Character tags: ateez x reader and/or ateez poly, hongjoong x reader, seonghwa x reader, yunho x reader, yeosang x reader, san x reader, mingi x reader, wooyoung x reader, jongho x reader |
Au tags: pirate au, mafia au, yandere au, demon au, vampire au, space au, dystopia au, royal au, arranged marriage au, historical au, wild west au, serial killer au, paranormal au, boxer au, biker au, racer au, prisoner au, soulmate au, established relationship, brother's best friend au, friends/ best friends to lovers au, fwb to lovers, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, exes to lovers, high school au, university/college au, neighbors/ roommates au, stoner au, Greek mythology au, mythological creature au, witch au, dragon au, alien au, werewolf/ abo au, bartender au, ballet au, rich heir, doctor au, cult au |
DISCLAIMER #1: poly pairings that involve the whole group (or like 80% of it) have the 'ateez x reader' and 'ateez poly' tags and NOT the individual tags. However, the fics with pairings with only two or three members have individual tags and (maybe) the 'ateez poly' tag, but in general, the 'ateez x reader' and 'ateez poly' tags are for the whole group. So if you're looking for a threesome or smth, always check the individual tags.
DISCLAIMER #2: Some member x reader fics have the 'ateez ot8' tag in them. This tag does not indicate any pairing, nor it has the same meaning as the 'ateez x reader' and 'ateez poly' tags. It just specifies that all members are present in the story.
summary: in which you’ve never given head before and your best friend is willing to teach you how
warning: oral, hand job, fingering, deep throating, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie
genre: smut
pairing: mingi x afab reader
word count: 16.2k
masterlist
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The bell above the door chimed as Mingi stepped out of the restaurant, the warm, greasy air of the kitchen clinging to him like a second skin. His parents were still inside, his mom yelling something in Korean about closing up the register, his dad arguing back like always. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he walked down the block, shoulders loose but his mind already drifting, like it always did to you.
The walk to the apartment was short. Too short for the thoughts building in his chest. By the time he reached the apartment building, he was already keyed up for no reason, like something was off, like the air had shifted and he just hadn’t caught up yet.
He took the stairs two at a time, unlocked the door and stepped inside and immediately froze. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. No music. No TV. No you yelling at some random TikTok or calling his name from the kitchen. Just a soft broken sound that made Mingi’s head snap toward the living room.
“Y/N?” He dropped his keys somewhere by the door and moved fast, rounding the corner and there you were. Curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, face buried in your hands like you were trying to hide from your own thoughts. Crying. Not the loud kind but the kind that slips out when you’re trying not to be heard. And something in Mingi’s chest snapped.
“Hey…. hey, what happened?” He was already in front of you, already crouching down, trying to catch your face as you turned away. Your eyes were red. Your cheeks flushed. Embarrassment written all over you in a way he didn’t understand yet but he felt it. “Talk to me,” he said, softer now, reaching out but stopping just short of touching you. Always careful. Always giving you space, even when it killed him.
You wiped at your face, clearly trying to pull yourself together, which only made his stomach twist harder. “It’s stupid,” you muttered.
“Then tell me anyway.”
“He broke up with me.”
“What?”
You let out a shaky breath, staring somewhere past him like you couldn’t stand to look him in the eye. “It’s not…. he just said we weren’t… compatible.” You hesitated before explaining. And suddenly, you looked smaller. Not physically. Just… folded in on yourself in a way Mingi had never seen before. “He said…” You swallowed. “Alex said it was weird that I’ve never….” You cut yourself off again, face burning.
Mingi leaned forward slightly, voice low, steady. “Never what?”
You shook your head, not looking at him. “I’ve never… done that before.”
“Done what?”
Your eyes squeezed shut like saying it would make it real. More embarrassing. “Given head before.” The room didn’t just go quiet. It stopped. Mingi blinked once, twice, trying to process what you just confessed. “You’re serious?”
You nodded, mortified now, shoulders curling inward. “I just…. I don’t know how, okay? And I didn’t want to be bad at it and make it awkward and…..” your voice cracked, frustration spilling in now, “and he made it seem like I was broken or something for not knowing how to do it already.”
Mingi stood up so fast the coffee table rattled. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Mingi…”
“No, I’m serious,” he snapped, pacing now, hands dragging through his bleached blonde hair. “That’s what he broke up with you over? That? Like you owe him that? Like that’s something he’s entitled to?”
You sniffed, wiping at your face again. “I just feel stupid. It’s not…. like I won’t do it. I just…. Never have and now… I don’t know how.”
He stopped and turned back to you. And whatever was in his expression now, it wasn’t anger. Not at you. Never at you. It was something deeper. Softer. Almost… hurt. “Hey,” he said, quieter now, stepping closer again. “Don’t say that.”
You laughed weakly. “It’s true. I’m twenty five and I don’t even know how to suck dick!”
“You don’t need to know how.” His voice cut through yours, firm as you looked up at him. “What?” Mingi exhaled slowly, like he was trying to get his thoughts in order, but they weren’t behaving. Not when you looked like that. Not when someone had made you feel this small. “You don’t need to know how to suck dick.” He repeated, softer now. “Not unless you want to.”
You frowned slightly. “That doesn’t really fix the problem.” Mingi didn’t look away from you. He just stared… like he was thinking too hard. Like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t take back. “You trust me, right?” Your heart stuttered. “Always.” His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, jaw tight, like he was fighting himself.
“Then you wouldn’t have to feel stupid about it.”
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The fluorescent lights above you buzzed faintly. Not loud enough to be annoying. Just loud enough to be… there. Like everything else in this place. The office was small, temporary, forgettable, rows of desks, half filled cubicles, the low hum of keyboards and printers blending into one dull, endless rhythm. The kind of job you took because it was easy. Because it paid. Because it didn’t require you to think too hard.
Which, ironically, was exactly the problem. All you could do was think. Your cursor blinked on the screen in front of you, a blank document. Unfinished work. Ignored emails.
“Then you wouldn’t have to feel stupid about it.”
Your fingers stilled over the keyboard. God. You pressed your lips together, trying to focus, trying to force your brain back into something productive, but it was useless. Completely useless. Because the way Mingi had said it…. it hadn’t sounded like a joke. Hadn’t sounded like teasing. Hadn’t even sounded like him trying to make you feel better.
It had sounded… serious. Careful. Like he’d thought about it before he said it. Your stomach twisted as you leaned back slightly in your chair, eyes flicking around the office just to ground yourself, coworkers typing, someone coughing, the distant whir of a copier, a little glare sent towards Alex across the office, but it didn’t help.
Because all you could see was Mingi. You dropped your gaze back to the screen, swallowing. What did he mean? No…. you knew what he meant. You just didn’t know if he’d really meant it. That was the problem. Mingi had always been… comfortable. Safe. The one person you never had to overthink with. The one person who’d seen every version of you, from awkward thirteen year old to… whatever you were now, and never made you feel like you had to be anything else. You trusted him completely.
Your foot tapped lightly against the floor, restless energy building in your chest. What if he had meant it…. what if he meant…. to… your breath caught slightly and your face warmed instantly, heat creeping up your neck as the thought settled in deeper than you wanted it to. Not because of what it was. But because of who it was. Mingi, your best friend. The person who knew how you took your coffee, who stole your hoodies like they were his, who had a permanent dent in the couch from how often he sprawled across it like he owned the place since he moved in.
The same Mingi who had looked like he was ready to commit a felony over Alex. The same Mingi who…. your stomach flipped and you groaned softly under your breath, dropping your head into your hand. This was ridiculous. You were reading too much into it.
He was just being… him. Trying to make you feel better.
Right?
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard again, forcing yourself to type something, anything, but the words blurred together meaningless. Because another thought slipped in. Quieter. More dangerous. If he didn’t mean it… why did it sound like that? You knew the difference between when he was joking and when he wasn’t……
“Fuck.”
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The walk up to the apartment felt longer than usual. You’d replayed Mingi’s words all day. Every tone. Every pause. The way he’d looked at you when he said it. Your keys jingled softly in your hand as you reached the door, pausing for half a second before unlocking it like you needed to brace yourself. The door creaked open and there he was stretched out on the couch, one arm thrown behind his head, the other holding his phone loosely against his chest. The TV was on, something playing low in the background but he wasn’t really watching it.
His head turned the second you walked in, eyes landing on you immediately as he pushed himself up slightly, sitting forward. His brows pulled together slightly, head tilting as he watched you just… stand there. “You good?”
“What did you mean?”
His expression flickered. “What?”
You stepped further into the room now, heart already picking up, nerves buzzing under your skin. “Yesterday,” you said, voice tighter than you meant it to be. “When you said….” Your throat felt dry. “Then you wouldn’t have to feel stupid about it.”
Mingi didn’t answer right away. And that told you everything. “You didn’t mean it like that, right?” you pushed, words coming faster now. “You were just…. you were trying to make me feel better, or…”
“I meant it.” The words cut clean through yours and you stopped talking. Mingi sat there, elbows resting on his knees now, hands loosely clasped together as he looked at you, not avoiding, not backing down.
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah.”
The room suddenly felt smaller. Too small. Your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag. “Mingi…” you started, but you didn’t even know what you were trying to say. Because what was there to say? “You’re talking about…”
“I know what I’m talking about,” he said quietly making your heart race now, thoughts tangling over each other. “Why would you even…. why would you offer that?” you asked, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed. “That’s not… that’s not something best friends just….”
“Because I trust you. And you trust me,” he added, softer now. “Or at least… I thought you did.”
“I do,” you said quickly. “Always…. But that’s not…. this is just…” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, like the answer was floating somewhere in the air and you just couldn’t grab it and Mingi just watched you struggle for a second. Then leaned back slightly, dragging a hand over his face. “He made you feel like you were lacking something,” he said. “Like you were behind or wrong for not knowing how to do something you’ve never even done.” Your chest tightened again. “That pissed me off,” he continued, quieter now. “Still does.”
You didn’t doubt that. Not for a second. “But I meant what I said,” he added, eyes flicking back to yours. “You don’t have to feel like that. Not with me…. I could help you. No judgement.” The words settled heavy between you. “You’re saying you’d just…. what?” you asked, voice softer now. “Let me… practice sucking dick on you?”
Mingi’s jaw flexed. A small tell. One you’d only notice if you were really looking. “Only if you wanted to,” he said.
“Mingi,” you said again, quieter this time. But it wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t a rejection. It was something else. Something unsure and curious. Something that made his shoulders tense just slightly because he heard it too. That shift. The one neither of you were naming yet. “You don’t have to decide anything,” he said. “I’m not…. pushing you into anything. I just don’t want you thinking there’s something wrong with you.”
Your chest ached a little at that. “And this wouldn’t make things weird?” you asked, almost afraid of the answer and Mingi let out a quiet breath…..
“It doesn’t have to be.”
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Your room felt too small. The only light came from your laptop, casting that soft glow across your bed, your walls, your face as you sat there, legs tucked under you, back against the headboard, staring at the screen like it might magically fix everything. You’d told yourself this was a good idea…. just watch some porn. Told yourself that if you watched enough, paid attention, maybe you wouldn’t feel so….
You pressed your lips together, eyes flicking across the screen again, trying to focus, trying to understand what you were supposed to be learning from this as some girl started gagging, tears in her eyes, face a little red….
You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face before letting your head fall back against the wall behind you with a quiet thud. “This is useless,” you muttered under your breath. Because it was. None of it helped. Your eyes drifted away from the screen…..
“It doesn’t have to be.”
Your fingers curled slightly in the fabric of your blanket. God. You shut your laptop a little too fast, the click loud in the quiet room as you shifted slightly on the bed, pulling your knees closer to your chest, resting your chin against them as you stared at the closed laptop…..
You didn’t remember deciding to move, getting up. One second you were sitting on your bed, then standing in your room, staring at your door like it held all the answers. The next you were crossing the hall, heart beating way too fast for something that should’ve felt simple.
Your hand hovered for half a second before you even had the chance to knock on his door because his door was already open, gapped enough to see inside. You pushed it gently, the soft creak barely noticeable over the quiet hum of music playing low from his speaker.
He was ditting on the floor, back slightly hunched, one knee up, the other leg stretched out as he leaned over an old pair of shoes, paintbrush moving slowly in his hand, careful strokes of black and purple. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked without looking up.
You leaned lightly against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely, not to close yourself off, but because you didn’t know what else to do with them. “Something like that.” He hummed softly, still working, still not looking at you until you pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the room slowly, the soft music wrapping around the silence between you. “I tried to… figure it out,” you admitted, eyes flicking briefly to the shoes he was decorating. “On my own.”
Mingi’s jaw shifted slightly. “And?” he asked. You huffed a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head as you took another step closer. “It didn’t help.” You stopped a few feet away now, the space between you suddenly feeling… very noticeable. “Mingi….”
“Yeah?”
You swallowed, fingers fidgeting lightly at your sides before you forced them still. “If I said yes,” you started, voice softer now, more uncertain than you liked, “to what you said earlier…” His breathing shifted. “would you actually…” You trailed off, your chest tightening slightly as the words got stuck. “teach me?”
The room went quiet. Even the music felt distant suddenly. Mingi didn’t answer right away. He just… looked at you, taking you in like he was trying to read something deeper than your words before he shifted, pushing himself up from the floor. “Only if you’re sure,” he said, voice lower now. Careful. Controlled in a way that felt deliberate.
Your heart was pounding. “I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t.” His gaze flicked over your face, searching. For hesitation. For doubt. For anything that would make him stop. “You can stop anytime,” he added. “The second you’re uncomfortable. I mean that.” You nodded quickly. “I know.”
“Ok.” He stood, grabbing his shoes and paint, placing them by the wall like it was any other night. Like this wasn’t the most charged the room had ever felt. Like you hadn’t just asked him for something that had been sitting, buried, in the back of his mind for longer than he wanted to admit. He straightened, exhaling through his nose before turning and moving toward the edge of his bed, lowering himself down slowly, elbows resting on his knees for a second like he needed to ground himself.
He didn’t realize what you were doing until it was already happening, hadn’t realized you moved until you sank down onto your knees in front of him. His head snapped up instantly, eyes locking onto you. “Y/N….” he started, voice lower than before, rougher, like it had to push past something. “You don’t have to….”
“I know.” Your hands rested lightly on your thighs, fingers pressing into the fabric of your pajama pants like you needed something to hold onto as your gaze flicked up to his face. “Just…. tell me if I’m doing something wrong,” you said quietly as Mingi stared at you. “I’m not gonna sit here and judge you,” he said, softer now as your lips pressed together briefly. “I know…. that’s why I’m here.”
That almost broke him. Because that wasn’t just about this. That was everything. Every year. Every moment. Every time you chose him without even realizing you were doing it. Mingi’s hands flexed slightly where they rested on his knees and he forced himself to breathe. To slow down. To not let this turn into something it shouldn’t. “We go slow,” he said, voice quieter now, steadier. “Ok?” You nodded, heart racing.
“I’m gonna….” he started quietly, glancing down for a second before looking back at you, making sure you were still with him. You nodded. Every little movement felt amplified, his hands brushing his waistband, the slight shift of his sweatpants, the way his fingers hesitated for just a second like he was giving you one last chance to stop him.
You didn’t though so he slowly pulled his sweats down, not breaking eye contact for long, like he was still checking in with you even without asking. You watched, eyes following his him because you couldn’t not. He paused for a second. Not out of uncertainty. But out of awareness. Because this was the point of no return. Mingi’s jaw tightened slightly as his gaze flicked down, then back to you again, searching your face one last time before shoving his sweats and underwear both down.
And that’s when you froze and your eyes widened slightly before you could stop yourself. Because yeah. You’d thought it. Joked about it. Wondered, once or twice, in the back of your mind over the years….. yeah…. your best friend was big.
His breath hitched slightly, his body going still as his eyes snapped back to your face. “Hey,” he said, voice softer now, a little more cautious. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you said quickly, maybe a little too quickly, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I just….” You cut yourself off, pressing your lips together as heat rushed up your neck and Mingi’s expression shifted. Concern… mixed with something else. Something a little more vulnerable than before.
“It’s just….. I had no idea you were packing,” you joked trying to lighten the mood, shaking your head, your hand instinctively reaching out before you even realized what you were doing, lightly touching his knee.
He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe, to not let his own nerves take over now. “We can stop,” he said quietly. “Seriously.” You shook your head again. Firmer this time. “No. I don’t want to.” Your hand was still resting lightly on his knee. “Hey,” he said quietly, drawing your attention back to him before your thoughts could spiral too far. “We don’t have to jump into anything,” he said, voice softer now, more grounded. “You don’t have to… go straight to that. Just…. start with your hand,” he added, “Get used to it first. There’s no rush.”
Your fingers twitched slightly before hesitating for just a second before moving up his thigh, your hand slowly reaching to gently grip him in your hand. Heavy and throbbing. Mingi’s breath caught but he didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush you. He just watched as you stared at the length of him, thumb lightly tracing a vein….. “Yeah,” he murmured quietly, more to reassure you than anything else. “That’s good.”
Your breath hitched slightly at the sound of his voice and how deep it had gotten. A little rougher than you’ve ever heard him before and that made your confidence spike a little. Your fingers adjusted slightly, more certain now. Mingi’s hands tightened slightly against the edge of the bed, knuckles pressing into the fabric as he focused on breathing evenly. On not overwhelming you. On not letting this turn into something it shouldn’t…..
You started slow, working your hand down, thumb swiping over his tip when you came back up, thinking how…. how he’d feel somewhere you really should not be thinking so you quickly focused. To the way his breathing changed. To the way his shoulders tensed and then forced themselves to relax again. To the way his hands gripped the edge of the bed just a little tighter every time you adjusted.
And that told you more than anything you’d watched earlier. Mingi, on the other hand, was fighting for his life. His jaw tightened, teeth pressing together as he focused on breathing through it, chest rising a little sharper than before despite how hard he was trying to keep it even. Because you weren’t just… you were you. And that made everything worse.
Your hand shifted slightly again, more confident now, more in tune with him than before, stroking faster, lingering a little towards the spot closer to his balls because you caught how his eyes rolled back a little. And that’s when it almost slipped. A moan. Barely there. But not quiet enough. Mingi’s head dipped immediately, his free hand coming up to drag roughly over his face like he could hide it, like he could take it back. “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath, voice rougher now. “I’m….” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head once. “I’m trying not to….”
You paused, not pulling away, just… stilling. “You can….. you can moan you know… it’s normal.” Mingi’s head snapped up instantly. His eyes met yours again and there it was. That look. Not just focused. Not just affected. Something deeper. Something that made your stomach flip. “Ok.”
You adjusted again, more certain now to try and get those sounds from him again. More grounded in what you were doing instead of overthinking every second of it. Mingi’s grip on the bed tightened again, shoulders tensing as he let out a slow breath through his nose, trying to keep himself in check as you started stroking him again, his dick fully hard and aching now.
