, the question soft, gentle, yet it hit you with the force of a blow. this was the first time in weeks, months even, that he had truly looked at you, truly asked.
you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. relief that he was finally seeing, finally asking. fear that he would see too much. anger that it had taken him this long. a desperate, clinging hope that he might actually understand.
you opened your mouth, but what could you say? no, san. everything is not okay. i’m lonely. melancholic. i’m lost. i’ve been hanging out with people who smoke weed and threaten me. i lied to you. i don’t know who i am anymore. the truth felt too vast, too overwhelming, too ugly to articulate.
you closed your mouth, nodding slowly. "yes," you whispered, the lie a refuge. "everything’s fine."
he didn’t push further. he simply nodded, a slow thoughtful movement. he finished his pizza in silence, his eyes occasionally flicking towards you. he didn't know what to do. he thought he was doing everything right, providing stability, working hard. but he felt that something wasn't actually right. he could feel it. and for the first time, the thought that his stability might not be enough began to gnaw at him.
୨୧
"well, well, well," you couldn't see seonghwa's face through the phone but you just knew a smile stretched across his face, all teeth and charm. "look who finally decided to give signs of life."
you took a breath, "i’m sorry about that. i felt a little... overwhelmed."
"overwhelmed?" he chuckled a sound that grated. "we had a blast, though. sally was asking where you went."
a forced light laugh came out of you. "i'm sorry, it's just... don't take this the wrong way but, i don't think it's my scene."
the seconds of silence made you more nervous than you liked to admit. "oh? why’s that? did anna scare you off? she’s all bark, no bite, you know."
"it’s not anna." you walked to the window, staring out at the streets. "it’s just not... it’s not for me." you chose your words carefully.
"not for you, huh... too much for the perfect little housewife?"
you didn't know what to say, or even if you should reply. this is not the way you had wanted to come off.
"come on, y/n. " his tone shifted again, becoming almost playful, seductive. "you can’t just ditch us. we were just getting to know you. and you, me, we had a connection, didn’t we?"
you closed your eyes and sighed. "i appreciate the invitation, seonghwa. but i really don’t think it’s a good idea."
"wait, wait, wait." his voice was quick, slightly desperate. "don’t hang up. this saturday. it’ll be different. i promise."
"different how?"
"no loud music. no... overwhelming crowds." he mimicked your earlier word with annoyance. "it’ll be at my place. daylight. we’ll just chill. listen to some records. maybe sally will bring her new bass. anna her camera, snap some pictures. it’ll be... a real hangout. no pressure. just us."
a day hangout. at his place. no crowds. the thought of seeing anna, of making sure she was okay, flickered. and sally. you’d genuinely liked sally. you chewed on your lip, disappearing without a trace, even from people who were clearly not good for you, felt... rude. you were not rude. you prided yourself on your manners, on leaving things tidily. this would be your last clean exit. a proper goodbye.
"it'll be calm? no substances?" you asked with a small voice.
"yeah. we'll just chill."
you sighed, a long, slow release of air. "fine. but if it gets crazy, i’m leaving."
"deal!" his voice triumphant. "i’ll text you the address. saturday. two o’clock. don’t be late, y/n."
you hung up on him, the silence of the kitchen pressing in on you. a mistake? probably. but you had to make things right. you had to say goodbye. properly.
the next few days were a flurry of quiet preparations. you found a well loved cookbook at a second hand store, it's pages dog eared and stained with flour. sally had seemed genuinely interested in your chicken tacos, you remember her bouncing as she peered over your shoulder. a small childish bunny stuffed animal, soft and grey, caught your eye in a boutique window. anna’s son. he deserved a little softness in a world that seemed so hard. you wrapped the gifts carefully, a futile attempt to infuse them with the warmth you wished you could offer.
saturday afternoon, the sun bright in the sky. you drove, the directions seonghwa had texted leading you through unfamiliar streets, past industrial parks and forgotten warehouses. the address finally brought you to a hidden nook, tucked away behind a row of dilapidated auto shops. a trailer park. a small, unexpected community of metal boxes, each with it's own patch of scraggly grass and faded plastic lawn ornaments. you hadn’t known such a place existed in the heart of the city.
seonghwa’s trailer, a faded blue, stood at the end of a gravel path. your stomach twisted. you clutched the gifts tighter, the paper rustling. you knocked, a soft tap that felt too polite for the setting. the door creaked open, revealing him. his hair looking a little disheveled, as if he’d just woken up. a faint smell of something herbal, not entirely unpleasant, wafted from inside.