Your movements were still careful, still learning, though you have give a couple band jobs before, but no longer unsure. You were watching him now. Not just doing something, but paying attention. His breath caught, chest rising a little sharper as his eyes locked with yours again. And this time he didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Because there was something different in your expression now. “Hey,” he said, voice lower now, rougher than he wanted it to be.
You stilled slightly, eyes flicking up fully to his face. “Yeah?” He swallowed, trying to keep his head straight. Trying to keep this where it was supposed to be. “You can…” he paused, breath uneven for just a second before he steadied it. “You can slow down a little. You don’t have to rush it.” It wasn’t a correction, just guidance. Gentle and grounding. Your hand adjusted instinctively at the sound of his voice, easing just slightly, testing the difference and Mingi’s jaw tightened. “Yeah….” A moan left him. “like that….”
And that moan set something off in you. You pulled your hand back, both hands resting lightly on his thighs now, grounding yourself for a second as you looked up at him again, really looked this time. “I want to try my mouth now,” you said quietly and Mingi froze. His head tilted back for a second, eyes closing as he exhaled slowly, like he was trying to steady himself before looking at you again. “You sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rough around the edges in a way he couldn’t hide.
You nodded, voice a little breathless. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” he said quietly but his hands moved this time, settling lightly against your wrist for a second before his head dipped forward slightly, his hand tightening just briefly before he forced it to relax again, jaw clenching as he tried, really tried, to stay steady for you the second your lips brushed against his tip.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice strained but controlled. “You’re okay. Don’t overthink it.” Your breath hitched slightly at the sound of his voice. Because even now he was focused on you. Not himself. You cleared your throat, tongue darting out to lick at your lips before finally opening your mouth and slowly taking him in.
Your movements weren’t perfect. Not practiced. But they didn’t need to be. Because Mingi wasn’t reacting to perfection. He was reacting to you and it showed. In the way his breathing broke slightly when you gagged. In the way his head tipped back again, his hand coming up to drag through his hair as he exhaled a quiet, uneven breath when you pulled all the way back and sucked at his tip.
In the way he said your name, “Y/N…” Soft, like it slipped out before he could stop it. And that’s what got you. “You’re…..” he stopped himself, jaw tightening again as he swallowed the rest of whatever he was about to say when you took him back in, starting get a rhythm, head moving up and down and fuck he couldn’t stop watching you.
His hand hovered for a second like he wanted to touch you but he didn’t. Because this wasn’t about him. “You’re doing good,” he managed instead, quieter now and that little praise…. the shift was immediate. You adjusted slightly, your movements easing into something more careful, more exploratory, like you were actually listening now instead of overthinking. Relaxing your throat, hollowing your cheeks a little.
And Mingi felt it. Every bit of it. His breath caught sharply, shoulders tensing before he forced them to relax again, jaw tightening as he tried to keep himself grounded. “Hey,” he said quietly, voice lower now, strained but still trying to stay steady. “Slow… yeah, like that.” Your stomach flipped at the sound of his voice. Because it wasn’t just guiding. It was affected. Real. Almost whimpering. You followed it instinctively, easing your pace just slightly, paying attention to the way his breathing changed in response, the way his fingers curled tighter against the edge of the bed.
Your movements shifted again, more fluid now, less hesitant and Mingi….. Yeah. He was struggling, especially when you moaned once and he felt it vibrate through his dick. His head tipped back slightly more, eyes squeezing shut for a second as he let out a slow breath through his nose, his jaw clenching harder, enough to make it obvious he was holding something back.
“Fuck,” he exhaled quietly, barely audible, his hand dragging down his face again as he tried to pull himself together as you glanced up. And that’s when it hit you, really hit you…. the way he looked. Completely undone in a way you’d never seen before. “You’re okay,” he said again, voice rougher now, like it was getting harder to keep it even. “Just…. you’re doing good.”
Your movements slowed again, more deliberate now, more in tune with him than before, head bobbing back and forth, sucking at his tip before taking him back in and Mingi’s reaction followed immediately. A sharp inhale. His hand gripping tighter. His jaw clenching harder. Because if he let himself react the way he wanted to…. If he let himself say what was sitting right there, on the edge of his tongue…..
You shifted again. More confident now. Or at least… trying to be. Because you could feel it, how much he was reacting, how every small change you made pulled something different from him and that gave you just enough courage to push a little further, pushing yourself to take all of him, to let your mouth stretch the entire length of him and when you gagged, holding yourself there…… “Hey,” he started, voice already rough, already slipping.
But you kept going, tears started well up in your eyes as you choked a little bit still didn’t stop until you needed air. A sharp inhale left you as your body tensed and you pulled back suddenly, coughing lightly, your hand coming up instinctively like you needed to steady yourself.
“Hey…. hey,” Mingi said quickly, leaning forward, one hand coming up to hover near your shoulder without grabbing you, like he didn’t want to startle you more. “Don’t…. don’t push yourself like that.” Your face burned, embarrassment hitting you all at once as you tried to catch your breath. “I…. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he cut in immediately, softer now, more grounded. “You’re fine…. it felt good.” His thumb brushed lightly against your arm for a second, reassuring and steady before he pulled his hand back, giving you space again. “You’re trying too hard,” he added, quieter this time. “You don’t have to force anything you can’t take.” You swallowed, still a little flustered, avoiding his eyes for a second before glancing back up. “I thought I was supposed to…”
“You will,” he said, gently interrupting you again. “Just… not like that.” He paused for a second before, a little more hesitant, “You have to relax,” he said, voice lower now, more careful. “Don’t tense up like that. It’s…” he stopped himself, jaw tightening briefly before he tried again, softer. “It’s easier if you take your time.” Your heart was still racing. But the embarrassment started to fade, replaced by something else. Because he wasn’t judging you. Wasn’t frustrated. He was… helping.
“Okay,” you said quietly and Mingi nodded, encouraging. Patient in a way that made your chest tighten again for entirely different reasons. “Try again,” he said, softer now. “Just… slower. Don’t think about it too much…. don’t take what you can’t right now.” You let yourself breathe first. Let yourself settle before moving again, relaxing your jaw, realizing you liked the weight of him on your tongue.
Mingi’s head tipped back again slightly, jaw tightening again, hand wanting to tangle in your hair when you started slowly using your mouth to fuck him, more relaxed now, taking him almost all the way before pulling back and doing it again, fingers flexing like he has no idea what to do. His breath caught, shoulders tensing before he forced them to drop again, his hand gripping tighter against the bed as he tried to keep himself grounded.
But then you gripped his thighs, changed rhythm, hollowed your cheeks again, used the hold you had on him to help move, head bobbing faster, taking him all the way again, no gagging this time… and that’s what finally broke him. A sound slipped out before he could stop it. Low. Rough. Completely unplanned. Mingi’s head dropped forward for a second, his free hand coming up to cover his mouth like he could hide it, like he could shove it back down his throat before you heard it. But it was too late because you did and now you needed to hear it again as his thighs started twitching under your hands.
You started moving faster, sucking harder, letting him hit the back of your throat, eyes watering a little. His jaw clenched hard, his hand dragging down his face again for the hundredth time as he tried to steady himself, chest rising unevenly now despite how hard he was trying to keep it under control. “Hey…” he started, voice strained, catching slightly. “Y/N…”
His eyes squeezed shut for a second, head tipping back as he exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to pull himself back from the edge he was getting dangerously close to but then you looked up again. Mouth stretched around. Eyes watering. A fucking mess for him. A quiet, breathless sound left him before he could stop it, his hand tightening again as his composure faltered completely. “You…. fuck…” he muttered under his breath before he reached his hand and finally tangled his fingers into your hair. “you’re learning too fast…”
His fingers threaded through, tightening slightly like he needed something to hold onto before he completely lost his grip on everything else. “You feel so good…” his voice broke, low and uneven, his head tipping back as his chest rose sharply. “so fucking good.”
His praises made you suck harder, made you moan around him again and his grip tightened just for a second before he forced himself to loosen it, his breathing uneven now, his composure cracking in ways he couldn’t hide anymore. “I’m gonna…” he tried again, but the words fell apart halfway through, replaced by a sharp exhale as he dragged his free hand over his face again as you took him all the way and held him there.
His hand stilled in your hair. Not pulling. Not guiding. Just… there. Grounding himself. Feeling the way his dick twitched against your tongue and the back of your throat. His body tensed all at once as whatever control he’d been clinging to so he wouldn’t come finally gave out, his hand tightening instinctively for just a second before he forced it to still again. “Wait….” he tried, voice strained, already too late because his stomach tightened, his grip in your hair pulled as he felt it hit him. Hard. Really fucking hard.
He came with a broken whimper of your name, “Fuck…” he gasped as you swallowed every drop of him, not moving until you were satisfied you took it all. Mingi sat there, chest rising and falling hard, when you pulled back, his dick popping from your mouth, twitching.
“Did I do good?” you asked quietly. And that nearly wrecked him more than anything else. Mingi just stared at you, mouth parted slightly, like he had something to say but nothing came out. Because what could he say? That you had no idea what you just did to him? “Yeah,” he said finally, voice rough, quieter than before. “Yeah… you did.”
He leaned forward slowly, elbows resting on his knees again, his gaze dropping for just a second before lifting back to yours as he quickly pulled his sweats back up. “We should probably….” he started, then stopped. Because he didn’t know how to finish that sentence. What were you supposed to do after this? Go back to normal? Pretend nothing changed?
“I think…” You stood, wiping at your mouth. “I’m gonna go shower.” Mingi could say nothing as he watched you walk out of his room, you thanking him for letting you practice with flushed cheeks before disappearing down the hall and the bathroom door shutting behind you.
He finally exhaled, letting out a breathless laugh. “I think she just sucked my soul out of my dick.”
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The bell above the door chimed softly as you pushed it open and the familiar warmth of Mingi’s parent’s restaurant hit you immediately, oil, spices, something savory simmering in the back. The low hum of conversation, dishes clinking, the occasional shout from the kitchen. You stepped inside, scanning automatically and there Mingi was behind the counter.
Blonde hair slightly messy, sleeves pushed up, moving back and forth between orders like he’d done a thousand times before. You swallowed, pushing the thought of what you done the night before down as you walked further in, slipping into one of the empty stools at the counter. Mingi didn’t notice you right away, too busy taking an order, handing off a plate, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder.
But then his eyes flicked up and landed on you. And just like that he froze. “Hey,” he said, trying for casual as he stepped over, grabbing a glass and filling it with water just so he had something to do with his hands as you gave him a small smile. “Hey.”
“You eat?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“I’ll make you something.”
You nodded as he turned away again, back into motion, back into routine but every glance lasted a little too long. Every time he passed by, you felt it. That awareness. That memory sitting just under the surface. You watched him for a second, then another. The way he moved. The way he worked. And all you could think about was….. you wanted to do it again. You wanted to do it again and let him…… your fingers tightened slightly around the glass of water. Hes your best friend…. best friend who you might have been…. kind of into for a while now.
Mingi set a plate down in front of you, snapping you out of your thoughts. “You good?” he asked, watching you a little more closely now and you hesitated. “I have this thing coming up tonight,” you said and his brows pulled together slightly. “What thing?”
“Office party.”
He made a face immediately. “Yeah, that already sounds terrible.”
You huffed softly. “It would be fine if…” you stopped and Mingi noticed your hesitation. “If what?” he pressed as you glanced down at your food for a second before looking back up. “Alex’s gonna be there. We work together remember?” Mingi’s expression dropped instantly. “Of course he is,” he muttered, jaw tightening as you leaned back slightly on the stool, arms crossing loosely. “I don’t want to go alone,” you admitted.
“So dont.” Mingi shrugged like it was obvious. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t even like those kinds of things,” you pointed out and he shrugged lightly again. “I don’t like Alex more.”
You snorted as his mom walked behind him, asked you how your day was before saying you need to come by more and heading towards the kitchen. “Ok. You have to wear something nice though.”
Mingi smirked. “Oh absolutely.”
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Mingi was already dressed, leaning back against the couch, one arm stretched along the backrest, the other resting loosely on his thigh. The patterned shirt fit him a little too well, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms, the tie slightly loosened like he’d already given up on pretending he cared about the whole formal part of tonight. He’d been ready for twenty minutes and he hadn’t checked his phone once. Didn’t need to.
His attention kept drifting to the hallway. To your door. To the quiet behind it. His jaw shifted slightly as he exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand briefly over the back of his neck before letting it drop again. This was stupid. It was just an office party. Just you getting ready. Just….. the sound of your door opening cut that thought clean in half.
Mingi’s head turned instantly and he froze. The soft fabric of your dress caught the light just enough, lace hugging in all the places he absolutely should not be looking and still somehow… flaring out in a way that made it feel almost innocent. Your hair pulled back, earrings catching softly when you moved, the whole thing put together in a way that didn’t scream for attention but made it impossible not to look.
Mingi blinked once, then again. Like his brain needed a second to catch up to what he was seeing. “You ready?” you asked, voice casual, like you hadn’t just completely knocked the air out of his lungs. He didn’t answer, not right away. His gaze dragged, slow, unintentional and honest, from your face, down, then back up again like he was trying to correct himself and failing. “Yeah,” he said finally but it came out rougher than he meant it to.
His hand shifted slightly against his thigh, fingers flexing once before stilling again as he pushed himself up from the couch, straightening just enough to close some of the distance between you. “You look…” he started, then stopped. His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek, like he was choosing his next word carefully. “Nice.” It was a terrible word for it and you knew it. Your brow lifted slightly, something teasing flickering in your expression. “Nice?”
Mingi huffed quietly under his breath, shaking his head once like he was annoyed at himself now. “You know what I mean.” But he didn’t fix it and didn’t try again. Because if he did, it wouldn’t come out safe. His eyes lingered for half a second too long again before he forced himself to look away, grabbing his keys off the counter like he suddenly needed something to do. “We should go,” he added, a little too quickly.
You didn’t move right away and he felt it as his grip tightened slightly around his keys before he glanced back at you, brows pulling together just a little. “What?”
You hesitated for a second. Eyes flicking over him now in a way that mirrored exactly what he’d just done to you. The rolled sleeves. The loosened tie. The way his shirt pulled across his shoulders. And then your gaze lifted back to his face. “You clean up nice too,” you said and Mingi stilled again, eyes locking with yours for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable settling behind them before he looked away first, jaw tightening slightly.
“Yeah,” he muttered, quieter now before clearing his throat, shifting his weight as he moved toward the door, opening it and stepping slightly to the side, letting you walk past him first. But as you did his hand twitched. Like he almost wanted to reach for you. Instead, he stepped out behind you, pulling the door shut with a soft click, the sound echoing just a little louder than it should’ve.
And neither of you said it out loud. But it sat there anyway. Quiet and unavoidable. Tonight wasn’t going to stay simple.
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The music hit before the door even opened. Low bass, muffled voices, laughter spilling out into the hallway as you and Mingi stepped up to the venue, lights flickering faintly through the glass. It wasn’t anything fancy, just one of those rented out lounges your office liked to pretend was upscale for events like this.
Mingi reached for the door first, pulling it open and stepping slightly to the side, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back as you walked in. The warmth of it lingered longer than it should’ve and he moved back, letting it rest there. “Where do you wanna start?” Your breath hitched just a little at how close he was. At how normal that should’ve felt. “Bar,” you said, a little too quickly.
He nodded once, hand dropping from your back again as he stepped beside you, but the absence of it felt… noticeable now. Like something missing. You barely made it three steps before someone called your name. “Y/N!” You turned instinctively, spotting a couple coworkers waving you over, already eyeing Mingi like they were trying to piece him together in real time.
“Oh my god, who is this?” one of them asked immediately, eyes flicking between you and him and Mingi raised a brow slightly, glancing at you as you sighed softly. “This is Mingi. My best friend.”
“Best friend,” another one repeated like she was testing it on her tongue. “Right,” you muttered as Mingi gave a small nod, polite but not overly friendly. “Hey.” And that was all it took. Because now they were really looking. Not just casual glances. Full on scanning. The rolled sleeves. The tie. The way he stood just a little too close to you without thinking about it.
“Oh wow,” one of your coworkers said, not even trying to be subtle anymore. “We’ve heard you mention him before but you did not mention he looked like that.” You felt heat creep up your neck instantly. “Okay, relax….”
“I’m serious,” she continued, laughing lightly. “You’ve been gatekeeping.”
Mingi huffed quietly under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to react, but his eyes flicked sideways toward you as another coworker leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice just enough to pretend it was subtle. “So you two are just friends?”
Mingi’s gaze shifted to her. “Yeah.” But his hand came back to your waist. Like it had every right to be there and you felt it instantly, your body going just a little more still under his touch, heart picking up in a way that had nothing to do with the crowded room or the music.
Your coworker noticed too, her eyes flicking down then back up. “Oh,” she said softly and suddenly she looked a lot more interested but Mingi didn’t move his hand. Didn’t acknowledge it. Just let it sit there, grounding, steady, like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. You swallowed slightly, shifting your weight just enough that your arm brushed his side, your voice coming out a little tighter than you meant it to. “We’re gonna grab a drink.”
“Yeah,” Mingi added, already stepping slightly forward, his hand guiding you with him again, pulling you out of the conversation before it could stretch any further, him leaning in slightly as you reached the bar, voice low, just for you. “Your coworkers are bold.” You let out a quiet breath, grabbing onto the counter like you needed something solid. “You have no idea.”
He hummed softly, glancing over his shoulder once, catching another lingering stare before looking back at you and there was a shift in his expression. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I’m starting to get it.” You both ordered a drink, you something that tasted like a margarita but a lot more stronger and Mingi just ordered an iced bourbon. Your coworker still watched, gazes lingering but Mingi ignored them. His attention was fully on you until he felt it.
His hand slipped from your waist as he leaned in slightly, voice low by your ear. “I’m gonna hit the restroom. Don’t let anyone kidnap you.” You huffed softly. “No promises.” His mouth twitched like he almost smiled, but he didn’t linger. Just gave your side a light tap before stepping away, disappearing into the crowd like it was nothing.
And in his absence your thoughts started running. The way his hand refused to leave your waist. Last night. Your best friend literally in your mouth and now here you were, your best friend your date to your work party. It’s like everything shifted and you hadn’t caught up yet.
You shifted slightly on the barstool, fingers curling around your drink as you took a slow sip, letting the burn settle just enough to take the edge off the way your thoughts kept circling back to him. You exhaled quietly, forcing yourself to look away from where he disappeared, scanning the room instead. Your eyes landed on your boss across the room, his voice cutting sharp through the music as he snapped at two of your coworkers over something you couldn’t hear.
You snorted softly under your breath as you lifted your glass again, taking another sip, letting your shoulders relax just a little as you leaned back against the bar and then froze. Because you felt it before you even looked. That presence. That specific kind of tension. “Hey.” You closed your eyes for half a second at the voice before you turned your head slowly, already knowing exactly who you’d see before your eyes even landed on him.
Alex.
He was sliding into the stool next to you where Mingi had just been like he had every right to be there. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t leave you on your couch feeling small after calling you pathetic for not knowing how to give head. Your grip tightened slightly around your glass. “Hi,” you said flat, sharp and completely full of distaste as Alex leaned his elbow on the bar, angling toward you, eyes dragging over you in a way that made your skin prickle. “You look good.”
You didn’t react right away. Just took another sip of your drink then set the glass down a little harder than necessary. “Thanks.” Alex huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up tonight.”
You glanced at him briefly. “It’s an office party.”
“Yeah,” he said, eyes still on you. “Just figured you might want to avoid me.”
Your jaw tightened slightly, but you didn’t look away from your drink. “I’m not rearranging my life over you, Alex.” He leaned back slightly at that, brows lifting just a little. “Damn. Okay.” But there was something in his expression now. Something curious. His gaze flicked over you again, slower this time. “You’ve been busy or something?”
You frowned slightly, glancing at him. “What does that mean?” He shrugged one shoulder, casual. “Just… different.” You almost laughed. Instead, you shook your head slightly, turning back toward the bar. “I’m exactly the same.”
“Mm,” he hummed, clearly not convinced. “You here alone?” Your stomach twisted slightly. Not because of the question. But because of the answer. Your fingers tapped lightly against your glass before you replied. “No.” Alex’s brows pulled together slightly. “Oh?” He paused for a second before grinning. “Don’t tell me it’s Mingi. I mean…. are you trying to mess with me? Make me jealous?”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you downed the rest of you drink and ordered another as Mingi across the party pushed open the restroom door and stepped out, rolling his shoulders once like he was trying to reset. His mind hadn’t been quiet for a second since you walked out of your room earlier. His jaw shifted slightly as he dragged a hand over the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose as he stepped back into the main room and immediately got intercepted.
“Hey.”
Mingi barely had time to register what was happening before two of your coworkers stepped into his path like they’d been waiting. “Bathroom line insane?” one of them asked, leaning slightly closer like she already knew him. Mingi blinked once, caught off guard for half a second before he nodded. “Uh… yeah. Something like that.”
Another one slid in just slightly to his side, tilting her head as she looked him over again. “We didn’t really get to talk earlier.” Mingi shifted his weight, already uncomfortable, eyes flicking briefly past them instinctively trying to find you in the crowd. “I’m…. uh… I was just heading back…..”
“To Y/N?” one of them cut in quickly, smiling like she’d caught something and Mingi’s attention snapped back to her. “Yeah,” he said like that was the only answer that mattered. “Oh,” she said again, softer this time, exchanging a quick look with the other girl. “You guys are really close, huh?” Mingi huffed quietly, not quite amused. “Yeah. We are.”
The second girl leaned in just a little more, voice dipping like she was trying to be subtle and failing. “So… you’re single?” Mingi’s brows pulled together slightly, his patience already thinning as his gaze flicked past them again, still looking for you.
“I mean,” she continued, smiling, “we were thinking maybe after this….”
“I’m not available.” It came out before he even thought about it. Flat, immediate and final. The words hung there for a second as both girls blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Oh,” one of them said, a little thrown off now as Mingi shifted slightly, like he was just now catching up to what he’d said, his jaw tightening for a second before he looked past them again and this time he saw you. You were still at the bar but you weren’t alone.
His eyes locked onto you instantly. Then shifted. To him. To Alex sitting way too close and something in Mingi’s expression changed, dark, protective and maybe just a little possessive. “Yeah,” he added, quieter this time, almost to himself as his gaze stayed fixed across the room. “I’m good.” And before either of them could say anything else he stepped past them.
He moved through the crowd, shoulders brushing past people without a second thought, his jaw tightening slightly with every step closer to the bar. He didn’t even register the way people shifted out of his way as he cut through the crowd, his focus locked straight ahead. On you. On him. Mingi stepped in beside you, not abrupt, not aggressive. but present. Solid and unavoidable, hand coming to the back of your stool. “Hey.”
Your head turned instantly, breath catching just slightly when you saw him. Mingi didn’t look at you first. His eyes were already on Alex who blinked once, then leaned back slightly, that slow grin spreading across his face like he’d just been handed something entertaining. “Mingi…” he said, dragging your best friend’s name out like he was testing it. “So you are her plus one.”
Mingi didn’t answer right away. Didn’t react to the tone. Just held his gaze, fingers flexing once against the back of your stool, knuckles whitening just slightly before he forced them to relax. “Yeah,” he said finally and Alex hummed like that confirmed something for him, eyes flicking between the two of you before settling back on Mingi, still smiling.
“Look…” he started, voice softening just enough to sound reasonable, gaze moving back from Mingi to you. “I thought maybe after the party I could come by.” Alex leaned in just a little again, like he was trying to pull you back into something that didn’t exist anymore. “We could talk.”
Mingi’s jaw tightened again, his gaze finally shifting, slowly, from Alex to you, hand sliding from the back of your stool, hovering just slightly behind you now, not touching but close enough that you could feel the heat of it. Ready just in case. In case of what? He didn’t even know. He just knew he didn’t like this. Didn’t like Alex. Didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Didn’t like the fact that he even thought he could just come over like nothing happened.
Mingi exhaled slowly through his nose, voice low when he finally spoke. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.” Alex’s eyes flicked back to him, grin faltering just a fraction before he let out a low laugh. Not amused, not really. More like he’d just figured something out. “You know…” he started, shaking his head slightly as he looked between the two of you. “You think I never noticed?”
Mingi’s expression didn’t change but something in his shoulders did as Alex leaned in just a fraction, voice dropping, not quieter, just more deliberate. “When I was over. The way you watch her.” Alex caught the way Mingi’s eyes widened just a bit instantly, that grin snapping back into place like he’d just found exactly what he was looking for. “Oh,” he laughed softly, pointing between you, “Yeah… there it is.” You felt your stomach drop. “Makes sense now,” he continued, dragging his gaze over Mingi, then back to you. “You want her.”
Mingi didn’t respond but he didn’t deny it either as Alex huffed out another laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it as he looked at you again. Really looked this time. Something colder settling into his expression. “You know what?” he muttered, almost dismissive now, like he was already done. “You can have her.” Your chest tightened instantly as Mingi stood frozen next to you. “Might be a better fit anyway,” Alex added, glancing back at Mingi, that edge coming back, sharp and intentional. “Maybe you can teach her how to suck dick.”
That one hit like a slap. Not loud. But loud enough. Mingi moved before he even thought about it. His hand came down on the bar beside you with a quiet thud, not enough to draw attention but enough to make the point. “You want to say that shit again?” His jaw was tight and his restraint was hanging by a thread.
“Actually…” Your voice cut through both of them, sharp, as you stood up. Your chair scraped softly against the floor as you turned fully toward Alex, your expression no longer frustrated… no longer embarrassed. Something else now. Something steadier as Mingi’s ead snapped toward you, brows pulling together slightly, caught off guard by the shift in your tone.
“Actually…” you repeated, tilting your head slightly like you were considering your words, even though you’d already decided as Alex frowned faintly, clearly not expecting you to jump in. “What?” he asked. Your lips pressed together for just a second before a small smirk tugged at them. “He already has.”
Alex blinked like his brain refused to catch up to what you were saying. “What?” You didn’t rush to explain. Didn’t soften it. Didn’t take it back. Your gaze flicked to Mingi for half a second and that was enough. “You heard me.” You looked back at Alex and his mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out as his gaze snapped between the two of you again, trying to piece it together, trying to find something that made sense…
Alex let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head like he was trying to recover. “Wow,” he muttered. “That’s….” He didn’t finish it. Didn’t have anything to finish it with. Because whatever power he thought he had in this conversation was long gone now as Mingi finally shifted beside you, his hand sliding off the bar as he straightened slightly, his presence settling next to you again. “You done?”
Alex didn’t answer. Didn’t move. He just stood there, staring, like he was still trying to catch up, still trying to figure out when he lost control of the conversation. “Yeah…” you said, quieter now, but not weaker, just… decided as you reached for your bag, fingers a little steadier than they had any right to be, considering your heart was still pounding against your ribs. “Let’s go.”
You stepped away from the bar, not waiting to see if Alex said anything else, not giving him the chance to pull you back into whatever that was and Mingi didn’t hesitate to follow you. He moved with you immediately, falling into step beside you like it was instinct, his presence closer than it had been earlier. Every step toward the exit felt louder than it should’ve. Like the room was watching. Like the moment had followed you out of that conversation and wrapped itself around both of you.
The door came faster than you expected, the cool air outside hitting your skin immediately as you stepped out into the night. The city hummed quietly around you, distant traffic, faint voices from inside, but it all felt far away compared to the silence sitting between you now.
Mingi exhaled slowly through his nose, his hands settling at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore. Like he was trying very hard not to reach for you again. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said and you let out a small breath, shaking your head slightly, eyes still forward. “Yeah,” you muttered. “I did.” His head turned slightly toward you, like he was trying to read your face again, like he was trying to figure out if you meant it the same way he heard it. “Y/N…” Your fingers curled slightly at your sides as you finally turned your head, meeting his eyes. “Let’s just go home.”
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The ride back was quiet. Not awkward. Just… full with the kind of silence that wasn’t empty, it was crowded with everything that hadn’t been said yet. Mingi drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh, fingers tapping once, then stilling like he caught himself doing it. His jaw shifted every now and then, like something kept trying to come out and he kept pushing it back down.
You stared out the window as the car slowed, then stopped. “Come on,” Mingi muttered, already pushing his door open. The walk up to the apartment felt shorter than usual. Or maybe everything just felt faster now. Like you were catching up to something that had been building for a very long time.
Your apartment door clicked shut behind you after Mingi unlocked it, tossing his keys onto the counter, the sound sharper than usual in the quiet as he dragged a hand through his hair. You stayed by the door for a second watching him. The same guy who sprawled across the couch and watched anime for hours. Who cooked for you. Who always listens when you have something to rant about. Who stuck a skunk in your first boyfriend’s car when you were 17 because said boyfriend had tried to pressure you into sex.
The same guy who had always been… easy and safe.
“Mingi…”
He turned towards you, his adam’s apple bobbing a little as he gulped like he was bracing for some kind of impact. “Yeah?” Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. “What he said…” You trailed off for a second but pushed through it anyway. “was it true?” The question hung there. Heavy and clear. No way around it.
Mingi didn’t answer immediately. His gaze dropped for a second, like he was weighing something, like he was deciding how much to give you. Then he exhaled slowly through his nose, shoulders rising and falling once and when he looked back at you it was different. Less guarded and more real. “What part?” he asked and your heart stuttered. “The part where…” you hesitated, heat creeping up your neck despite yourself. “you want me…..”
Mingi’s jaw tightened once before he shook his head slightly, almost like he was annoyed at himself more than anything else. “You really wanna have this conversation right now?”
You didn’t hesitate this time. “Yeah.”
He huffed out a quiet breath, turning fully toward you now, his hands settling on his hips for a second before dropping again. “You think I’d let him say that,” he started slowly, “in front of you… and not shut it down if it wasn’t true?” He stepped closer. “I didn’t say anything,” he continued, quieter now, eyes locked on yours, “because I didn’t want to make it worse for you in there.” Your breath caught. “But yeah,” he added, shrugging like he was giving up, tired of pretending. “Yeah, it’s true.”
The room suddenly felt smaller and your heart louder as Mingi watched your reaction carefully, like he was waiting, like he was ready to pull back if you needed him to. “I didn’t plan for it,” he said after a second, voice rougher now, like this part was harder to admit. “Didn’t mean for it to… go there.” His eyes flicked over your face briefly before settling back. “But it did.”
Your stomach flipped, your brain stopped working for a second because the way he was looking at you now wasn’t new. You just hadn’t seen it before. Or maybe you hadn’t let yourself. Mingi swallowed, his hand flexing slightly at his side like he was holding himself back again. “And last night didn’t exactly help.” That sent a rush of heat through you instantly as your voice came out softer this time. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Mingi let out a quiet, breathless laugh, shaking his head once like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Because you’re you. You’re my best friend,” he continued, gaze steady but heavier now. “You trust me. I wasn’t gonna mess that up just because I….” He cut himself off, jaw tightening again as the silence stretched and his chest rose slowly, like he was trying to keep everything steady, keep everything where it was…..
“Why do you think….” he started, then stopped again, dragging a hand down his face before looking back at you, eyes sharper now, more exposed than you’d ever seen them. “Why do you think all I do is one night stands? Nothing serious. Nothing that lasts.” His voice dropped even more, honest in a way that felt almost reckless. “Because the only serious thing I want is you.”
Your breath caught, your body went completely still as the words settled into the space between you and Mingi took a step closer. “Fuck, Y/N…” he exhaled, like your name alone was something heavy in his mouth. “I’ve been in love with you for years.” The room went quiet. Not just silent but still. Like everything paused just to let that land. You could see it now. All of it. Every look you missed. Every moment you didn’t question. Every time he chose you without saying it out loud.
“I didn’t say anything,” he continued, quieter now but no less intense, “because I didn’t want to lose you.” Your chest tightened painfully. “Didn’t want to make it weird. Didn’t want to be that guy who ruins everything because he can’t keep his feelings in check.” His jaw clenched briefly before he forced it to relax, his gaze flicking over your face like he was trying to read something, anything, that would tell him how this was going to go. “But then last night…” he stopped again, exhaling sharply, shaking his head once like even thinking about it was too much. “And tonight…”
He let out a quiet, almost disbelieving breath as his hand twitched slightly at his side like he wanted to reach for you, like he had been all night, but he held himself there. “If you don’t want this,” he said, finally, softer now, but somehow heavier than everything else he’d said, “you need to tell me now. And I will pretend like none of this happened. I will drop it. Because I’d rather have you in my life as just my best friend than not have you at all.”
You moved, tossing your bag down blindly. Because there was nothing you could say to all of that. You didn’t know what to say, you just knew action. You closed the space between you in two quick steps, your hand coming up, grabbing the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like you needed something solid to anchor yourself and Mingi barely had time to react, eyes widening just slightly as you looked up at him. “I don’t want you to drop it.” You pulled him down to you and kissed him before he could think about what you just said.
It was everything that had been building, every look, every almost, every second of tension finally snapping into place. Mingi froze for half a second before his hands were on you. One at your waist, the other coming up to your jaw, holding you there like he needed to make sure this was real, like you might disappear if he didn’t, kissing you back hard. Like he’d been holding back for so long he didn’t know how to do anything else now.
Your grip tightened in his shirt as you leaned into him, the kiss deepening, shifting, neither of you pulling away even when you both needed air. His thumb brushed against your cheek, grounding and not at the same time, his other hand pulling you closer like the space between you didn’t make sense anymore. When you finally broke apart your breath was uneven but his was worse.
Mingi’s eyes searched yours, wide, a little stunned, a little wrecked, like he couldn’t fully process that this was actually happening. “You’re…” he started, voice rough, catching slightly before he tried again. “You’re serious?”
Your lips parted slightly, still too close, still holding onto him like you hadn’t decided to let go yet, breath catchy as his fingers traced along your waist, the fabric of your dress shifting slightly under his touch, his gaze flicking down for just a second like he was trying to keep up with what he was doing.
Your hands moved, sliding down his chest, gripping lightly as you pulled him back toward you, your lips finding his again and walking back past the entryway and into the living room. You stumbled with him, breath uneven, your fingers gripping at his shoulders as he kissed you harder. “Mingi…” his name barely made it out before it dissolved against his mouth. Your back brushed the edge of the wall, then the couch, then he pulled away and you barely had time to process it before he dropped straight to his knees right in front of you.
“Mingi?”
His hands were already sliding up your thighs under the fabric of your dress, fingers warm, firm, gripping like he needed to hold onto you, like he’d thought about this moment too many times to pretend otherwise now. His head tipped back just enough to look up at you. “I get to return the favor now,” he said, voice low, and you about moaned at the sight. “Mingi…” you started again, but it came out weaker this time, breathless, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders like you didn’t know whether to steady yourself or stop him.
He leaned forward just enough that his forehead almost brushed your stomach, his hands still resting firm against your thighs, thumbs shifting slightly like he was grounding himself. “I’ve thought about this,” he admitted, quieter now as your fingers tightened against his shoulders and his jaw flexed once, eyes flicking up to yours again as his hands slid a little higher, slower this time, giving you time, watching your face, waiting for any hesitation, any sign that you wanted him to stop.
Instead, you leaned into him and Mingi exhaled sharply through his nose, something almost like a quiet laugh slipping out, disbelieving and overwhelmed. “Yeah…” he muttered, more to himself now. “Okay.” His grip steadied again, more confident now, less careful as he shifted closer, pulling you just enough toward him that you had to brace against him to stay balanced and your breath hitched at the closeness, at the way his hands held you like he wasn’t letting you go anywhere.
Your fingers slid into his hair, a quiet, instinctive answer that made something in his expression break open completely when you tugged at the dyed blonde strands and then he was on his feet, hands firm on your hips as he guided you back, the back of your knees hitting the couch before you dropped onto it with a soft breath. He dropped back down to his knees, hands sliding along your legs, lifting, guiding, slow enough that you could stop him, steady enough that it didn’t feel uncertain until your legs settled over his shoulders and your breath caught hard at the shift.
“Please,” he said. It came out like something pulled from deep in his chest, like he’d been holding it back for too long and it slipped out before he could stop it as you fingers moved back and tightened in his hair, your chest rising faster now as you looked down at him and his grip shifted slightly, thumbs brushing against your inner thighs. “Tell me something,” he said, voice rough, quieter now.
“What?”
He hesitated for half a second. “Please tell me you’ve had someone eat you out before?” Because he knows you’ve had sex but after finding out you had never given head before, he wasn’t sure how experienced you were.
Your face heated instantly. “Not good,” you admitted, your voice coming out softer than you intended and Mingi let out a breathless laugh, head dropping for a second before he shook it slightly, like he didn’t know what to do with that information. “Good…” he muttered, almost to himself. “because no one else will after me anyways.” You felt yourself get wet at that, could feel your panties starting to dampen because his words hit you with so much promise.
His hands slid slightly higher along your thighs again, slower this time, like he was reminding you, checking you, making sure you were still with him. “You tell me if anything feels off,” he said quietly. “I mean it.” Your heart flipped for what felt like the hundredth time because even now, he was thinking about you first. You nodded, breath uneven. “Okay.”
Mingi exhaled slowly, his forehead brushing lightly against your leg for just a second before his grip steadied again and he leaned in, nose brushing against you over your panties before he pulled back just long enough to slip them down your legs. He looked back and stared for a moment, taking you in, still not fully processing that this really happening.
The second he moved forward and his tongue started licking over your clit making your breath hitch instantly, your back pressing slightly into the couch, fingers tightening in his hair… “fuck…” you moaned as he moved, thrusting his tongue into you now, “Mingi…” his name left your lips and he responded immediately by gripping your hips and pulling you closer practically burying his face into you.