"oh, you actually came." he grinned as he rubbed the weariness out of his face.
"i said i would." you offered a small smile, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness that settled between you. "i brought some things." you held up the wrapped gifts.
"oh, for me?" he reached for them, but you pulled back slightly.
"no. for sally and anna’s son."
his hand dropped, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "right. well, come on in. you’re the first one here."
the trailer was small, surprisingly neat but dim. a worn couch, covered in a faded floral sheet, dominated the living area. a small television flickered silently in the corner, displaying a nature documentary. a guitar leaned against the wall. it felt... lived in.
"make yourself at home," he gestured vaguely at the couch. "the others should be here any minute. mark’s always late. sally said she had to pick up some new strings. anna… well, anna’s anna." he laughed, a short, nervous sound.
you sat on the edge of the couch, placing the gifts carefully beside you. the cushions sagged beneath you, smell of old fabric rised to meet you. the silence, punctuated only by the chirping of unseen birds on the television, was deafening. you felt a sudden urge to fill it, to chatter, to ask about his band, about anything. but you couldn't.
"want something to drink?" he asked, already moving towards a small, cluttered kitchenette.
"just water, please." you watched him, his movements surprisingly graceful for someone so wiry. he pulled out two glasses, poured a clear liquid from a plastic bottle into one, and then, to another one that was already sitting on the counter. he didn’t seem to notice your gaze.
a tiny, insistent voice in the back of your mind, screamed. you took the glass, your fingers brushing his, skin rough. you brought the glass to your lips, pretending to take a sip, letting the rim touch your mouth, but not letting any liquid pass.
"so," he said, settling beside you on the couch, much closer than you would have preferred. "how’s... housewifing?"
you stiffened. "it’s good. i like it."
"yeah? seems a little... boring for someone like you." he leaned back, his arm brushing yours. the contact made your skin prickle.
"it’s not boring,”°"you said, maybe a little too quickly. "i like taking care of things. taking care of san."
"san." he said the name slowly, like tasting it. "busy guy, huh?"
"he works hard," you defended automatically. "he provides for us."
"yeah, i bet." he turned his body fully towards you, knee touching yours. his gaze dropping to your hands, clasped tightly in your lap. "but does he... pleasure you?"
you looked at him in shock, offended. your cheeks flushed crimson, a wave of heat rushing through you. shock, outrage, and a deep, mortifying embarrassment tangled together. you stared at him, mouth agape, unable to form a single word. the flickering television, the stale air, his proximity, it all coalesced into a suffocating pressure. "what did you just say?"
he didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. his eyes held yours, unwavering. "i mean, you’re bright, y/n. you’re smart. you’ve got this... spark. yet you spend your days fucking, polishing silverware and waiting for some suit to come home. does he ever even make you feel good?"
your heart hammered against your ribs. "i like polishing silverware. i like making a home."
"do you?" he reached out, his fingers tracing a pattern on your arm, just above your elbow. "or do you just tell yourself that because it’s what you think you’re supposed to do?"
you flinched, pulling your arm away. "i don’t appreciate that, seonghwa."
"just being honest. that’s what friends do, right?" he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.
the small, dusty clock on the wall pointed at four, you glanced at it, then at the door, wishing that your eyes could pierce a hole and reveal other people, anyone. yet no one else had arrived. the pit in your stomach deepened. "maybe i should call sally. or anna."
"nah, don’t bother." he waved a dismissive hand. "they probably won't even come. you know how it is." he paused, a predatory glint appeared in his round eyes. "guess it’ll be just us."
the words rang heavy and suffocating. it clicked. a cold, sickening realization washed over you. there was never "others." you had been tricked. the gifts, the polite goodbyes, all of it a naive delusion.
"oh." you stood up abruptly, the movement jarring. "i... i think i should go. maybe i should come back when the others arrive." your mind raced, scrambling for an excuse, anything to get out. you tried to infuse your voice with a calm you didn’t feel, to make it sound like a reasonable suggestion, not a desperate plea.
"don’t be stupid, y/n. you just got here." he stood and pulled you towards him. the close proximity of his body, the insufferable smell of weed making you almost gag. "you’re lonely, aren’t you? i see it in your eyes. the way you just exist and he doesn't even notice."
"i don’t know what you mean." your voice trembled.