Your legs shifted slightly around his shoulders, your fingers threading deeper into his hair as the tension in your body started to unravel in a way that felt new as he rotated from suck your clit into his mouth to moving his tongue back to thrust into you, fucking you with his mouth like it was the only thing he knew how to do.
Your breath hitched hard, back arching slightly off the couch, fingers pulling at his hair now like you needed something to hold onto, like you were riding horse and had to grip extra hard on the reins. “Right there…..” your hips started moving, grinding against him, his tongue now trapped in you as he growled holding onto you and letting you take control. “fuck…. You…. God…. you eat my pussy so good…”
That did something to him, you felt it in the way his grip adjusted, steadier now, more certain, like your praise gave him exactly what he needed. He practically pulled you onto his face, making you sit forward, your hands holding his head as he moved it back and forth, tongue working in and out of you before he moved his mouth back up to suck your clit back into it and bring one of his hands down, two of his fingers testing at first before he thrust them into you.
Your breathing lost any rhythm it had left, your chest rising and falling unevenly as you tried to ground yourself, but it was pointless as your walls clenched around his fingers, your legs now locked around him as you rode his face. The sensation of his fingers pounding into you, the obscene noise of them echoing along with his moans as he rutted against the couch and flattened his tongue out against you had you close, orgasm building faster than you’ve ever had one before.
You watched him, eyes half lidded, legs starting to shake. “Look at you….” he moaned again, curving his fingers in you, just rubbing them against your walls, just holding them there as you clenched around them and you felt it, felt your legs give out, your hands on his head move to yank at his hair as you came, a gasping broken moan of his name leaving you as your orgasm tore through you. You felt lightheaded as Mingi just held you there, licking at everything you gave him and when he felt you gush, squirting around his fingers, pushing them out of you…. he could of came with you right there untouched.
He didn’t move away until he felt you yank him back by the hair, and fuck if that didn’t drive him crazy. Your body was still twitching, your breathing completely uneven as you pulled him up, your grip tight in his hair and when he looked up at you, he looked wrecked, almost more than you. His breathing was heavier, lips parted slightly, hair a mess from your hands, his eyes locked on you like he was trying to take in everything all at once. Then his brows pulled together slightly, something sharper flickering through his expression as he exhaled.
“Please tell me you never squirted for anyone else….”
You blinked down at him, still trying to come back to yourself, your chest rising and falling fast as your grip loosened slightly in his hair. “I…” you swallowed, still a little stunned, your voice soft. “I didn’t even know I could do that.”
Mingi’s expression shifted, something deeper settling in behind his eyes, something possessive. “Yeah…” he muttered, quieter now, more to himself. “Good.” His hands tightened slightly where they still held you, grounding, steady, dragging them lightly along your thighs as he stood, breath still uneven, eyes locked on you like he couldn’t quite look away yet.
Before he could say anything else, you moved. Fast. Sliding off the couch, your legs a little unsteady at first, but you didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate as you sank down in front of him on your knees and Mingi froze. “Y/N?” Your hands were already on him, fingers gripping lightly at his thighs now, grounding yourself as you looked up at him. “You don’t have to…” he started, shaking his head slightly. “I told you, you don’t….”
“Shut up.” It came out sharper than anything you’d said all night catching Mingi off guard as your fingers tightened slightly, pulling him just a little closer as your eyes stayed locked on his. “Shut up and let me,” you added, quieter now, but somehow heavier. Mingi’s breath hitched, his head tipping back for just a second like he was trying to process that you were saying that to him, breath catching the second your fingers moved to his waistband. “Y/N….”
Your hands started unbuttoning, pushing the fabric of his pants down like you weren’t second guessing it anymore. Like you knew what you were doing. Exactly what you wanted now. Mingi’s jaw tightened as he watched you slide his pants down to his ankle, his dick hard in his boxers, a small stain on them from where he rutted against the couch, chest rising a little sharper now, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides before finally settling lightly against the back of your head again like he needed somewhere to put them as you slipped his boxers down next.
Your hand wrapped around him, thumb brushing the precum leaking from him and his head dipped forward for a second like his body didn’t know how to process that, how quickly you’d gone from unsure to… this. Your hand moved, steady, controlled, like you were paying attention now, not guessing, not overthinking, just doing what felt right. “You gonna let me milk you, Mingi?”
The words came out softer than the moment but they hit ten times harder making Mingi choke on his next breath. His head snapping back slightly, a disbelieving laugh breaking out of him, rough and breathless. “Jesus…” he dragged a hand over his face, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what you just said. “You can’t just say shit like that.” His eyes dropped back to you immediately, like he couldn’t help it, like he was trying to figure out when you flipped the script on him.
Because this wasn’t him guiding anymore. This wasn’t him in control. This was you. And he had no idea what to do with that as your hand steadied him, your other brushing lightly along his thigh as you looked up at him, really looked this time, like you knew exactly what you were doing now as you brought him to your mouth and tapped his tip against your tongue, once, twice and again before finally dragging your tongue down the length of him, tracing at the veins like you were trying to map out an outline of his dick.
“Y/N…” it came out low, almost a warning but there was no strength behind it. “Jesus…” he muttered under his breath, one hand dragging through his hair before settling back at the nape of your neck again, not pushing, not controlling, just there as your grip shifted slightly and you pulled back, looking up at him. “I want you to fuck my mouth.” A sharp breath left him as his grip tightened just slightly, not rough but tight. “You sure?” He had to ask because once he started he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. Not when you were like this. Not when you asked for it.
You darted your tongue back out, licking at his tip. “Use me.” Mingi’s breath hitched, sharp, his grip tightening at the back of your neck for just a second before he forced himself to loosen it again. His chest rose unevenly, eyes locked on you like he was one second away from completely losing whatever control he had left. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, voice rough, barely holding together as you didn’t look away. “I do.”
His hand slid from your neck to your jaw, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, slower now… intentional. “Hey…” he murmured, softer this time. “Look at me…. say it again,” he said quietly and your brows pulled together slightly. “What?”
“That you want this.”
Your lips parted, breath still uneven, but your voice came out firm. “I want you.”
“Yeah…” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. “I heard you.” He moved his hand to your chin. “You don’t get to take that back,” he added, quieter now, eyes searching yours one more time. “Not after you say it like that.”
“I’m not going to,” you shot back, breath still uneven as his grip shifted, sliding from your jaw back into your hair, fingers threading through it as he tilted your head just slightly before guided his tip to your mouth and he groaned as you opened, his dick resting heavy on your tongue. Be moved slow at first, just letting you adjust, relax your jaw, as he took his time getting all of him in. You gagged a little when bottomed out, holding your head there and just taking in the feel of himself in your mouth for a moment.
His head dipped, his body shifting forward, and you felt the change instantly in the way his breathing broke, in the way his grip tightened just a fraction before he forced himself to ease it again. “Fuck…” he exhaled quietly, voice already rough, already slipping as he started moving, guiding your head, hips rutting starting to thrust. “Look at you…” he muttered, almost disbelieving, his voice low and uneven as his gaze flicked down for just a second, catching your expression. “so good with my dick in your mouth.”
Your grip tightened at his words, your body shifting instinctively closer, chasing the feeling, chasing him, and that nearly broke him all over again as you dug your nails into his thighs and started bobbing your head back abs forth, using his thighs as leverage to fuck your mouth on him. His breathing grew heavier, less controlled now, shoulders tensing as he exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to keep some kind of hold on himself but his restraint didn’t last.
“Yeah…” he moaned, hand gripping at your hair. “That’s it…” His control didn’t disappear, it changed. His grip adjusted, steady at the back of your head while his other hand dug into your scalp. “Fucking take it….” His thrusts grew, his dick throbbed on your tongue as he did like you said and started to use you. “You feel that? Yeah… just like that…” You gagged again as he started hitting the back of your throat, his hand moving around to wrap around said throat, thumb pressing at where he was fucking you. “Stay right there.”
The rhythm deepened. Slower for a second. Then chaotic. His shoulders tensed, fingers flexing again in your hair as he let out another uneven breath, his voice dropping lower, more wrecked with every second. “Fuck, Y/N…” His head tipped back for a second, jaw clenched hard, rhythm faltering before he picked up again. Deeper. Faster. Less careful as you looked up at him through wet lashes, mouth stretched around his dick that was thrusting in and out of your mouth, the sight dragging a whimper from him and that’s when he stopped.
His hand pulled you back just enough, not rough, but firm, his breathing wrecked as he shook his head once, like he was trying to clear it. “I…” he exhaled sharply, dragging his free hand over his face. “No…” Your brows pulled together slightly, breath still uneven as you looked up at him. “Did I… did I mess up?”
“Fuck no!” He exclaimed, swallowing, jaw tightening. “I just need to be inside you when I come this time.” His hand slid from your hair to your arm, pulling you up in one quick motion, your balance tipping into him as his other hand caught your waist instantly, grounding you before you could even think as he kissed you. Hard and messy. Both you tasting yourselves on each other’s tongues.
Your hands grabbed at him just as fast, fingers tangling in his shirt, yanking him closer as your mouths crashed together, breath mixing, uneven, rushed. “I need you naked…”
“Yeah…” he breathed against your lips, voice wrecked. “Yeah, you too.” Your fingers found his tie, yanking it loose in one sharp motion, pulling him down into another kiss as he let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh against your mouth. “Fuck…” he muttered, letting you pull at him, his hands already moving, sliding down, finding the zipper of your dress. The sound cut through everything as his fingers slipped under the fabric as it loosened, pushing it down your shoulders while your hands worked at his shirt, buttons pulling free under your grip, impatient, uneven.
Neither of you slowed down. Couldn’t. The space between you disappeared completely as fabric shifted, hands moving, pulling, tugging like neither of you could get close enough fast enough. Your dress slipped, his shirt fell open, his tie hanging loose around his neck as your fingers dragged it the rest of the way free. “Mingi…” you breathed again, softer this time but no less desperate and he stilled for half a second. Just long enough to look at you. “You sure?” he asked one more time, voice low, still rough, but steadier for that one second.
Your answer came in the way you pushed him down, him stumbling to the carpeted floor caught off guard, his back hitting the floor with a dull thud, breath leaving him in a sharp exhale. “Y/N…” But you were already on him. Climbing over him before he could even recover, your knees settling on either side of his hips, your hands braced against his chest as you looked down at him, fingers sliding up his chest, gaze locked on his face, watching every reaction, every shift, every crack in his composure.
His hands tightened slightly at your waist, thumbs pressing into your skin like he was grounding himself, like he was barely holding onto anything at all as his head tipped back against the floor as you reached down, gripping him, his dick twitching in your hand as you guided him to you, your soaking pussy taking greedily as you sank down into him. Your breath broke instantly, a sharp inhale catching in your chest as your head tipped back at the stretch of him until he bottomed out.
Mingi had a full body jolt, his grip tightening on you, fingers digging into your waist as his head dropped back against the floor again, a broken sound leaving him before he could stop it. “You’re so fucking tight….” The words came out wrecked and completely gone as you slid your hand up his chest, fingers trailing over his collarbone, then higher until your palm settled at his throat, not squeezing, just resting there, feeling the way his breath stuttered under your touch.
Your fingers tightened slightly at his throat, your other hand still gripping his chest as your voice came out softer, almost disbelieving. “Mingi…” You shook your head slightly, breath uneven. “You’re….” you huffed out a quiet, overwhelmed laugh, your forehead dipping for a second before you looked back at him again. “I knew you were big but… I didn’t know it’d feel like this…… like my pussy was made for you…”
That did something to him. His jaw clenched hard, his grip tightening again as his hips shifted instinctively under you before he forced himself to still. “Don’t say shit like that,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face for half a second before it dropped back to your waist. “You’re trying to kill me.” Your hand stayed at his throat, your thumb brushing lightly against his adams apple as you adjusted again, slower this time, testing, feeling before you leaned back and started moving.
“Look at you…” he muttered almost in disbelief. “You’re really…… fuck yeah….. your pussy is made for me.” Your hands steadied against his chest, fingers pressing into him as you found your rhythm, slow at first, testing, adjusting still, your breath catching every time you shifted just right. And then you didn’t hesitate anymore. You took it.
Your pace built, hips moving with more certainty, more intention, like your body just… understood what to do without needing to think about it, slamming your hips down, rotating them a little as you started pounding yourself on him. “Yeah….” his voice broke, his hands tightening hard at your waist, fingers digging in. “Yeah, just….. fuck…. take it…. it’s yours…” he watched his dick disappear in and out of you, the sight of you costing him, creaming on him, completely ruining him. “Don’t stop… don’t…”
You leaned forward, one of your hand finding his, fingers threading together before you pressed it down above his head, holding it there, anchoring him beneath you and Mingi’s breath caught instantly. His eyes snapped to yours, something almost dazed flickering through them as your face dipped closer, your lips finding his again. His chest rose hard under yours, his free hand sliding up your side, fingers dragging along your back like he didn’t know where to settle, like everywhere felt like too much.
Your movements slowed a little, more deliberate now, less frantic, your body shifting in a way that made his grip tighten again despite himself. Because slower didn’t make it easier. It made it worse. Your lips stayed on his, your breath mixing with his as you kept that steady rhythm, your hand still holding his above his head, keeping him right there, right under you. “Fuck…” he muttered softly, his head tipping back for half a second before coming forward again, chasing your mouth like he didn’t want to lose it but you pulled back, sitting up again a little.
His free hand slid down your back, guiding you closer, his head dipping instinctively, lips brushing along your collarbone before lower, tongue circling one of your nipples and bringing it into his mouth. Your breath hitched, moaning his name as his grip tightened at your side, his breathing uneven again, broken in a way that matched yours now as he stayed close, like he didn’t want to give you even an inch of space.
Your fingers tightened in his hand above his head, your other instinctively finding his hair again, holding him there, keeping him latched on your nipple as his arm wrapped around you, firm and immediate, pulling you closer as he pushed himself up off the floor just enough to meet you halfway.
Your breath hitched at the change. The closeness. The way his body pressed into yours now instead of beneath you. “Mine…” he muttered, voice rough against your nipple, his grip tightening just slightly as he held you there, letting you take and take until he felt you clench him hard, your legs starting to shake. It hit you all at once, sharp and overwhelming, your breath catching hard as your grip tightened on him, your body stuttering mid motion like it just… gave out. “I… I can’t….”
Your voice came out breathless, uneven, your movements losing any kind of consistency as you tried to keep going, tried to stay in control but you couldn’t. Not anymore. The second your body faltered, Mingi’s hands were on you, steady, grounding, his grip tightening just enough to hold you in place before you could collapse forward completely. “I got you…” he murmured, voice low, rough, but steady in a way yours wasn’t anymore.
His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer for half a second, just long enough to catch you and then he moved, guiding you down, the world tilting as he flipped you beneath him, your breath catching all over again as your back met the floor. Your hands found him instantly, gripping, holding as your legs wrapped around him without thinking, pulling him closer like your body already knew what it needed.
His hands came down on either side of you, bracing, caging you in, his breathing just as wrecked now, just as uneven but his control was back. His gaze dropped to you, slower this time, heavier, taking you in like he needed to see you like this. Under him. Looking at him like that. One hand slid down, gripping your thigh, holding it in place, keeping you close as his forehead dipped forward, almost brushing yours as sank back into you. “Eyes, baby…” he murmured softly and when you looked at him something in him snapped all over again.
His grip tightened just slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you there, grounded, held as his control slipped into something deeper. He didn’t waste time, you were close and he knew he was too. He thrusted deep, pace fast, hips slamming against you and when your nails dug into his back, scratching across his shoulder, voice broken, “Please… baby… harder… come with me…” Mingi lost it.
His movements lost that careful edge, turning desperate, chasing that high just as much as you were now, his breathing breaking with every second as he held you there, kept you close, didn’t let you pull away even for a moment as he pounded into you, the squelching sounds of your wetness loud in the room as you clenched around him, a scream of his name poured out of you as you came and he could feel you squirting, pulsing around him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck and followed you, hips stuttering as you did what you asked him earlier, milked him for every drop he had in him, spilling inside you with a broken whimper.
Everything slowed quickly and Mingi stayed right where he was, buried inside you, like moving wasn’t even an option, his weight settled over you, his breathing still uneven as his forehead dropped against your shoulder and for a second… neither of you said anything. Just the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath, the faint hum of the apartment around you, and the quiet realization settling in between everything that had just happened.
Your hand moved first, fingers sliding gently into his hair, brushing through it slow, grounding, the complete opposite of everything from just a minute ago. Mingi let out a soft breath at that, almost melting into the touch, his grip loosening where his hands still rested against you, not holding tight anymore, just… there. “You good?” he murmured, voice low, still a little wrecked but softer now.
You nodded against him, your fingers still moving through his hair, slower, more absent minded now as you exhaled quietly. “Yeah… you should’ve told me.” Mingi shifted just slightly at that, enough to glance up at you, brows pulling together faintly. “Told you what?”
You huffed softly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything, your fingers catching briefly in his hair before smoothing through it again. “That you felt like this,” you said. “We could’ve been doing this the whole time.” There was a beat of silence before Mingi let out a breathless laugh, his head dropping back down for a second like he couldn’t believe you just said that.
“Yeah?” he muttered, amusement threading through his voice now. “That your big takeaway from all of this?” You nudged him lightly, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t fully see it. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” he said, still half laughing under his breath, his hand sliding lazily along your side like he’d finally relaxed into the moment and another quiet second passed before he shifted slightly, just enough to glance around the floor beneath you both and he huffed. “We’re definitely gonna have to steam clean this carpet.”
You snorted, a laugh slipping out before you could stop it, your hand dropping from his hair to lightly smack his shoulder. “Mingi!”
“What?” he shot back, barely holding in his own grin now, looking up at you again, completely unbothered. “I’m just being realistic.” You shook your head, laughing softly as you pushed lightly at him again, but neither of you actually moved away. Because even with the joke… with everything…. he stayed right there.
summary: in which your best friend and his new bike are driving you crazy and you’re not the only one who’s been secretly in need to change the trajectory of your friendship
warning: possessive hard dom yunho, bratty sub reader, public sex, fingering, squirting, oral, mouth fucking, face riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting, spanking, choking, unprotected sex, creampie
genre: smut, romance, slow burn friends to lovers
pairing: yunho x afab reader
word count: 30k
masterlist
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The first week of October always hit Los Angeles with this strange in between warmth summer clinging to the sidewalks, autumn brushing cool fingertips along your arms. The high school campus buzzed with late afternoon noise as students spilled out toward buses, cars, and trouble they wouldn’t admit to. You stepped out of the staff building with your tote bag slung over your shoulder, rubbing a hand over your face. Subbing four days a week didn’t sound exhausting on paper, but your last period had been sophomores, which was practically a contact sport.
Yunho was picking you up today since your car will be in the garage for the next couple of weeks. A breath caught in your throat. His bike. Of course he’d take the bike. Of course he’d make this harder. You tried to walk casually toward the front gates, but the rumble hit before you turned the corner, low and smooth, the kind that curled itself right under your ribs. Then he appeared, pulling up along the curb like every fantasy made real.