"why? you don’t want to admit it?" he leaned closer, breath warm against your ear. his insidious words pricked at the spots. the truth of them, despite the venomous delivery, stung. but the way he was using them, twisting them, made your skin crawl.
you tried to push past him, a surge of adrenaline making you bold. “let me go.”
he grabbed your arm, his fingers tightening around your wrist. "no." he pulled you back, hard, sending you stumbling onto the couch. the gifts clattered to the floor. he pinned you there, his face inches from yours. "i know you don’t love him. you're goddamn pathetic with him and everyone sees it."
you felt a surge of adrenaline, a pumping desperate need to escape. “you don’t know anything about me. or san.” you pulled harder, twisting your body, trying to create distance.
he didn’t let go. instead, his other hand came up, resting on your arm, his thumb stroking your skin. "i know you don't love him. i know you’re unhappy." the accusation, so utterly false, ignited a furious spark within you. "why else would you keep coming back here?"
"you’re wrong!" sharp and venomous, your voice cut through the fear. "you’re completely wrong. i love san. i love him more than anything. and i would never, ever be unfaithful to him. especially not with... with someone like you!" the last words, raw and unfiltered, spilled from your lips. the thought of betraying san, of allowing this man to even suggest such a thing, filled you with a righteous anger.
a vein throbbed in his temple. for a terrifying moment, you thought he might strike you. his face contorted, a mask of rage. primal scream ripped through your mind, though no sound escaped your lips. a sudden, visceral revulsion surged through you, a raw, untamed force you hadn’t known you possessed. you didn’t think, you reacted. with a guttural cry that was more gasp than sound, you twisted your body, yanking your arm free from his grasp with a strength born of pure terror. you stumbled back, tripping over your own feet, but you caught yourself, your eyes wide, fixed on him.
"hey, y/n, calm down. let's talk-" his face a mask of something ugly. he took a step towards you, his hand still outstretched.
"don’t you touch me!" you shrieked, the words finally tearing free holding a fierce conviction.
with a desperate lunge, you pushed past him and found the doorknob, fingers clumsy with terror and heart pounding against your ribs. please, please be unlocked. the knob turned protesting a squeal. a small miracle. you yanked it open, the weak sunlight blinding you for a moment.
you didn’t look back. you ran. the gravel crunched under your shoes, the faded blue trailer shrinking behind you. you didn’t stop until you reached your car, fumbling with the keys, your hands shaking so violently you could barely push the button. you threw yourself inside, locking the doors, lungs burning. the engine roared to life, and you sped away, leaving the trailer park, the sickly rose bush, and the terrifying encounter in a cloud of dust. the gifts lay forgotten on the floor of the trailer, naive hope, now shattered.
୨୧
"i ran into someone today."
"at the market?"
"an old friend. from high school. apparently some of them still hang out and, i was invited."
"that's good, you should go."
"really? you don't mind?"
"why would i mind? it's good for you to see people, you're always here. you should get out more."
"i mean... i haven't seen them in years. since graduation, probably."
"people change, that's okay. it'll be nice to reconnect. you've been cooped up, it's good to have plans."
"i guess so."
knees drawn to your chest, the phone thrown to the cushion next to you. you had to call him, you really had to, and he did leave. cheeks damp, tiny ragged sobs caught in your throat, you barely registered when the door swung open. he stood at the doorway, crisp button down now slightly rumpled, his tie loosened. his eyes scanned the room, then landed on you. he didn't say anything, just kicked the door shut with his heel and moved towards you deliberately.
"san," you choked out a fragile whisper, "i'm so sorry. i'm so, so sorry i made you come home."
he didn't answer with words, simply sunk onto the couch beside you, the springs protesting faintly. his strong arms wrapped around your shaking shoulders, pulling you into his chest. the clean, subtle cedar scent of his cologne filled your senses, chasing away the lingering stench of smoke and fear. you buried your face in his shirt and let the dam break.
hot and stinging tears streamed down your face, soaking into his shirt. each sob tore through you, tearing sounds you hadn't realized you were holding back. his hand moved to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you close. he didn't try to stop the tears, didn't offer empty platitudes. he just held you, a silent comforting presence.
"it’s okay," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear, "it's okay, y/n. i'm here."
fingers fisted in his shirt, the fabric stretching taut. the world outside the circle of his arms ceased to exist. there was only the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body, the gentle rhythm of his breathing. time stretched and blurred. you cried until your throat ached, until your eyes felt swollen and raw, until the tremors in your body slowly began to subside.
when the sobs dwindled to quiet sniffles, you pulled back slightly, your head still resting against his shoulder, your gaze fixed on the intricate weave of his shirt. a deep, shuddering breath hitched in your chest.
"i… i need to tell you something," you whispered.
he squeezed your shoulder gently. "take your time."
the silence stretched, heavy with unspoken things. you needed to say it, all of it. the truth, ugly and raw, demanded to be set free.
"i haven’t been... i haven’t been doing well, san," you began, your voice still hoarse. "not really. i mean, i love being home. i love our apartment, i love cooking for you, taking care of everything. i really do. but" you carefully searched for the right words, the words that wouldn’t sound like an accusation. "it got... lonely. really lonely."
at his arm tightening around your waist, you glanced up at his face. his brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with a deep, quiet concern, but no judgment.
"i know you work hard," you continued, rushing the words out before you could lose your nerve. "i know you do it for us, for our future, and i appreciate it, san, i really do. sometimes, i just... i just want to talk. to someone. about anything. about my day, about a stupid show i watched, about a new recipe i found. just... to talk. and you're not there."
he didn’t interrupt, just listened, his gaze steady on your face.
"and then… i met seonghwa again."
the name plastered, foreign and sharp. san’s head tilted slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.
"seonghwa?" he repeated, the name unfamiliar on his tongue. "who is... i thought you said you were meeting anna? your old classmate?"
your heart sank at his innocence, at how you had let him assume with unclear conversations.
"no, anna is... seonghwa’s friend,” you explained, the words tumbling out. "she’s part of his group. he was my classmate in high school. not a close one, but... yeah. he’s the one i ran into at the supermarket."
san’s placid eyes held a hint of something unreadable. he still didn’t speak, just waited.
"i didn’t mean for any of it to happen," you confessed, your voice cracking again. "i just... i just wanted to be included. to feel like i was part of something. they seemed so... free. and easy. and i was so lonely." you paused, drawing a shaky breath, preparing for the hardest part. "at first it seemed harmless. they were just... different than me, something new. but then it escalated. the parties. the noise. the... the smoke.” you hesitated, then forced yourself to say it. "i... i smoked weed, san. once. i know, i know it was stupid. i’m so sorry."
tears welled up again and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for his reaction. but he still didn’t say anything, just held you closer, so you continued and everything spilled. the memories flooding back, sharp and vivid. from the hazy afternoons to the girl, her unnatural stillness and anna's so, so young son yet already involved into such a chaotic world. your voice broke with the image behind eyelids. then today, at seonghwa's. reliving the terror, the helplessness, made you shiver with a torrent of fear and disgust and self reproach.
you dissolved into fresh sobs, the weight of the confession crushing you. you waited for anger, for disappointment, for the distance to grow between you even more. but instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer.
"y/n," he said, his voice deeper than usual, a quiet intensity in his tone. "look at me."
you reluctantly lifted your head, tear streaked face meeting his gaze. his eyes were now clouded with a raw pain that mirrored your own.
"you have nothing to be sorry for," he stated, his voice firm, unwavering. "not for feeling lonely. not for wanting connection. and not for trying to find it." he paused, his thumb stroking your cheek, wiping away a tear. "i’m the one who should be sorry. i let you feel that way. i let you feel so alone that you had to look for it somewhere else. i was so caught up in work, in making sure we had everything we needed, that i forgot to give you what you actually needed. me."
fresh tears pricking your eyes, you shook your head. "no, san. that’s not fair. you work so hard. you provide everything. i should have just told you. i should have talked to you. i just... i didn’t want to cause conflict. i didn’t want to seem ungrateful."
"conflict is part of a relationship, y/n," he countered softly. "it’s how we grow. and you are never ungrateful. i know you. i just... i wasn’t listening. i wasn’t seeing. i was so focused on building a future, i forgot to live in the present. with you." his gaze was intense, full of regret. "i saw you, every morning, making the bed perfectly. i saw the dinners you planned. i saw the baked goods you made, and gave away. i thought... i thought you were happy. i thought that was just you, being you. i didn’t realize it was... a symptom. i thought stability meant happiness. i thought if i provided for everything, you wouldn’t have to worry. i thought that was how i showed you i loved you. but i forgot to show you i loved you with my time. with my presence. with my words."
"but i should have said something," you insisted, your voice still thick with guilt. "i let it fester. i bottled it up. i smoked weed behind your back. that’s not okay, san. that’s not okay."
"and it’s not okay that i left you feeling so emotionally neglected that you felt like you had to," he countered, his voice gentle but firm. "we both made mistakes, y/n. mine was in being absent. yours was in not speaking up. but none of that changes how much i still love you."
he pulled you back into his embrace, holding you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head. you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your ear. a comforting, familiar rhythm.