Black and white sport bike. Glossy. Aggressive. And Yunho astride it like the universe selected him personally. He wore a fitted white shirt, one that made his shoulders look unfair, and a dark helmet with the visor lifted just enough for you to see the smirk tugging at his mouth. Several students waiting for rides noticed immediately.
“Miss Y/L/N!” one of the juniors whispered loudly to her friend, elbowing her. “THAT is your ride?” Another gasped, dramatic and delighted. “No way….. is that your boyfriend?” You choked on nothing. “Absolutely not,” you said, aiming for stern but landing somewhere between flustered and dying inside. Yunho heard them. Of course he did. He lifted his chin, amused, eyes fixed on you like you were the only person on the street. The students weren’t subtle.
“Oh my god, he’s hot,” one said. “Hot? That man is a walking problem,” another muttered.
Your pulse tripped over itself as Yunho swung a leg off the bike and leaned on it casually, one hand on the handlebar, the other tugging off his helmet. His hair fell perfectly, naturally messy from the ride. He waved. He actually waved at your students. The audacity. A couple girls squealed. Someone took a picture. You tried very, very hard not to combust as you approached, Yunho’s gaze dragged down you. “Rough day?” he asked softly, voice warm, teasing under the surface.
You exhaled. “You didn’t have to bring the bike. Your truck is perfectly fine.” His smile deepened. “Sure I did.” He held the extra helmet out to you like it was nothing, like this wasn’t the very scenario you’d been avoiding since he bought the damn bike. You slipped it on, hoping your hands didn’t shake as much as they felt like they were shaking. He watched you secure the strap, his eyes warm behind the fall of his hair. “You good?” he asked, voice dipping into something low.
You nodded. “Yeah.” Lie. You were absolutely not good as he swung back onto the bike, the seat shifting under his weight, the engine humming alive beneath him. He glanced over his shoulder, patting the small space behind him. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll go slow.” You knew he was teasing. You also knew he wouldn’t. Yunho drove like he lived, smooth, confident, a little dangerous but laid back.
You approached the bike like it might bite you, swung your leg over, and settled in behind him. There was no space. None. Your knees bracketed his hips, your chest hovered dangerously close to his back. “Hold on,” he said. You hesitated for half a second. Just long enough for him to reach back, find your hands, and pull them gently around his waist. A simple motion. Casual, even. But the moment your palms landed on his stomach, warm through the thin cotton of his shirt, you felt everything inside you tilt. “You good back there?” he asked, voice a little tight now.
You swallowed. “Mm hm.” He chuckled. Soft. Too fond. “Alright. Let’s go.” He pulled away from the curb with the easy precision of someone who was annoyingly good at everything he tried. The bike vibrated beneath you, the engine’s low rumble matching the thrum in your chest. Wind slid around your helmet, cool against your arms. Your fingers curled instinctively into his shirt as he turned onto the main road. He felt it, of course he felt it, and his posture changed in the smallest, most devastating way. A subtle shift of his shoulders. A breath pulled deeper than needed. A tension that slid right beneath your hands. He liked you holding him.
Los Angeles blurred past in streaks of gold and fading sun as he picked up speed, leaning into a turn that pressed you closer against him. Your thighs tightened around him, your chest brushed his back. He made a sound, quiet, almost swallowed by the engine, but you felt it, the pulse of it through his spine. “Still good?” he called back, voice steady but not entirely even. “Yunho,” you muttered, your face heating inside your helmet, “I’m holding on so I don’t fall off.”
“Yeah,” he said, the word almost a laugh. “I know.” But he didn’t sound like he minded. Not even a little as he pulled into your street, slowing to turn into the apartment lot, your hands remained locked around him. He didn’t ask you to let go. Didn’t shift away. If anything, he leaned back the tiniest bit, like he didn’t want the ride to end. He parked beside his truck. Killed the engine. The sudden quiet left your heartbeat loud in your ears. He didn’t move. Neither did you. Until finally, he said, voice low, “You can let go… unless you don’t want to.”
You shoved him, rolling your eyes though your heart pounded even more at his teasing. “Shut up.”
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By the time evening settled over the apartment, the whole place carried that soft, lived in warmth you’d grown too comfortable with. You’d showered, graded a few papers, changed into something cozy, and made exactly zero progress on shaking off the memory of riding home pressed against your best friend’s back. It didn’t help that he was off from the bar tonight. Which meant he was home. Which meant temptation was walking around barefoot in the living room.
You stepped out of your room on the way to grab a late snack, only to stop dead in the doorway because the whiplash hit you hard. There he was. Stretched across the couch in spiderman pajama pants. A loose white tee clinging to him like the universe wanted you to suffer. Hair messy from where he kept shoving his hands through it. Headset around his neck. Eyes focused on the screen like he was born to hold a controller. Gamer Yunho. Motorcycle Yunho. Domestic roommate Yunho. Walking wet dream best friend Yunho. It was a catastrophic combination.
The game’s glow washed over his face as he leaned forward, elbows to knees, muttering something under his breath at whatever enemy he was fighting in the horror game. His voice was low, rough with concentration, and it sent a quiet shiver down your spine. He didn’t notice you right away. He never did when he gamed, this was his world. But you noticed everything. The way the muscles along his arms flexed when he gripped the controller. The way his shirt rode up when he shifted, exposing a sliver of skin above the waistband of his pajama pants. The way he’d occasionally lick his bottom lip when he focused, completely unaware that it counted as a felony in some states.
You stood there too long. Long enough that he felt you. He always felt you. His head tilted back over the couch, eyes finding you with unsettling ease, a lazy grin curving his mouth. “Hey,” he said, voice warm, familiar. “I figured you would be asleep.” You swallowed, trying to seem unaffected even as your brain was screaming. “Tried to.” He chuckled, deep and slow. “You’re more than welcome to watch kill zombies, besides… I know you have a thing for Leon Kennedy.”
“I do not.” You totally did. You walked toward the kitchen, but your eyes betrayed you and flicked to the motorcycle keys sitting on the coffee table next to him. It wasn’t fair. How he could be this….. relaxed, dorky, sprawled in superhero pajama pants, playing Resident Evil, and still look like the kind of man who’d ruin you against a wall if you asked. Another round of gunfire sounded from the TV, but you weren’t listening. You were watching him, and realizing every part of you was stretched thin.
He’d been driving you crazy for months. Realizing you definitely were seeing your best friend for the last decade as more than just a friend. The bike pushed it over the edge. But this? This soft, domestic version of him? This was the version that made you want to climb into his lap and confess every stupid feeling you’d kept locked away.
Yunho paused the game suddenly, turning his head just enough to look at you from the couch. “You okay?” he asked quietly. “You’ve been staring.” And he wasn’t teasing this time. He was reading you. Concerned. Curious. Too aware. Your breath hitched. You shrugged, trying to sound casual even though your pulse hadn’t steadied since you walked into the room. “Just tired. Long week,” you said, offering him the softest smile you could manage.
Yunho nodded like he understood, but something in his expression flickered, worried, curious, maybe even a little protective, before he clicked his headset back on and unpaused his game. Or… tried to. You grabed a bag of chips and bottle of water from the kitchen before you crossed the living room toward the coat closet, muttering under your breath about your combat boots because you were sure you’d shoved them in here earlier in the week. The closet light flicked on, paper bags rustled, and you crouched down to dig through the bottom shelf.
Behind you, Yunho’s game resumed its chaotic gunfire and explosions. He should’ve been absorbed again, lost to the world like he always was when he played. Except he wasn’t. His eyes kept darting sideways. Over his shoulder. Then fully turning his head because he couldn’t help himself. His concentration evaporated the second you bent forward. The pajama shorts you wore weren’t even scandalous, just soft, loose cotton, the kind meant for quiet nights in and comfort over anything else. But when you crouched down and leaned into the closet, they tugged snug around your hips, the bottom of your ass peaking out. Yunho’s lips parted. Just slightly. Like something short circuited.
He tore his gaze back to the TV, jaw flexing, fingers tight around his controller. Two seconds later, he glanced again. You were still bent over, still rummaging, still mumbling to yourself in this soft, sleepy tone that hit him harder than it had any right to. His gaze dragged down your legs, then snapped back up because he was trying to be decent. Trying very, very hard. He turned to the TV again. A zombie attacked him. “Damn it,” he muttered, barely paying attention as your voice floated out from the closet. “What?”
“Uh…. nothing. Game.” He cleared his throat, adjusted his posture, tried to pretend his pulse wasn’t hammering as you shifted positions, leaning farther in. The hem of your shorts lifting higher. Yunho’s hand froze on the controller. Every neuron in his body fired at once. He swallowed, hard, suddenly desperate for oxygen. He’d seen you in shorts a thousand times. Seen you in worse. You lived together. You shared summers, heat waves, lazy Sundays on the couch, movie nights where you stole his blanket.….
Maybe it was the bike ride earlier. Maybe it was the way you held onto him. Maybe it was the smell of your shampoo still lingering against the back of his shirt hours later. Maybe it was that he’d been in love with you since he was seventeen and living with you for the past few years had slowly dismantled every wall he ever built. Whatever it was, he could not look away. When you finally found the boots, triumphant little noise and all, you backed out of the closet and straightened, catching him in the act. His eyes shot to the TV like he’d been doing nothing wrong. But the tips of his ears? Betrayed him instantly. You lifted an eyebrow. “You okay over there?”
“Fine,” he said too fast. “Totally fine. Great.” He died in the game again.
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The next evening, Mikey’s Point was already in its usual Friday rhythm, the bar’s low amber lights, clinking glasses, music pulsing just enough to feel like a heartbeat under the floorboards. Yunho wiped down the bar with the practiced ease of someone who’d been doing this job long enough to be unbothered by the chaos around him. Or he would’ve been, if his head wasn’t still stuck in last night’s apartment scene. If he wasn’t replaying the way your shorts hugged you when you leaned into the closet. The glimpse of your ass. Remembering your arms around him on the bike, your chest pressed to his back, your breath catching when he told you to hold on.
He dropped the bar towel. Swore under his breath. Picked it back up before anyone noticed. “You good?” a voice asked next to him. Scott, broad shoulders, blonde, annoyingly charming smile. The kind of guy customers flirted with because he looked like he belonged in a surfing commercial. Yunho liked him fine on most days. Today was not most days. “Yeah,” Yunho muttered. “Just tired.”
Scott nodded, then leaned an elbow on the bar, expression casual. “Hey, by the way… your friend single?” Yunho froze. “What?” Scott grinned. “Your friend. Your roommate. Hot, little smile that looks like it’ll ruin lives?” Yunho blinked. Hard. He’d introduced you once, mostly because Scott had walked up at the wrong moment. Yunho had regretted it immediately. “She’s single?” Scott asked again and Yunho’s jaw flexed. His first instinct was, no, absolutely not, not for you, not for anyone with functioning vision. The word was right there on his tongue.
But he couldn’t say it. Because you were single. And you weren’t his. Not like that. Not in any way that mattered outside his chest. So he swallowed the irritation, the jealousy, the flash of heat in his stomach. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “She’s single.” Scott’s grin widened like he’d just won the lottery. “Good to know. Think if I ask her out next time she stops by, she’d say yes?” Yunho’s heart stopped. It was stupid. It shouldn’t matter. He had no claim on you, he’d spent years pretending he didn’t want one, convincing himself being your friend was better than losing you altogether. But hearing another man talk about you like that, about asking you out, lit something ugly and sharp in him.
He masked it with a shrug that felt like it took all his strength. “I… don’t know,” he said, eyes dropping to the drink he was pouring. “You’d have to ask her.” Scott chuckled. “Oh, I will.“ Yunho’s grip on the glass tightened. Just for a second. And for the first time in a long time, Yunho imagined it, not just you being asked out, but you smiling at someone else, touching someone else, laughing the way you did with him but for another man.
His stomach dropped as Scott slapped his shoulder, oblivious. “Wish me luck, man.” Yunho forced a laugh. “Yeah. Sure.” But inside? Inside, something jealously territorial and long restrained finally stirred. Ask her out? Over his dead body.
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Yunho rode home later than usual, the air cool enough that it slipped under his jacket and bit at the edges of his nerves. The bike roared down sunset lit streets, but even the thrill of it couldn’t drown out Scott’s voice looping through his head. He revved the throttle harder than he meant to. The thought of anyone else touching you scratched under his skin like a fuse burning short. By the time he pulled into the apartment lot, his jaw was tight, his shoulders knotted. He parked the bike, stripped off his helmet, and exhaled into the crisp night.
The windows of the apartment glowed warm. Inside, everything was quiet. He slipped in softly, toeing off his boots by the door. The living room lamp cast a golden pool across the couch where you lay curled under a blanket, TV humming low with some late night documentary you’d long stopped watching. You were completely passed out. Face soft. Hair messy. One hand tucked under your cheek. And even like this, you hit him with that punch in the chest feeling he’d never managed to shake. “Hey,” he whispered, stepping closer. “You didn’t wait up for me, did you?”
No answer. Just the slow, steady rise and fall of your breathing. His frustration from earlier… softened. Melted. Turned into something warm and devastatingly tender as he crouched beside you, brushing a stray hair from your forehead with a touch so light he hoped you wouldn’t feel it. It was selfish, but he let himself look, really look at you while you slept. The vulnerability, the peace, the trust of being this undone in front of him. His chest tightened. “You’re driving me crazy,” he breathed, barely a sound.
After a minute, he slid one arm under your knees, the other behind your back. You stirred just a little when he lifted you, but your head naturally fell into the crook of his shoulder like your body had decided this was normal. Like it belonged there. He carried you through the hallway slowly, inhaling the faint scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your body pressed to his. Your hand slipped up his chest instinctively, fingers curling lightly into his shirt. Yunho froze for half a second, breath catching. Then he held you closer.
When he reached your room, he nudged the door open with his foot, lowered you gently onto the bed, and pulled the blanket over you. You let out the softest sigh, turning your face into the pillow. He stood there longer than he meant to. Just watching you. Just wanting. Just hurting a little. Right before he turned off the lamp, you murmured something in your sleep, too soft to make out, but his name was in it. He swallowed hard. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered as he closed your door quietly behind him.
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You shuffled into the kitchen with sleep still clinging to your voice, hair a little wild, sweater hanging off one shoulder. Yunho was already there, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee, pretending not to stare at you like you were his first thought of the morning and his last thought last night. “Morning,” he said, voice deep and warm. You blinked at him, then frowned. “Did you… carry me to my room last night?” He froze mid sip. A tiny, traitorous flush crept up his throat. “Uh… yeah. You fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t want your neck to snap in half.” You narrowed your eyes. “You could’ve just woken me.”
“You looked comfortable,” he said quietly. Something warm fluttered in your chest. You ignored it. Or tried to as he grabbed his keys, dangling them teasingly. “Come on. I’ll take you to work.” You hesitated. “The bike again?”
“Unless you want to walk because my truck still needs a new battery.” He smirked. Completely illegal. You grabbed quickly got dressed, grabbed your bag and followed him out. The morning air was cooler than yesterday, a crisp bite against your skin as he handed you the helmet. The second you settled behind him, your body remembered everything it shouldn’t. Your arms slipped around his waist. Your thighs hugged his hips. Your chest pressed to his back.
And then the engine growled. Low. Deep. A vibration that moved straight through the seat, through him… and straight through the thin jeans you had on. You stiffened. Oh no. Absolutely not. Absolutely yes. He didn’t notice, too focused, checking mirrors, easing out of the lot. But the moment he accelerated, the vibration hit you again, right where you shouldn’t be feeling anything. Your breath hitched. Your grip tightened. Your thighs pressed closer around him before you could stop yourself.
You bit your lip to keep a moan from escaping. The vibrations were edging you, you could feel yourself starting to get wet against the cotton panties clinging to you. Yunho’s head tipped slightly, like he sensed something, but he kept driving, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind him, between his best friend’s legs. Every shift of his body pushed back against you. Every vibration pulsed exactly where you were trying not to react, eyes fluttering, your heart pounding. Every turn made your hips press into him a little more.
You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt it. That first sign an orgasm was building. Yunho felt your fingers curl into his shirt. Felt your breath stutter against his neck. Felt the way you clung just a little too tightly. His grip on the handlebars flexed. “Everything okay back there?” he called over the engine. He seemed to be asking you that a lot lately. “Fine!” you squeaked. You weren’t fine. You were seconds from spontaneous combustion.
He sped up slightly, nothing wild, just enough for the bike to purr beneath you again. The vibration rolled through your lower body, and you bit down on your lip so hard it almost hurt as you felt the fastest orgasm of your life rip from you. You clinged to him harder, legs shaking a little as you clenched your jaw to keep from making a sound. By the time he pulled into the school parking lot, your heartbeat was a frantic, traitorous mess. You forced your legs to work as you climbed off, praying he couldn’t see the flush burning up your neck or the small wet spot between your legs.
You handed him the helmet with what you hoped was a normal expression. “You okay?” he asked, eyebrows lifting just a hair. He was studying you. Too closely. “Perfect,” you said too quickly, too brightly. “Absolutely perfect.” He tilted his head. Then his eyes dropped to your cheeks… still pink. A slow smile tugged at his lips. “You sure?”
You nodded aggressively. “Yes. Thank you for the ride. See you later.” You turned so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet. Behind you, you heard him chuckle, low, warm, maddening.
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The teachers’ lounge smelled like reheated pasta, burnt coffee, and exhaustion, basically every weekday at noon. You sat at the round table with your lunch half eaten, scrolling on your phone, when Lisa plopped down across from you with all the chaotic energy of someone who still had hope in her eyes. Lisa was your age, maybe a year younger. Cute, bubbly, always wearing brightly patterned sweaters that shouldn’t work but somehow did. She bit into her salad, chewed twice, then leaned forward like she was about to reveal state secrets.
“So…” she said, lowering her voice dramatically. “Who’s the hot biker that drops you off every morning?” You blinked. “What?” She nodded eagerly. “Hot. Biker. Tall. Every kid in third period is talking about him.” You nearly choked on your water as Lisa continued, eyebrows raised. “Like, I had three sophomores tell me you’re living in a romance novel. One kid said, and I quote, Miss Y/L/N man is, like, Bucky Barnes or something.’”
You sputtered. “He is not Bucky Barnes!”
“Right, sorry,” Lisa said, waving her fork. “But he’s definitely… something. Who is he?” You forced yourself to breathe. “He’s my roommate….. my best friend.” Lisa froze mid chew. “Your best friend looks like that?” You shrugged helplessly, stabbing at your food. “I’ve known him since I was fifteen. He’s just… Yunho.”
“Oh my god, it has a name,” she whispered, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, no. Tell me everything. Do you two date? Hook up? Are you like…. friends with tension? Please say yes because I swear even the lunch ladies were talking about him!”
You dropped your fork. “Lisa.”