"i love you, y/n," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "more than anything. and i am so, so sorry that you went through all of that. that you were scared. that you were hurt. that you felt alone. i promise you, you will never feel that way again. not with me."
you clung to him, tears still flowing, but these were different. these were tears of relief, of release, of a profound love finally understood. you felt the tension that had been coiled in your chest for months slowly unwind, dissolving into the warmth of his embrace.
"i love you too, san," you sobbed, the words muffled against his shirt. "i love you so much."
held for a long time, the only sounds the quiet sniffles, the soft rustle of clothes, the steady rhythm of two hearts beating in unison. the city outside grew darker, the streetlights casting long, pale shadows through the window. but inside, in the circle of his arms, a fragile light had begun to glow. it wasn’t a solution, not yet. but it was a new beginning.
୨୧
morning rays painted stripes across the duvet. you stirred, the warmth beside you a comforting anchor. san’s arm, heavy and solid, rested across your waist. his breath, slow and even, feathered against your neck. you turned your head, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. the memory of yesterday, the raw vulnerability, the shared tears, a fragile precious thing.
quiet sigh escaping your lips, you stretched with a yawn. the bed felt different today, lighter, like a burden had lifted. you eased yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him, and padded into the kitchen. the choreography of making coffee began. the gentle hum of the machine, the rich aroma blooming in the air. you poured two mugs, placing san’s on his bedside table before returning to your side of the bed, he still slept.
you traced the line of his jaw with your finger, the slight stubble rough beneath your touch. his eyelashes, thick and dark, rested against his skin. a small, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips.
"morning," his voice, deep and gravelly with sleep, startled you. his eyes slowly opened, finding yours.
"morning, sannie," you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his temple.
he stretched, his big arms flexing, the muscles taut beneath his skin. he reached for you, pulling you closer until your head rested on his shoulder. "i’m not going to work today."
you blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. "what?"
"i said, i’m not going to work today," he repeated, his thumb stroking the skin of your arm. "or tomorrow. i took the weekend off."
a small, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of you. "you did not. you never take the weekend off. you have that big report due monday."
he shifted, propping himself up on an elbow, his gaze steady. "i called lee at like 3 am. he’s covering. the report can wait. we can’t."
your heart gave a small, hopeful flutter. the words, simple and direct, resonated deep within you. you reached up, cupping his cheek. his skin felt warm against your palm.
"really?" you asked thin with emotion.
he nodded, a soft smile gracing his lips, revealing the faint indentations of his dimples. "really."
the weight that had pressed down on your chest for so long began to ease, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t felt in months. you leaned into him, burying your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin, a mix of sleep and his subtle leftover cologne.
"what are we going to do?" you murmured, the question laced with a hesitant joy.
he held you tighter. "whatever you want. show me your world, y/n."
a lump formed in your throat. you pulled back, a small, genuine smile blooming on your face. "okay," you breathed. "okay."
the morning unfolded slowly for once, no rush to get ready, no frantic dash for him to find a parking spot. you made a more elaborate breakfast than usual, eggs scrambled with herbs, crisp bacon, and slices of avocado. he watched you, perched on a stool at the kitchen island, his phone conspicuously absent. he simply watched, gaze attentive, as you moved with a quiet efficiency.
he ate with a quiet appreciation, savoring each bite. the silence between you was no longer heavy with unspoken words, but comfortable, filled with the soft clink of forks against plates, the distant chirping of birds.
after breakfast, you led him to the bedroom and demonstrated your bed making routine, movements precise and practiced. he watched, his head tilted, an expression mixed with amusement and curiosity.
the hours melted into a gentle rhythm. you showed him your small rituals. the way you organized the pantry, grouping spices by frequency of use. the careful sorting of laundry, whites, colors, delicates. the methodical scrubbing of the bathroom, each surface gleaming. he followed you, your silent observer, occasionally offering a helping hand.
you found yourself talking more than you had in months, explaining the logic behind your choices, the small satisfactions you found in these mundane tasks. he listened, truly listened, his eyes never leaving your face. it was no longer how are you? but why do you do this that way?
lunch was a rather simple affair, sandwiches and fruit, eaten at the kitchen counter. you found yourself telling him about a new recipe you wanted to try, a complicated japanese stew you’d been researching. he listened, asking questions about the ingredients, the cooking process. it felt like a real conversation, not just a series of perfunctory exchanges.