She held up her hands defensively. “I’m just saying! He pulled up this morning and I happened to be walking in, and he stared at you like…. like he wanted to ruin everyone else’s chances of existing.” Heat flushed up your neck. “We’re just friends.” Lisa’s eyes narrowed like she was grading a suspicious essay. “Do you want it to be more?”
You hesitated. One beat too long and Lisa gasped. “You do!” You covered your face. “Please stop.” She grinned wickedly. “I knew it. I knew it. Look at you turning red.” Then she leaned in again, conspiratorial. “He single?” Your heart lodged in your throat. “As far as I know.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Then… are you going to make a move? Because if you’re not, I might.” You snapped your head up so fast your neck popped. “Lisa.” She burst out laughing, waving you off. “Relax! I wouldn’t. He already looks at you like you hung the moon. It’d be a waste of my time.” You tried to glare, but you were flustered and she was relentless. Lisa took a sip of her iced coffee, studying you over the rim. “Seriously though… you should think about it. Guys don’t stare the way he stares unless they’re in deep.”
Your pulse skipped. Your stomach flipped. Your face felt hot all over again. “Lunch is over,” you said, standing up even though you still had five minutes left and Lisa smirked. “Yeah, but denial is exhausting. Go hydrate.” You tossed your napkin at her, but your smile gave you away as inside your chest, something small and dangerous fluttered awake.
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The last bell echoed through campus like a mercy announcement. Students spilled out in clusters, laughing, shoving, gossiping, sprinting for freedom. You stepped out with your bag over your shoulder, mind still spinning with Lisa’s lunchtime commentary. You’d laughed it off at the table. Pretended it meant nothing. But the words clung to you now, sticky and impossible to shake, weaving themselves into thoughts you weren’t supposed to have.
When you rounded the corner, the sight of him hit you like always, with that stupid mix of warmth and adrenaline. Yunho was already there. Bike parked along the curb. Helmet in one hand. The other braced casually on the handlebar as he waited. He looked unfair in the afternoon sun, hair tousled, jaw shadowed, shoulders relaxed like he wasn’t currently unraveling on the inside. A group of teens nearby stared openly, whispering. Pointing. Some even lifted their phones. Yunho ignored all of it.
His eyes found you instantly. And something in him loosened, even as something else tightened. Scott. Scott with his too big grin and too many questions. Scott, who was planning to ask you out next time he saw you. He watched you cross the courtyard now, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling at something a student said. His chest tightened in that familiar painful way. He didn’t want you to get on the bike today. He wanted to keep you off it.
Because the way you held him. The way he felt you tremble, barely, but enough. The way your thighs squeezed around him like instinct. He was starting to lose it. But when you walked up to him with that small tired smile, he forgot every reason to distance himself. “Hey,” you said softly. “Thanks for picking me up again.”
“Always,” he said, voice a little rougher than intended as students started murmuring nearby. And behind his steady expression, one thought burned, Scott isn’t getting within ten feet of you. “Ready?” he asked, handing you the helmet. You nodded, but your fingers brushed his when you took it, and he inhaled like the touch meant something.
Your pulse jumped as Yunho glanced at you, quietly, searchingly, as if trying to decode something you weren’t admitting yet. He forced his expression neutral, chin tipping toward the bike. “Hop on,” he murmured and your stomach dipped. Your pulse tripped. Because the vibrations. Because your thighs. Because the spontaneous orgasm you got that morning. But you climbed on anyway, arms slipping around him. And Yunho, despite every reason not to, let himself savor the feeling of you holding him like you were his. Even if he didn’t have the right to call you that. Yet.
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Saturday crept in warm and slow, sunlight leaking through the blinds like it had no respect for your plans to sleep in. You eventually dragged yourself out of bed and into the kitchen where Yunho was already up, hair mussed from sleep, standing at the counter eating cereal straight out of the box. He looked…. annoyingly good for someone who wasn’t even trying. White fitted shirt. Dark jeans slung low on his hips. The chain around his neck catching the light just right. He had that quiet, freshly woken softness that made your stomach flip even when you pretended it didn’t. “Morning,” he said around a mouthful of cereal.
“Morning.” You poured coffee, leaning a hip against the counter. “You working tonight?”
“Kind of. Mikey’s anniversary party. Fifteen years with owning the bar.” He tossed another handful into his mouth, shrugged. “He’s making it a whole thing.“ You nodded. “I’ll probably swing by later.” He froze. Like actually froze. “Later?” he repeated slowly. “Why… later?” You blinked at him. “What do you mean why?” He scratched his jaw, eyes narrowing a fraction. “I just figured you had better things to do.”
You snorted. “You’re my only friend and it’s a Saturday… I have nothing else to do.” His jaw flexed once, twice. A bead of tension rolled through his shoulders. “I just….. Scott keeps aggravating me about asking you out…”
You blinked. “Your coworker?” The look on his face was priceless. He didn’t look jealous. He looked offended you didn’t immediately understand. “Yeah,” he said. “My coworker.” You lifted a brow, leaning back against the counter with a little shrug, oblivious to his spiraling. “He’s kind of hot.” Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just stared at you like the universe personally tapped him on the shoulder and said, Hey man, here’s your villain origin story. “Hot?” he echoed, voice scraping low. “Scott?”
You nodded casually. “Yeah. He’s cute.” Yunho set the cereal box down so slowly it was almost funny. “Cute,” he repeated under his breath like the word personally insulted his ancestors. His chest rose with a deep inhale as he pushed a hand through his hair. And the way he steadied himself on the counter? Like the ground tilted under him? You bit back a smile as he muttered something so soft you almost didn’t catch it. “Unbelievable.”
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By the time the sun dragged itself low enough to bleed orange through the bar windows, Yunho was already two hours into his shift. His jacket hung on the hook behind the bar, leaving him in that fitted white shirt that made half the regulars stare a little too long before ordering their drinks. The anniversary party wasn’t supposed to start until eight, but Mikey had apparently decided “anniversary” meant “start drinking at four,” so the place was already buzzing. The jukebox played something bass heavy, glasses clinked, and a handful of people were setting up decorations while Mikey alternated between giving emotional speeches and yelling at the balloons.
Yunho was wiping down the counter when Scott slid in beside him with that surfer boy grin like he didn’t sense the impending doom hovering three inches above his head. “Big night,” Scott said, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “You good, man?”
“I’m fine,” Yunho muttered, even though his jaw had been tight since breakfast. The words, He’s kind of hot, wouldn’t stop echoing in his skull like a cursed ringtone. Scott nodded, started filling a round of beers for a table, and leaned closer over the noise. “So… you think she’s coming tonight?” The glass in Yunho’s hand almost, but not quite, cracked. He didn’t look up. “Who?”
Scott blinked at him like this was obvious. “Y/N.“ Yunho’s jaw ticked. “She might,” he said, aiming for casual but landing closer to a slow burn homicide fantasy. Scott brightened. “Good. Good. I, uh… still wanna ask her out.” He shot Yunho a grin. “Thanks again for the green light, by the way.” Yunho stopped moving completely. Like someone unplugged him. The only part of him alive was the muscle in his cheek that twitched hard enough to send a tiny shockwave across the bar.
“Green light,” Yunho repeated, voice low and flat. Scott didn’t notice the death omen in his tone. “Yeah! You said she’s single, and you didn’t say you were into her or anything, so I figured why not? And the way she looks at you sometimes? She must be comfortable with guys like us.” Yunho’s head snapped toward him so fast Scott actually flinched. “Guys like us?” Yunho echoed.
“Yeah,” Scott said, oblivious. “Hot, tall, good with our hands…”
“Scott,” Yunho said quietly. Too quietly. The calm before the storm kind of quiet. “Stop talking.” Scott raised his brows. “What? I’m just saying…”
“You should stop talking.”
Scott blinked. “You okay, dude?”
Yunho forced a breath. Then another. Then gripped the counter like that was the only thing tethering him to the earth. “I’m fine,” he said through half clenched teeth. “Just work.” Scott just shrugged and moved to the other end of the bar to drop off drinks, humming like he hadn’t just stepped directly onto a landmine with a smile on his face.
Across the room, Mikey slung an arm around a balloon column and declared he loved all his employees more than whiskey. Someone cheered. Someone else tripped over a stool. Yunho barely heard any of it. All he could think about was you maybe walking in tonight. You in something cute. You smiling. You laughing. You talking to Scott. Scott asking you out.
His fingers curled around the counter, knuckles pale. Not happening. Not tonight. Not ever. Shit…. He was being possessive. He swallowed hard, grabbed a shaker, and started making drinks he didn’t even remember the orders for.
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Two hours later, the bar was absolutely unhinged in the most predictable Mikey’s Point fashion. Someone attempted karaoke. Someone else dropped a tray of wings and declared it performance art. Mikey was on his third “I love all of you so much” speech while hugging a cardboard cutout of Jim Beam.
Yunho barely heard any of it. He was running on autopilot behind the bar, body moving, brain stuck somewhere between simmering jealousy and absolute denial that Scott existed. The air was warm, smelling of citrus, beer, and cheap aftershave. His shirt clung to him slightly from the heat and movement, and each time he wiped the counter down, someone’s eyes followed the flex of his arms.
He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Because every time the front door opened, he looked up. And every time it wasn’t you, something in his chest tightened. Scott noticed. Of course Scott noticed. “You waiting on someone?” he asked over the noise, sliding a drink down the counter. “No,” Yunho lied. Badly. Scott just smirked. “Hope Y/N shows. I wanna catch her before she gets too many drinks in her.”
Yunho’s grip on the glass he was holding went white knuckle as the door opened one more time. And this time, everything in Yunho simply stopped. Like someone hit pause on him. You stepped inside the bar, confident, glowing from the warm evening air, hair falling beautifully, and wearing that outfit. Green and black marble print, clinging to your curves like it was painted on. A thin piece of fabric holding up a neckline that absolutely should not have been legal in a public establishment. Your stomach showing. Your waist cinched. Skirt barely long enough to qualify as a skirt. And the combat boots…. the combat boots he’d watched you bend over the other night searching for…. tied the whole thing together in a way that made a low punch of heat slam into him.
He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Every neuron in his skull fired at once. Holy. Hell. Your eyes scanned the crowded room, a little shy but determined, and then you spotted him behind the bar. The smile you gave him? Soft. Excited. Familiar. Like seeing him made the whole room better. Yunho felt his lungs forget how to function. Scott, standing beside him, let out a low appreciative whistle. “Damn,” he said. “She looks…”
Yunho cut him a look that could’ve set a forest on fire. Scott wisely shut up. But he wasn’t the only one staring. Half the bar stopped moving. Men elbowed each other. Women whispered. Someone near the pool table muttered a quiet “Jesus Christ.” And Yunho felt pride and panic tangle violently in his chest. He swallowed hard, jaw tight, pulse thundering.
You came closer, weaving through the crowd, hips swaying in that dress that was going to haunt him for the rest of his mortal life. He realized, with bone deep certainty…. He was one second, one breath, from snapping. Because you were beautiful. You were his best friend. And you had absolutely no idea what you were doing to him.
When you finally reached the bar, you leaned your elbows on the counter and smiled up at him like he wasn’t currently considering burning the whole building down. “Hey,” you said brightly. “Sorry I’m late. You guys look busy.” Yunho’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Nothing. His brain had ceased operations. Scott recovered first, stepping forward with unnecessary confidence. “Wow, Y/N. You look….”
Yunho slammed a glass down so hard Scott jumped back. “Busy,” Yunho said loudly, startling Scott and nearly the whole left side of the bar. “We’re busy. Scott…. go get table nine’s order.” Scott blinked. “Table nine doesn’t…”
“Go,” Yunho growled and you raised a brow at him, amused, oblivious to the riot under his skin. “You okay?” He dragged in a breath, tried to act normal, failed miserably. “You… look…” His voice cracked. He cleared it. “You look nice.” Nice. Nice. He wanted to punch himself as you grinned. “Thanks. You look good too.” He absolutely did not react externally. Internally? Full body combustion.
Yunho needed something to do before he did something catastrophic. So when you leaned forward on your elbows and asked, “Can you make me something?” he latched onto the task like a lifeline. “What do you want?” he asked, voice low, almost steady. You shrugged, smiling like you knew you were killing him. “Something sweet.”
He nodded once, sharp, like taking an order was somehow the most serious responsibility he’d ever been given. He grabbed a shaker, ice clattering inside, his movements clipped and overly controlled as he reached for bottles. You watched him work in silence at first. But then his sleeves pulled tight around his arms. And the muscles in his forearms flexed when he shook the mixer. And the chain around his neck brushed against the fabric of that fitted white shirt when he leaned forward.
You swallowed. God, he looked good. The concentrated look on his face, the gentle tilt of his head as he tasted the mixture with a bar spoon, the way he adjusted ingredients until it was perfect… it all felt a little too intimate. Like seeing him in his element let you peek behind some curtain you weren’t supposed to lift. He slid the finished cocktail toward you. “Try it,” he murmured. You took a sip… and blinked. “Yunho. This is amazing.”
His face softened for half a second, pride, relief, something warm flickering behind his eyes, before he caught himself. Straightened. Cleared his throat. “Good,” he said. “I’ll, uh… be right back. Gotta grab drinks for the far tables.” He walked away before you could say anything else. You leaned on the counter, straw between your lips, watching him weave through the crowd. Watching how he moved, tall, confident, easy on his feet, while customers immediately reached for him with smiles or hands or too long stares.
He didn’t notice. Or pretended not to. But you sure did. He grabbed a tray from a server, loading it with beers and mixed drinks. When he lifted it with one arm like it weighed nothing, you caught yourself biting your lip. And then a burst of laughter from the other end of the bar pulled your attention. Two girls leaned against the counter, leaning way too close as Yunho stepped back behind the bar. Both of them were dressed up, hair perfect, makeup flawless. They watched him like he was the entertainment, giggling, whispering behind their hands, flipping their hair as he approached. One of them traced her finger along the counter right toward him. The other licked her straw while staring directly at his mouth.
He didn’t flirt back. But he smiled politely, that soft, charming smile he used with customers, and your stomach dipped. Because you weren’t used to feeling this. You weren’t used to watching other women openly eye him like they had every right. Not since college. Not since way before you started seeing him as more than just your best friend. One girl leaned forward, tapping the bar. “Hey, handsome. Can we get two of whatever you recommend?”
Yunho nodded, grabbing bottles, sliding into work mode. Shaker. Ice. Pour. Shake. Pour again. The girls giggled. One of them twirled her hair and sighed, “God, he’s hot.” Your grip tightened just slightly around your glass. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing. He was a bartender. People flirted with bartenders all the time. And yet… every time he reached for a bottle, the girls’ eyes dragged down his torso. Every time he leaned forward, they leaned in, too close, too eager. Every time he smiled that polite smile… your chest tugged in a way you did not want to examine.
You looked back at your drink, trying to play it off. But then something shifted in the air. A feeling. A pull. You looked up…. and caught him watching you. Not the girls. Not the drinks. You. His eyes were locked on you from across the bar, expression unreadable, jaw set in a way that said he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And that he definitely saw the way you were reacting. He didn’t break eye contact. Not even when one of the girls touched his arm. He just stared at you like the whole room was noise and you were the only thing that mattered. Your breath hitched. And deep beneath the counter, out of sight, his fist curled tight.
He was in the middle of pouring a drink when he saw it, Scott drifting back behind the bar like a golden retriever with a mission, wiping his hands on a towel and heading straight toward you. Yunho’s entire body went tight. For a second, he tried to focus on the shaker, on the two girls practically crawling over each other for his attention. “Hey bartender, you free after you get off,” one giggled. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t even pretend to.
Because across the bar, Scott leaned in close to you. Too close. And you laughed. A soft, easy little laugh he hadn’t heard all night. His stomach dropped straight through the floor. Scott said something else, something that made you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and you smiled at him. Smiled. At fucking Scott. Yunho felt heat crawl up his spine, sharp and ugly, an emotion he’d suppressed for years suddenly waking like it’d been waiting for this exact moment to roar to life. The girl nearest him brushed her fingers against his forearm. “Hey, do you….”
He pulled away without thinking, eyes fixed on you and Scott. Scott was leaning a hip against the bar, talking animatedly, throwing you that bright surfer boy grin like he invented charm. And you, wearing that barely legal dress, looking like a sin he’d dreamt about too many times, were actually engaging. Listening. Smiling. Laughing again.
Yunho’s pulse hammered. No. Absolutely not. You weren’t supposed to look at Scott like that. You weren’t supposed to give him that smile. You weren’t supposed to tilt your head in that soft way that Yunho had always considered his. Scott reached out and tucked a piece of your hair behind your shoulder. Yunho stopped breathing. Something snapped cleanly inside him, no noise, no warning, just a violent tightening in his chest that felt dangerously close to losing his mind.
He set the drink down too hard. The glass clacked against the counter, loud enough for the girls to blink at him. All he saw was Scott leaning closer. And your lips curving into shy, surprised little smiles. The same lips he’d stared at and imagined kissing. The same lips he wanted on his skin so badly it felt like a problem. Then Scott said something that made you laugh again, head back this time, and Yunho’s vision actually went fuzzy.
He wasn’t jealous. Jealous didn’t even touch this. He was unraveling. His chest burned, fingers curling tight around the counter edge until his forearm flexed under the strain. He clenched his jaw so hard the muscle jumped. His breath came slow and shallow, like he was trying not to do something reckless. Because you were sitting there, looking like that, smiling at someone else. And Scott, who didn’t know you, didn’t love you, didn’t get to want you, was soaking up every second of your attention. Yunho felt his composure thinning by the second.
Scott leaned in again, lowering his voice so you had to lean toward him to hear. You did and Yunho nearly walked over the bar. The girls beside him exchanged confused looks. “Are you okay?” one asked gently. Yunho dragged his eyes away from you long enough to give them a clipped nod. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t remotely fine.
Because you were touching Scott’s arm now, just lightly, conversational, innocent. But Yunho saw it. Felt it. Somewhere deep in his chest, something territorial and dark uncurled itself, stretching like it had claws. That’s mine. The thought wasn’t rational. Wasn’t fair. Wasn’t allowed. But it was loud. And it was real.
Your head tilted as Scott said something else, and you laughed again, soft, warm, pretty, and Yunho made a sound low in his throat he didn’t mean to make. That was it. He couldn’t watch this another second. He tossed the towel aside, stepped away from the girls, and stalked down the bar toward you. Eyes sharp. Jaw tight. Every line of his body carved with purpose. And Scott, blissfully unaware he was seconds from being removed from the gene pool, kept talking.
Until Yunho stopped right behind him. Right behind both of you. Close enough that you felt the heat of him before you even turned. Scott was mid sentence, something about “places that stay open late” when Yunho stepped up behind him, presence hitting like a shadow falling over both of you.
You turned slightly, and Yunho was already there, bar towel gone, posture loose in a way that was clearly fake, the faintest hint of a smile on his mouth that absolutely did not reach his eyes. He leaned an elbow on the bar, casual, friendly, neutral if you didn’t know him. “You two having fun?” he asked lightly. “Am I interrupting something?” The tone was easy. The eyes were lethal.
Scott brightened, oblivious. “Nah, man! Just talking. I was actually asking Y/N if she wanted to…”
You cut in before he could finish, partly to be polite… partly because Yunho’s stare felt like it had weight. You bit your lip. A tiny, impulsive motion. Dangerous. “Scott was asking if I wanted to join him later,” you said softly, “after he gets off.” You could feel Yunho go still. Not visibly. Not obviously. But internally? The man flatlined. His chest barely moved with the breath he took. His jaw flexed once. Twice. Scott didn’t notice a damn thing. “Yeah!” he said enthusiastically. “There’s this spot on Melrose…”
Yunho spoke over him. “Since when do you go out after work, Scott?” Scott blinked. “Uh… since forever?” Yunho hummed like he didn’t believe him. Or maybe like he was imagining shoving him into the ice machine. You tilted your head, watching Yunho watching you. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Not really. He looked… controlled. Contained. Tension coiled tight under that fitted white shirt, breath slow like he was actively trying not to react.
And then he did something subtle, so subtle Scott missed it completely. He angled his body closer to you. Not touching. Just… closer as Scott kept rambling. “So yeah, I told Y/N if she wants to chill, maybe grab a drink after we close, or hit that rooftop spot…” Yunho’s eyes flicked to your lips. Just for a second. But you saw it. Felt it. Then he spoke again, voice deceptively light. “You said yes?”
You opened your mouth but Scott jumped in. “She didn’t say no yet.” Yunho’s gaze snapped to him. A calm little smile curved his mouth. “Oh,” he said softly. “She didn’t say yes, either.” Scott laughed awkwardly. “Not yet.” Yunho’s expression stayed polite. Friendly. Even kind. But his eyes? His eyes said, Try it. I dare you.
Before Scott could angle closer, before he could try another charming grin or whatever else he thought might work, Mikey’s voice blasted across the bar like a cannon. “SCOTT! Get your ass over here and bring me those drinks I asked for twenty minutes ago!” Scott jumped so hard he nearly dropped the bar towel. “Oh… uh…. coming!” He flashed you a quick wink, a bold one, like he genuinely thought the two of you had chemistry. Then he jogged off toward Mikey, weaving through the crowd with a little extra swagger.
Yunho watched him go. Not casually. Not neutrally. Like a man tracking a threat. When he finally turned back to you, the shift in the air was instant. He was close, closer than before. Not touching, but the heat of him felt like a hand on your waist. His voice dropped low, rough at the edges, nothing like the friendly bartender tone he’d used earlier. “So…” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “You really going out with him?”
You froze. Not because of the words, you could’ve brushed those off. But because of the way he said them. Deep. Controlled. Tension coiled tight beneath every syllable. And something else beneath that. Something raw. Something he didn’t want you to hear but couldn’t hide. You managed a soft, confused, “What?”
Yunho’s gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips and back. Once. Slowly. His jaw tightened. “You were smiling at him.” Your breath caught as he kept going, voice quiet but intense, the kind of intensity that wasn’t anger. It was want. Jealous want. “You were laughing,” he added, like the words physically bothered him. “At his jokes.”
You blinked. “Yunho…”
“And you didn’t tell him no.”
You felt heat bloom in your chest. The room was loud, really loud, but somehow everything blurred around the edges until it was just him in front of you, shirt tight across his chest, hair slightly tousled from running his hands through it, eyes dark with something he wasn’t saying yet. “You didn’t tell him no,” he repeated, softer this time. Barely audible. “Why didn’t you?”
Your pulse jumped. Because the question wasn’t innocent. It wasn’t friend to friend. It was a man asking why you’d even consider someone else when he was standing right here. Your voice came out smaller than you intended. “I… I didn’t know I needed to.” Something dangerous flickered across his face. You’d thrown a spark into a room full of gasoline.
Yunho inhaled once, shallow, sharp, like he was fighting something in his chest. Then he leaned a little closer, eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t,” he murmured. “You don’t owe me anything.” But there was a pause. A long, telling pause. “But I need to know… if you actually want to go with him.” Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Because this? This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t protective best friend mode. This was Yunho cracking open. This was the truth slipping out despite him trying to hold it back.
Your lips parted, you weren’t even sure what was about to come out…. And Yunho watched your mouth like it might break him. For a moment, you just stared at him, Yunho standing there, muscles tight, breath uneven, eyes locked on you like he couldn’t look anywhere else even if someone set the bar on fire. Lisa’s voice drifted through your head like a spark, Guys don’t stare at you the way he stares unless they’re in deep.
And maybe it was the dress. Maybe it was the heat of the room. Maybe it was the way he’d walked over like he couldn’t stand another second of Scott near you. But for the first time, you didn’t swallow your feelings. You didn’t back down. You pushed. Softly at first, then with a wicked little shove. You lifted your chin and said, “Maybe.”
Yunho blinked once. Slow. Like the word punched through his ribcage. You kept going. Because that look on his face, sharp, tense, wrecked, made you bolder. “I mean… I haven’t really gone out with anyone in a while,” you said, voice low enough that only he could hear it over the music. His throat moved. Once. Hard. “And…” You glanced away briefly, like admitting something embarrassing. Then you looked right back at him, inhaling a slow breath. “Maybe I want to get laid.”
Time stopped. He didn’t speak. Just stared at you like he genuinely couldn’t tell if you were joking or if the universe was testing him on a spiritual level. “What?” he finally managed, voice rough. You shrugged lightly. “Yeah. It’s been a while. And Scott seems nice. So maybe hooking up with someone wouldn’t hurt.”
Yunho’s expression didn’t change much, not outwardly, but something violent shifted behind his eyes. His jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped. His hand on the bar curled into a fist. His breath came in a deeper drag, like he was fighting back words he absolutely should not say in public. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t snap. But the restraint looked physically painful. “You’re just gonna…” His voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. “You’re just gonna go home with him? Tonight?”
You bit your lip, deliberately this time. He noticed. Oh, he noticed. “I might,” you murmured. Yunho stared at you like you’d reached in and twisted something vital. The party noise kept going, laughter, music, clinking glasses, but between you two? It was silent. Charged. Electric enough to burn. His voice dropped, barely a sound. “You’re not serious.”
You tilted your head. “Why wouldn’t I be?” That was the spark. The one that hit the gasoline. Yunho leaned in, not touching, but closer than he’d ever allowed himself to be in a public space, his voice a low, desperate growl right next to your ear. “Because he doesn’t get to touch you like that.” Your breath hitched so hard you actually swayed. You turned your head enough to meet his eyes, heart slamming against your ribs. “And who,” you whispered, pulse racing, “says he doesn’t?”
Yunho didn’t hesitate. “Me.” The word hung between you like smoke. Me. Not a joke. Not a slip. Not a misunderstanding. He meant it. Every rough, protective, possessive letter of it. Your lips parted, you didn’t even know what you were going to say. Something sharp. Something soft. Something dangerous. But the reply was already building in your throat.
“Yunho! I need you at the other end!” a server yelled over the music. “Now! We’re slammed!” Yunho stiffened. For half a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t look away from you. Didn’t blink. Like he was physically unable to step back. Then reality sucker punched both of you at the same time. His jaw flexed. His breath dragged slow and deep through his nose. And he forced himself to straighten. He didn’t touch you. But God, he looked like he wanted to.
His eyes dragged over your face, your lips, your throat, the flush on your cheeks, like he was burning the moment into himself before walking away. “I have to…” He swallowed hard. “I need to… get back.” Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Yunho…” He shook his head once, tiny, pained. “Don’t… don’t go anywhere.” His voice cracked just enough that you felt it in your knees.
Then he turned. Walked away. Shoulders tight, back rigid, hands flexing once like he needed something to hold onto that wasn’t you. And suddenly the bar felt too loud. Too bright. Too hot. You exhaled shakily and sat back, gripping the edge of your drink like it could anchor you. Your brain was no help at all. He said me. Not casual, not flirty, claiming. Territorial. He said it like it hurt him to hold back any longer.
Your thoughts spiraled fast. He doesn’t want me going out with Scott. He doesn’t want me hooking up with anyone. Was that jealousy? Was that… something else? Has he always been like this? You pressed your thighs together under the bar, pulse thundering. And then, because the universe wanted you to suffer…. You remembered the way he leaned in. The sound of his voice in your ear. The look on his face when you said maybe you wanted to get laid. Heat flooded your chest, your stomach, all the way down.
You couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t look anywhere except where he’d disappeared behind the crowd. Your heart flipped so hard it hurt. Your hands shook as you brought your drink to your lips, throat tight.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The party had only grown louder as the night stretched on. People danced between tables, a couple regulars were doing shots off the counter, and Mikey had fully surrendered to being fifteen years of bar ownership drunk. And across the room, at your corner of the bar, Scott was in full golden retriever courtship mode. He leaned closer every time he spoke. He laughed too loudly at his own jokes. And he’d begun inching his hand toward yours on the counter like a man venturing into shark infested waters without realizing it.
Yunho noticed every. Single. Millimeter. From the opposite end of the bar, where he was supposed to be working, Yunho watched with a tight jaw and a drink shaker clenched in his hands like it had personally offended him. He tried to tune it all out. But he couldn’t. Because Scott kept smiling at you like he’d won something. Because you kept smiling back, a little flustered, a little unsure, a little dangerously cute. Because he could still hear your voice in his head like a gunshot, Maybe I want to get laid.
He still felt the echo of his own reply burning under his skin. Me. Christ. What the hell had possessed him to say that? He told himself it was the crowd. The heat. The alcohol in the air. The jealousy ripping at his ribs. But none of it changed the truth he’d been choking on for years. He wanted you. Body, mind, everything. And now Scott, Scott with the too big smile and the easy confidence and not a clue in the world was shooting his shot. Right in front of him.
Yunho’s eyes narrowed as Scott placed a hand lightly on your lower back. Your breath caught and didn’t move away. Yunho’s grip tightened on the shaker. Metal squeaked. Someone waiting for their drink slowly backed away. “Uh… Yunho?” a server whispered. “You okay?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t even hear her. His entire focus was locked on you. The dress. The boots. The way you leaned in when you laughed. And Scott moving closer with each passing minute.
Yunho’s heartbeat hammered a steady, dangerous thrum beneath his ribs. He told himself to calm down. He told himself he had no claim on you. He told himself he’d already pushed too far earlier. None of it worked. Because now Scott was whispering something into your ear and Yunho saw red. Before he could storm over and commit a felony, someone clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Yunho,” Mikey announced, swaying slightly as he attempted to steady himself. “Stop looking like that.”
Yunho blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you’re about to piss on her leg and mark her in my bar,” Mikey slurred as the shaker slipped in Yunho’s hand. “What… I’m not…. that’s not…”
“Oh, spare me,” Mikey said, waving him off with the grace of a drunk flamingo. “I know a man about to go feral when I see one.”
“I’m not…”
“You’re jealous.”
Yunho froze as Mikey rolled his eyes dramatically. “Everyone can see it. The bartenders. The customers. The couple making out by the jukebox probably felt it spiritually.” Yunho opened his mouth, ready to deny everything, lie his way into normalcy, pretend nothing was happening, push it all back into the box he’d kept sealed for years. But Mikey squinted at him, pointed toward Scott like he was calling out a fire hazard. “Look at him. Poor guy has no idea you’ve been trying to glare him into an early grave with your eyeballs.”
Yunho pressed his lips together. Said nothing. Because the alternative was telling the truth. And he wasn’t ready for that. Mikey groaned. “Go.” Yunho blinked. “Go where?” Mikey shoved him, actually shoved him, toward your end of the bar. “To her,” he said. “Before you kill Scott. Or yourself. Or my business. In that order.” Yunho hesitated. “Now,” Mikey added sharply, then hiccuped. “Before he asks her to leave with him and we all have to watch you spontaneously combust.”
Yunho didn’t need another push. He was already moving. Slow. Measured. But with a look in his eyes that had nothing to do with work anymore. And everything to do with you. He moved through the crowded bar with purpose in every step, the kind that had people subconsciously shifting out of his way. Music pulsed. Glasses clinked. Laughter rose and fell around him like static. But none of it reached him.
All he could see was you at the counter, Scott leaning in too close, your smile dimming with uncertainty as he talked. Every instinct in Yunho screamed at him, Go to her. Take her away from him. Say something. Do something. He got halfway across the bar… and then he stopped. Stopped so suddenly a server nearly ran into his back. Because the truth, the one he’d been dodging all night, hit him like a fist, If he crossed that distance… If he stepped into your space now, with his chest tight and his pulse wild and that jealousy clawing through him… he wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.
He wouldn’t be able to walk it back. Wouldn’t be able to hide behind jokes and almost confessions and careful boundaries. He would want you. Openly. Fully. Dangerously. And if he misread a single thing, If you didn’t want him back….. he’d lose the one person he couldn’t live without. Fear. Actual fear. Settled cold and deep in his stomach. His breath caught. His hand curled into a fist at his side. For the first time all night, he backed away. One step. Two. Three.
Your laugh drifted across the bar again, this one softer, polite, like you were trying to navigate Scott’s attention without being rude, and it shattered something inside him. He turned sharply. Walked behind the bar with stiff, clipped movements. Snatched his jacket off the hook like it had personally offended him, the leather dragging roughly across the counter as he yanked it close. A couple of patrons looked over, confused.
Yunho needed air. Space. Distance from you before his heart ripped itself out of his chest and threw itself on the floor in front of everyone. He shoved through the back door into the cool night. The sudden quiet hit him like a shock. He exhaled hard, one breath, two, but it didn’t calm the frantic pounding in his chest. His bike stood at the curb under the streetlight, black and white and familiar. A grounding point.
He walked straight to it, braced both palms on the seat, head hanging low between his shoulders. His knuckles whitened against the leather. He closed his eyes. What the hell am I doing? What am I supposed to do with this? With her? With me? You were his best friend. His person. The girl he’d known half his life, the girl he’d fallen for long before he even understood what falling meant. And now? Now you were wearing a dress that made his brain short circuit. You were laughing at another man’s jokes. You were talking about wanting to get laid. You were slipping through every piece of control he had left.
He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing deep, trying to steady the storm inside him. He didn’t want to ruin things. Didn’t want to lose you. Didn’t want to scare you off or confess something you weren’t ready to hear. But he also couldn’t stand in that bar another second watching Scott try to take something, someone, he’d been quietly loving for years.
The night air bit at his skin, cooling nothing as he leaned one hip against the bike, head tipped back, eyes closed as he whispered to the empty street, “Get a grip, Yunho… before you fuck everything up.” But when he opened his eyes…. He still wanted to walk back inside. He still wanted to take you away from Scott. He still wanted you. And the wanting was getting harder to deny.
Yunho didn’t know how long he stood there beside his bike, jacket half on, chest rising and falling too fast, the night air doing nothing to cool the heat flooding his veins. He was trying. Trying to pull himself back into the version of him he always showed you. Calm. Easygoing. Steady. But the storm inside him hadn’t listened. The door behind him creaked, a soft, subtle sound. He didn’t turn. He already knew it was you.
Your footsteps approached slowly, hesitantly, gravel crunching beneath your boots until you were just a few feet behind him. “Yunho?” His eyes fluttered shut again. Of course you followed him. Of course you noticed. Because you always did. You stepped closer, voice soft, threaded with concern. “Are you okay? You just… stormed out. I thought maybe…”
He let out a short, low laugh. Except it wasn’t really a laugh. More like a sound dragged out of him because the pressure had finally cracked. “You have no idea,” he murmured and you froze. The tone wasn’t joking. Wasn’t casual. Wasn’t friendly. It was rough. Unsteady. Frustrated in a way that had nothing to do with work and everything to do with you.
Yunho raked a hand through his hair again, the leather of his jacket creaking as he gripped the edge of the bike seat for balance. He turned his head slightly, not fully facing you yet, like he wasn’t sure he could look at you without everything spilling out. “You shouldn’t have followed me out here,” he said quietly.
You swallowed. “Why not?”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Because I’m trying really damn hard to get myself under control.” Your breath stalled as he straightened slowly, finally turning enough to face you, not all the way, but enough that you could see the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his throat, the storm still burning behind his eyes. “You saw the way I left,” he said, voice low and frayed. “That was me trying to be smart. Trying not to say something I can’t take back.”
You stepped closer before you realized you were moving. The space between you hummed. “What… what would you say?” you asked softly. Yunho’s laugh came out again, sharper now, brittle, like he was on the edge of something he couldn’t back away from. “You really don’t know?” he asked. That did something to your chest. You shook your head, whispering, “I’m not sure.”
Yunho’s eyes closed for just a moment, his breath shuddering out as if your uncertainty hurt more than anything Scott had done all night. Then he opened them. Fully. Looking straight at you now. “No,” he said softly. “You should be the last person out here with me. Because I’m two seconds away from saying too much. From ruining everything.”
Your heart raced. “Try me,” you whispered. And for the first time all night, maybe the first time ever, Yunho didn’t look scared of the words. He looked scared of how badly he needed to say them. He stared at you like you were the moon crashing into the earth. For one breath, he looked ready to close the distance completely, to step into you, take your face in his hands, and finally let everything he’d been burying spill out.
But then fear flickered. Real fear again. And he tore his gaze away. He shook his head, jaw tense, throat working like swallowing the truth physically hurt. “No,” he muttered, voice low. “I can’t… I can’t do this with you. I won’t ruin what we have.” Then he turned from you. Actually turned his back, hands braced on the handlebars of his bike, shoulders tight enough to crack. The cool night air filled the empty space between you, humming with everything unsaid. He wasn’t walking away. He wasn’t leaving. He was just facing the one direction where he didn’t have to look at you, didn’t have to see the one person capable of shattering every wall he’d built.
And maybe a week ago, you would’ve let him hide there. But not now. Not after the way he said, me. Not after the way he stalked across the bar like he owned the floor beneath your feet. Not after the way looking at Scott talking to you had turned him into something feral. You stepped forward, boots crunching on the asphalt, until you were just inches behind him.
“You’re jealous.” The words sliced through the quiet like heat through frost. Yunho went rigid. Just frozen in place as if the truth hit him like a hand to the chest. Slowly, painfully slowly, he lifted his head. He didn’t turn around yet. Didn’t speak. But his fingers curled tight around the leather seat of the bike, knuckles pale, breath shallow and uneven as you took another step toward him, voice steady even though your heart hammered. “You’re jealous,” you repeated, softer now, more certain. “That’s why you stormed out.”
His shoulders rose with a deep inhale, shaky, barely controlled. Still no answer. You could feel him unraveling by degrees, the quiet tremor in his breath, the way his jaw clenched beneath the angle of his head turning, the war inside him reaching its breaking point. “You don’t want me to go out with Scott,” you whispered. “You don’t want me laughing with him. You don’t want him touching me.” The night held its breath.