as dusk began to settle, casting a soft, blue hue through the apartment, you found yourselves in the living room. you moved the large, plush couch, pushing it closer to the wide window that overlooked the street below. the city lights began to twinkle a distant murmur from the streets.
you sat side by side, the comfortable silence settling around you once more. he reached out, his hand slowly finding your arm. his fingers traced a gentle path from your wrist to your elbow, a soft reassuring touch. you leaned your head against his shoulder, inhaling his scent, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear.
the silence stretched, not empty, but full of unspoken emotions, of rediscovered intimacy. you watched the cars pass below, their headlights cutting through the growing darkness.
after a long while, he stirred. his hand tightened on your arm, then he slowly, gently, pulled you onto his lap. your legs tangled with his, your body molding against his hard frame. he shifted, adjusting you until you were nestled perfectly, your back against his chest. his lips found your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss, then moving to the delicate skin of your neck. a shiver ran through you, a small, involuntary gasp escaping your lips. he kissed the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and a soft giggle bubbled up from your chest.
"you okay? is this okay?" he murmured.
you nodded, your head resting against his shoulder. "more than okay."
he pulled back slightly, turning you so you faced him, his hands resting on your hips. his brown eyes held a tenderness that made your breath catch.
"y/n," he began, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "do you... do you ever think about kids?"
୨୧
effortlessly, he laid you gently on the bed, following you down, his body a warm weight against yours. his lips found yours, soft at first, then deepening, hungry desperation underlying the tenderness. your mouth opened beneath his, inviting him in. his tongue tangled with yours, a slow, sensual dance, tasting of coffee and him.
"mine," he murmured against your mouth, pulling back just enough to whisper the word. "you’re mine, y/n. no one else’s."
his hands, large and strong, moved to the hem of your shirt, slowly, deliberately, pulling it up and over your head. the cool air brushed against your skin for a moment before his hands were there, warm and firm, stroking your sides, your ribs, the soft skin of your belly.
you arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your throat. you reached for his shirt, fingers trembling slightly. he helped, peeling the fabric from his broad shoulders, revealing the taut muscles of his chest before he reached around, touch gentle, unfastening the hook of your bra. the lace fell away, revealing your breasts, full and soft in the dim light. he stared, his gaze lingering and before you knew it, he leaned down, lips closing over one nipple, drawing it into his mouth. a jolt of pure pleasure shot through you. he sucked, softly at first, then harder, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. your breath hitched, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him closer. he moved to the other breast, suckling with equal fervor, his free hand stroking your side, making goosebumps rise on your skin.
"so beautiful," he breathed, pulling back to look at your flushed face. "so fucking beautiful."
rough with desire, igniting a fire deep within you. you reached for the button of his jeans, eager to shed the remaining barriers between you, pushing them down his hips, along with his boxers. his cock sprang free, already hard and engorged, glistening in the dim light. you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his heat, stroking the soft skin. he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.
"baby," he gasped, his voice strained. "god, y/n."
you continued to stroke him, feeling the pulse of his arousal against your palm. your own desire mounted, a burning ache between your legs. he reached for your shorts, pulling them down with your panties. the cool air kissed your bare skin, a fleeting sensation before his hand was there, warm and knowing, finding the wetness between your thighs.
his fingers parted your folds, gently, slowly, exploring the slickness, the delicate curves of your clit. you gasped, your hips arching instinctively. he dipped a finger inside you, then another, preparing you. you were already so wet, your body aching for him. a soft squelching sound accompanied his movements, a wet, intimate symphony.
"so wet," his voice husky, eyes never leaving yours. "for me."
he watched your face, gauging your reactions, thumb circling your clit, drawing out whimpers and soft cries from deep within your throat. you writhed beneath his touch, your body trembling, on the precipice of release.
"please," you pleaded, your voice hoarse. "san, please."
he shifted, kneeling between your legs. his heavy cock, slick with your wetness, brushed against your opening. you gasped, a desperate sound. he hesitated, looking into your eyes, a possessive fire burning in his gaze.
"say..." he whispered, slightly overwhelmed already. "say you’re mine."
"yours," you choked out, tears stinging your eyes, a heady mix of pleasure and raw emotion. "i’m yours, san. only yours."
he entered you then, slowly, pushing past the soft resistance, filling you completely. a deep groan rumbled in his chest as he buried himself within you. you cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. he paused, letting you adjust, letting your body stretch and encompass him. the feeling was overwhelming, profound sense of fullness, of belonging.
he began to move, slow, deliberate rhythm at first, his hips rocking against yours. the friction was exquisite, the sound of your bodies joining, a wet, rhythmic shlicking. he pulled back almost completely, then drove back in, deep and hard, a sigh escaping his lips. your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper.
"mine," he repeated, each thrust punctuated by the word. "no one will ever... have you like this, only me."
the pace quickened, becoming more urgent, more primal. he pounded into you, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your core. your nails dug into his back, leaving faint red marks on his tanned skin. your hips rose to meet his, matching his rhythm, your bodies a blur of motion in the dim light. the bed creaked beneath you, a testament to the intensity of your passion.
he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plundering yours, tasting your desire, your cries muffled against his lips. your climax built, a tight coil in your belly, spreading outwards, consuming you. you bucked against him, your body convulsing around his cock. a guttural cry tore from your throat as you shattered, waves of pure bliss washing over you.
the thrusts got deeper, harder, his own climax building quickly on the heels of yours. groans and bodies tensing, hips slamming into yours one last time as he emptied himself deep inside you. his hot cum flooded you, warm thick rush that made you gasp.
collapsed and slick with sweat, your legs were still wrapped around him, intimately entwined. he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
"mine," he whispered the promise again. "forever."
fingers tangling in his damp hair, you held him close. the noise outside, the loneliness, the fear, all faded away, replaced by the overwhelming presence of him, of this rediscovered connection. you felt utterly safe, utterly loved, utterly his.
he shifted, pulling back slightly, propping himself on his elbows, his eyes soft, heavy lidded. he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, a tender exploration.
"i love you, y/n."
the words, so rarely spoken, so deeply felt, resonated through you. a fresh wave of tears pricked your eyes, but these were tears of joy, of relief, of a profound sense of peace.
"i love you too, san," you whispered back. "more than anything."
a new chapter had begun. a chapter filled with soft reassurances, intentional conversations, and a love that, though tested, had found it's way back home. the question of children lingered, a new seed planted in the fertile ground of your renewed intimacy, a promise of a future you could now, finally, envision together.
each day a thread re-stitched into the fabric of your life together. no longer a frayed edge, but a strengthening seam. the silence shedding it's heavy cloak of unspoken expectation. now, it held the hum of shared understanding, a quiet comfort that didn't demand filling. some days you still spent less time together than you'd wanted, yet, even then, the goodbye no longer felt like a hurried escape.
you learned to speak your needs, not with the tremor of a plea, but with the steady beat of a declaration. he listened, brow furrowing in concentration, his eyes soft with an empathy he’d struggled to articulate before. you saw the effort, the conscious wrestling with words that didn’t come easily to him. it was a language you were both learning, halting at first, then gaining fluency with each shared vulnerability. he’d ask about your day, not as a formality, but with genuine curiosity, sometimes even calling during his lunch break, a rare occurrence that made your heart do a little skip. love rediscovered, a future being built, one honest word, one tender touch, at a time.
your phone still buzzed with notifications from instagram. you scrolled past anna’s stories, a flurry of candid shots from her son’s fifth birthday party. a lopsided cake, sticky fingers, a wide, gap toothed grin. you tapped the little heart icon, then saw sally’s latest transformation, her hair now a vibrant neon green. she’d posted a picture of a sizzling pan, tagged with a question about your secret to perfectly crisp tofu. you sent back a detailed message, outlining marinades and pan temperatures, a smile touching your lips. you knew, and they knew, that the physical space between your worlds had widened, perhaps irrevocably. there was no expectation of meeting up, no casual invitations to late night gigs. seonghwa’s shadow still stretched too long, too dark, across that part of your memory. the thought of stepping back into that haze, even for a moment, made your stomach clench. you had found your way back to the light, and you were fiercely protective of it.
this morning, however, began with no alarms. skin to skin, a perfect fit. he had begged for five more minutes and how could you say no when his mouth was already moving in between your thighs? lazy swipes, you felt your muscles tense slightly, then relax, his hand finding your hip, drawing you closer, before moving your legs over his shoulders. his tongue stroked the soft skin of your pussy, a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
time dissolved. the soft rustle of sheets, the faint thumping of your heart against his. the world outside your bedroom, outside this intimate cocoon, ceased to exist. you were just two bodies, intertwined, rediscovering a forgotten language.
when your third orgasm of that morning alone hit, you pulled your head back, accidentally looking at the clock and freezing, a gasp escaping your lips. he pulled back slightly, his eyes still clouded with passion, then clearing with the dawning realization. a groan, this one of frustration, escaped him.
"shit, shit, shit," you cursed under your breath. "oh, san. you're going to be late."
a deep sigh, rueful sound laced with disappointment escaped him. you pushed yourself up, pulling the sheet with you, a sudden chill striking your skin. he ran a hand through his hair, dishevelled from sleep and your shared passion. "i know." he sat up, stretching, his muscles rippling, a sight that still made your breath catch. he threw his legs over the side of the bed, the sheet falling away, revealing the strong lines of his back, the curve of his shoulders and his half erect dick.
"go, go," you urged, though a part of you wanted to pull him back, to steal a few more precious minutes. you threw off the covers, padding naked to the closet, already mentally planning his lunch.
he glanced back, a wry smile on his face. "you’re not exactly helping." his eyes lingered on your retreating figure, a spark of lingering desire in them.
"i’m making your lunch. that’s helping." you laughed shyly, a clear sound before pulling out a crisp white shirt, a dark tie, laying them out on the bed for him.
when the sound of the shower starting grounded you, you moved with purpose, opening the fridge, pulling out containers. yesterday’s leftover bulgogi, a side of kimchi, some fresh fruit. you packed it all neatly into his bento box, arranging the colours, making it appealing.
now dressed in his dark suit trousers, he emerged from the bathroom, his shirt still unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his chest. his hair was damp, slicked back, making him look even more handsome, more put together. he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his solid frame. chin rested on your shoulder, breath warm against your ear.
"i love you," he murmured, the words no longer feeling forced, but a natural outflow.
you leaned into him, closing your eyes for a moment. "i love you too," you replied, your voice thick with emotion.
he squeezed you gently, then released you, picking up his jacket. you followed him to the doorframe, a familiar ritual, but one that now held a deeper significance. he turned, his eyes searching yours, then he leaned down, his lips finding yours in a deep, lingering kiss. it was a kiss that spoke of hurried passion, of regret for lost time, and of promises for the future. his hand found your butt, giving it an extra, firm squeeze, a playful, intimate gesture that made you giggle.
"sannie, you have to go." you laughed against his lips.
"i know, just let me-"
he pulled you back in, tongues dancing against each other as he opened the door.
"you gotta... go... leave..." despite your protests, you were leaning into the kisses as well.
finally, when he pulled back, a wide grin appeared on his face, those dimples on full display. "i left something for you on the counter." his eyes twinkled.
your eyebrows rose in surprise. "oh?"
he just winked, then stepped out into the hallway. "have a good day," he called over his shoulder, already halfway down the corridor.
"you too." you watched him go with a warmth spreading through you, chasing away the morning chill. your cheeks burned pleasant blush. you closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, the echo of his kiss still on your lips.
a curious smile played on your lips. you turned, walking back into the kitchen, your eyes scanning the clean, uncluttered surface. amidst the neatly stacked mail and the fruit bowl, an envelope lay, pristine white, tucked beside the coffee maker.
your heart gave a little flutter. you picked it up, fingers tracing the simple, elegant script of your name. you recognized his handwriting, though it was slightly more rushed than usual, a testament to his morning scramble. you glanced back at the lace box that sat on your dresser. finally, a new companion piece awaited. you carefully tore open the seal, your breath held in anticipation.
you pulled out a single sheet of paper, folded neatly. it wasn’t a thick expensive stationery, but a page torn from a small, spiral bound notebook, perhaps one he kept for jotting down notes at work. the paper felt thin, slightly rough urough under your fingertips. the words were penned in his familiar, slightly cramped hand, some of them a little smudged, as if he’d written it quickly, probably during a stolen moment on his break.
you began to read, a soft smile blooming on your face.
my y/n:
you know how i am with words, they get stuck somewhere between my heart and my mouth. it’s frustrating. for both of us, i know. i think about that first letter i wrote you. it was bad. really bad. i cringed just thinking about it. but i tried, i guess, even if it doesn’t look like it. these past few weeks... they’ve been good, better. i hope it's the same for you. seeing you smile again, truly smile, it’s like the sun coming out after a long winter. i never want that winter to come back. i never want you to feel that coldness again. i was so blind. so stupid. i thought providing was enough but i was wrong. you taught me that. you always teach me things, even when you don’t mean to. i want to be better. for us. for you. i want to learn how to say these things out loud, not just write them down when no one’s looking. i’m sorry for the pain i caused. i’m sorry i let you feel alone. i promise to keep trying. to keep learning. to keep loving you, in all the ways you deserve. you are my home, y/n, my everything, my wife, and i will never ever let another man think they got a mere chance with you, never again. you're mine and i'm yours.