Yunho slowly turned his head just enough to see you over his shoulder, eyes dark, raw, stripped down to something he couldn’t hide anymore. He looked wrecked. He looked like you had pried open something he’d been holding closed for years with nothing but a few soft, terrifyingly honest words. And when he finally spoke, his voice was nothing but truth. “Don’t,” he whispered, voice breaking at the edges. “Don’t say it unless you’re ready for what comes after.” But he didn’t deny it. Not once. Not at all.
The night felt impossibly still. Yunho stood there with his back half turned, breathing like every inhale hurt, jaw tight like he was bracing for impact. Didn’t say anything else. Because he knew if he did… you’d both cross a line neither of you could ever uncross. And then, your voice cracked the silence. Soft. Shaking. Bare, like you’d peeled your heart open and set it in your palms.
“I…”
Yunho froze.
You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you forced the rest out. “For months now… I’ve…” Your breath hitched, but you didn’t stop. “all I can think about is you.” Yunho’s fingers slipped from the bike seat. He didn’t turn around as you kept going because if you didn’t say it now, you never would. “I turned down that math teacher a couple weeks ago,” you whispered. “We flirted for a while, but the second he actually asked me out…” You sucked in a shaky breath. “all I could think was that I wanted you to ask me.”
Yunho’s shoulders jerked like you’d struck him. You stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of your body brushed the back of his arm. He still didn’t turn. You kept going, voice breaking in the middle of the sentence. “And then I told myself that was stupid. That you’re my best friend. And that if you wanted me like that… then you would have…. You would’ve said something years ago. You would’ve…”
“Stop,” Yunho rasped. But you’d already opened the wound. “And tonight, seeing you with those girls, seeing you being… hot and funny and yourself… I realized just how much I’ve been pretending.” He turned. Finally turned. Slow, like he wasn’t sure he could physically handle the rest of what you were about to say without his knees giving out. His eyes were glassy under the streetlight. Dark. Too emotional. Too raw. You met that look head on, chest rising and falling. “I wanted you,” you whispered. “I still want you. And I didn’t say anything because I thought if you felt the same, you would have made a move. You would have… done something.”
Silence. The kind that shakes. Yunho stepped forward once instinctively, then stopped himself like he hit an invisible wall. His voice dropped to something low and rough, thick with disbelief and something dangerously close to relief. “You really think I didn’t make a move,” he said quietly, “because I didn’t want you?” You blinked, confused and breathless. “I mean… am I wrong?”
He let out a shaky laugh, one that sounded like he’d been holding it inside his ribs for years. “Baby… the only reason I haven’t touched you is because I didn’t think I was allowed to.”
You stood there beneath the dim streetlight, heart pounding loud enough you swore he could hear it. Yunho stared at you like he was seeing every version of you at once, the fifteen year old girl who’d moved to his town, the best friend who’d grown into his safe place, the woman standing in front of him now in a dress that made him dizzy. His chest rose with one slow, unsteady breath. Then another. Then he stepped closer. Not fast. Not dramatic. But with the kind of purpose that meant there was no going back.
His voice came out low. Unfiltered. Wrecked. “I’ve wanted to be with you since we were seventeen.” Your lips parted. He didn’t look away. Not even for a heartbeat. “That night you got drunk for the first time,” he went on, voice cracking at the memory. “When I carried you home because you couldn’t walk straight.” Your breath hitched, the memory flickering through your mind like a flash of light. The warmth of his arms. Your head resting against his shoulder. The safe, steady smell of him. The way you’d pressed a sloppy kiss to his lips when he laid you on the couch.
Yujin swallowed hard, shaking his head at himself. “You kissed me,” he breathed. “You probably don’t even remember it.” You did. Oh, you did. But you’d chalked it up to embarrassment, a stupid teenage mistake, something he would’ve forgotten by morning. “I stood in your living room after you passed out,” Yunho said softly, “trying not to lose my mind because that tiny little kiss…” His voice trailed off, breath unsteady. “It was the best thing that had ever happened to me.”
Your knees nearly gave out as he stepped even closer now, close enough that the heat of his chest brushed yours when you breathed in too deeply. “And ever since then,” he whispered, “I’ve wanted you. Every year. Every version of you. I wanted you when we graduated. When you moved out. When you moved back in. When you brought home that idiot, Steve, you dated for two years.”
Your eyes widened. “You didn’t like him?”
He laughed softly, bitter edge slipping into the sound. “I wanted to fight him every time he put his arm around you.” He dipped his head a little, eyes locked on yours, breathing you in like he’d been starved of oxygen for years. “And tonight?” he murmured. “Watching Scott touch you like he had the right?” His jaw flexed. “I thought I was going to snap and put him through Mikey’s wall.” You shivered. You’d never heard him talk like this. Never seen him stripped this bare. Never imagined he’d been carrying this much longing, this much restraint, this much want inside him for so long.
He lifted a hand, slow, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you yet. His fingers brushed your cheek and you nearly melted. “I’ve been in love with you since that night,” he whispered. “And I didn’t make a move because I didn’t want to lose you. Because I thought if I got it wrong, if I scared you off… I’d never forgive myself.”
Your breath came out shaky. “Yunho…”
His forehead rested softly against yours now, his eyes closing like the contact itself was a relief. “So don’t tell me I’m jealous,” he whispered. “I’m way past jealousy.” Your heart stuttered. “What are you, then?” you whispered. He opened his eyes, and the way he looked at you could’ve set the world on fire. “I’m yours,” he said softly. “I’ve always been yours.”
His confession hung in the air, warm and trembling, as if the night itself didn’t dare move until you did. He looked at you like he’d just handed over every secret he’d ever buried. Like the next breath you took had the power to save him or ruin him. And you didn’t look away. Not once. Instead, you stepped even closer, chest brushing his, your voice a whisper that cracked something open inside both of you. “Then make me yours too.”
For half a second, Yunho didn’t breathe. His pupils blew wide. His jaw clenched. Something wild flickered across his face, hunger, relief, disbelief, years of yearning collapsing into one unstoppable pull. “God,” he murmured, barely a sound. “Come here.” And then he kissed you. Not gently. Not cautiously. Not like a man testing a boundary. He kissed you like he’d been waiting since seventeen and his patience had finally snapped.
His hands cupped your face first, desperate, reverent, before sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your back hit the cool metal of his bike, the vibration shivering through you as he pressed you there, pinning you with his mouth. You gasped into the kiss, fingers fisting into his shirt, and that was it, that tiny sound, that finished him. He groaned, deep and rough against your lips, kissing you harder, fuller, his body molding to yours like it had been built for this.
Your lips parted and his tongue swept in, tasting you, learning you, claiming you without hesitation, without apology. Years of swallowed feelings poured into each heated, hungry kiss. Your hands slid up his chest, over the lines and warmth of him, and he shuddered, nudging his thigh between yours as if he couldn’t stand not touching you everywhere at once. The kiss turned messy fast, panting breaths, soft whimpers from you, low curses from him, the two of you chasing each other’s mouths like you’d been starved of this for far too long.
His fingers slipped under the hem of your skirt, gripping your hips hard enough to make you gasp. He moved you against the line of his thigh, swallowing your breath with his mouth.
“Yunho…” you whispered against his lips and he kissed the word right off you. “You have… no idea…” he breathed between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted to feel you like this.” Your head tilted back as his mouth trailed down your jaw, your throat, kissing you like he intended to memorize every inch. Your fingers threaded into his hair and he groaned before pressing you even tighter against the bike. The two of you were heat and hunger and inevitability, every second coiling tighter, hotter, deeper.
Yunho looked at you, lips swollen, breath unsteady, forehead leaning against yours like he needed the contact to stay grounded and you dragged him back into a kiss that left him gasping. He exhaled a shaky laugh that sounded like surrender and triumph tangled together. And you felt it, the shift, the spark, the years of tension snapping into place. He didn’t even bother pretending he could keep his hands off you anymore. The second you pulled him closer, he lifted you, effortless, like your body belonged in his arms, and set you on the seat of his bike.
The cold leather under you. His warm body between your thighs. The sharp shock of want that hit him when you wrapped your legs around his waist. “Jesus…” he breathed, voice low enough it vibrated against your skin. He didn’t give you time to respond. His mouth was on your neck again, slow at first, tasting, testing… and then hungrier when you tilted your head back, giving him more.
One of his hands slid up your outer thigh, fingers dragging along your skin with a deliberate slowness that made your breath catch. He gripped higher, thumb brushing where your skirt had ridden up, and your whole body jolted like it recognized him. He felt that reaction and smiled, dark, surprised, like he hadn’t expected you to tremble for him this fast. “Sensitive?” he murmured against your throat, lips grazing the pulse his mouth had just coaxed into pounding.
You swallowed hard. If only he knew. If he knew what happened the other day… what the vibration of this very bike did to you while you were on the back of it… how you had bitten your lip into silence, thighs shaking… He’d lose his damn mind. The memory flashed behind your eyes, sharp, hot, forbidden. The long stretch of road. Your chest pressed to his back. The way the engine rattled through the seat, through your thighs, through your entire body until you couldn’t think straight and the world went white and you had to hide your face against him so he wouldn’t hear you come undone.
He kissed the hollow of your throat, slow and deep, his other hand sliding up your spine to anchor you to him. Your breath hitched, too loud. He froze for a second, feeling it, and pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, lips swollen from kissing you senseless. “You’re shaking,” he said softly, sounding wrecked and proud all at once. “And I’ve barely touched you.” Your fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer, dragging him back to your neck because you needed his mouth there the way you needed air.
He groaned when you tugged, hips pressing into yours instinctively, a slow grind that made your lashes flutter. If he kept going, you were going to… “Baby…” he whispered into your skin, voice hoarse, “you’re killing me.” No. He had it backwards. He was the one unmaking you, piece by piece. His hand slipped higher on your thigh. His mouth found a spot on your neck that made your whole body tighten. You grabbed his jaw, not rough, but firm enough that his breath caught, eyes snapping to yours with something dark and wanting. Your thumb brushed his lower lip. Your voice dropped to a whisper that felt like you were confessing a crime.
“You know…” Another shaky breath and his pupils widened. “I hate this bike.” He blinked, thrown off. “You… what?” You leaned in, lips skimming his cheek, your breath warm against his ear. “Because it drives me crazy.” Yunho’s fingers flexed on your thigh as you continued, slow, deliberate, watching the realization sharpen in his eyes. “You on it…” Your nails trailed lightly up his neck. “The sound…” Your legs tightened around his waist. “The feel of it…”
He swallowed hard, chest rising against yours, his hands coming up to grip your hips like he needed something to hold onto. Then you dropped the bomb that took the ground out from under him. “The way it made me come the other day when you took me to work.” Yunho froze. Completely. You let the words sink in, lips brushing his jaw as you whispered the rest. “And I had to walk around for hours with a wet stain between my legs.”
A sound left him, low, strangled, not even a word, just raw need hitting him so fast he actually stumbled a half step closer like gravity yanked him into you. “Baby…” His voice was unsteady, wrecked, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “tell me you’re not messing with me.” You lifted his chin so he had to look directly at you. “Does it sound like I’m joking?” His breath hitched audibly. His fingers dug into your hips. The tension in him snapped into something hotter, heavier, something he’d been holding back for years. “You came on my bike,” he repeated, voice low enough to vibrate through your bones.
You nodded once, slow. “And you didn’t tell me,” he said, disbelief and hunger tangled together. Your lips brushed his. “I’m telling you now.” That was it. That was all he could take. He crushed his mouth to yours, kissing you like the confession had broken every restraint he’d ever had. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you, dragging you forward on the seat so your body pressed completely against his.
The kiss turned fierce instantly, hotter, messier, desperate, the kind that felt like the two of you were making up for every lost year in a single, breathless moment. Yunho kissed you like he’d been waiting years to taste you, his mouth hungry and sure, his breath mixing with yours as his hands roamed your hips like he had every intention of learning your body by touch alone. Your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, the cool leather of the bike contrasting with the heat blooming between you. He broke the kiss only long enough to breathe against your throat, voice roughened to something barely human.
“Let me feel you.” His hand slid down, fingers trailing the length of your thigh so gently it made your whole body tremble. When he reached the edge of your skirt, he hesitated, barely, his breath catching as if asking for permission without daring to speak it out loud. You didn’t want hesitation. Not from him. Not now. His fingers brushed the thin fabric between your legs, a soft press that made your breath stutter. He froze again, looking up at you from beneath heavy lashes, waiting for you to guide him, to give him that final, irrevocable yes. Instead of answering with words, you reached down. Slowly. You slid your hand over his, your fingers warm against his skin, and guided him, deliberate, steady, until he understood exactly what you wanted.
His breath left him in a quiet, stunned sound when you nudged his hand, urging him to slip the fabric aside. Your panties shifted with the motion, baring the heat he’d only imagined until now and Yunho inhaled sharply. Your hand stayed over his as he eased the fabric aside fully, giving him access to the soft, heated place he’d fantasized about more times than he’d ever admit. His fingers trembled because he wanted to touch you, wanted to feel how warm you were for him, but he waited for your lead.
You guided him lower. Barely a shift. Just enough. His fingers brushed your slit, a feather light stroke, and your entire body jolted. He felt it. “Oh… sweetheart,” he whispered, forehead falling against yours, breath shaking with want. “You’re already… like this for me?” You nodded, unable to speak, your fingers tightening over his wrist, silently begging him to keep going. He did. Slowly. Carefully. Like he was touching something sacred.
Your head tipped back as he touched you again, more sure this time, his breath hitching at the way your body reacted to him, your hips bucking, your thighs trembling around his waist, your hand clutching his shoulder just to stay grounded. Yunho kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the spot beneath your ear that made your pulse trip. “Tell me,” he murmured, fingers moving in a steady, devastating rhythm now against your clit. “Tell me what you need from me.”
But your breath was already breaking, your body already arching into his touch, and he smiled, dark, heated, helpless, because he’d never seen you like this, never imagined you’d melt for him this easily. And now? He was addicted. His mouth was on yours again, hot and hungry, swallowing the sound you made when his fingers finally slipped past that last delicate barrier. Slow. Intentional. Like he wanted to feel every inch of you accepting him as thrusted two inside you, your walls instantly clenching them.
Your whole body tightened, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, nails curling against the warm fabric of his shirt just to keep yourself from slipping off the bike. “Easy,” he murmured against your lips, though his own breath was shaking. “I’ve got you.” And he did. His free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you against him while the hand between your thighs moved with devastating purpose. Each slow, deliberate motion made your hips lift into his palm, made your breath stutter, made his restraint unravel a little more each time you whimpered into his mouth.
He kissed you deeper, tongue brushing yours, swallowing every broken sound you tried to hide. “Y/N…” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours as he pulled his fingers almost all the way out only to thrust them back and curve them. Your thighs tightened around his waist, a moan leaving you as your own fingers tangled in the back of his hair as he worked you open with steady, devastating patience. His breath hitched each time he felt your body flutter around him, each time you pulled him closer, needing more.
Then, without warning, he shifted just enough to reach into the pocket of his jeans. You barely had time to register the movement. Metal jingled. A key turned between his fingers. The bike beneath you came alive. The engine rumbled to life with a deep, throaty growl that vibrated up through the seat, through your legs, through your entire body. Your breath punched out of you and Yunho felt it. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice roughened beyond recognition. “That’s what I wanted.”
The vibration met the rhythm of his hand, and the combination nearly sent you arching off the seat. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders now, your mouth falling open against his. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, groaning softly at the way you reacted, the way the engine beneath you made your hips jerk helplessly into his hand, his fingers pounding into you now. “Look at me,” he said, lifting your chin with his free hand. Your eyes were hazy, lips swollen, legs trembling around his waist.
He looked wrecked. Completely undone by the sight of you unraveling for him. “You’re going to come apart on my bike,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over yours, “I want to see it this time.” His fingers pressed deeper. The engine thrummed harder. And you cried out softly into his shoulder.
“Hold onto me,” he murmured against your mouth. Because the vibration of the bike thrummed steady beneath you, deep and relentless, meeting every movement of his hand like the two sensations had been designed to work together. Your thighs tightened around him. Your nails dug into his shoulders. Your hips moved on instinct, chasing each stroke of his fingers, every glide deeper than the last. Yunho groaned when he felt you react, a low, warm sound that rolled through his chest and straight into you. “That’s it,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “Just let me feel you.”
His hand moved faster now. Firm. Sure. Rhythms that made your pulse flutter wildly against his lips. The bike’s steady rumble traveled up your spine, pairing with his touch until your whole body was trembling, breath catching in desperate little bursts you couldn’t hide even if you tried. “Yunho…” you gasped, holding onto him like you’d fall without him. He kissed you hard, swallowing the sound, his free hand sliding up your back, holding you steady while your body arched into his. “You’re close,” he breathed, forehead dropping to yours. “I can feel it… sweetheart, you’re right there.”
You were. The vibration. His fingers. His breath hot against your neck. The way he watched your face like your pleasure was the only thing in the world that mattered. Everything built at once, fast, intense, overwhelming. Your legs trembled violently around his waist. Your breath shattered. Your hips ground helplessly into his hand, chasing the crest rising inside you, his fingers buried knuckle deep. “Come for me,” he whispered, voice wrecked.
The words pushed you right over the edge. Your release hit you hard, a deep, rolling wave that tore a soft cry from your throat as your body clenched around his fingers. Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as the sensation rushed through you, stronger than anything you’d felt alone in your bed at night thinking about him. Yunho held you through it, kissing your throat, murmuring soft curses against your skin as your body shook and your breath broke in his ear.
And then he felt it. The warm rush against his hand. The damp heat soaking into the leather beneath you. He froze for a heartbeat. Then he groaned, a low, disbelieving sound, as he pulled his fingers slowly from you, glancing down at the wet sheen glistening across his skin… and the dark stain spreading across the seat of his bike. “Y/N…” he whispered, lifting his gaze back to your flushed, trembling face. “You just ruined my seat.”
You could barely breathe as he kissed you, slow, deep, possessive, and settled between your shaking legs, hands gripping your thighs as if anchoring himself. “Do you have any idea,” he murmured against your lips, “how long I’ve wanted to do that to you?” Your heartbeat was fluttering wild as he held you through the last pulses of your release, his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, his hands shaking from everything he just felt you unravel against.
He was still murmuring something soft against your cheek when you reached down. Completely unbothered by how wrecked you both were. You slipped your fingers around his wrist and Yunho froze. You lifted his hand, the one that had just been inside you, the one still damp, still glistening in the low light. His eyes widened, breath catching. “Baby…” he whispered, voice warning and begging at the same time, “what are you….”
You brought his fingers to your lips and his breath stopped. You held his gaze as you slowly drew his fingers into your mouth. Yunho’s knees nearly buckled. His jaw clenched, eyes darkening so fast it was like a storm rolled through him in real time. Watching you, his best friend, the girl he’d loved since forever, slip his fingers past your lips? It punched the air out of his lungs. He swallowed hard, chest heaving. “Y/N…” His voice cracked. “You’re going to kill me.”
You hummed softly around his fingers, tongue warm and sinful, and he actually had to brace a hand on the bike beside your head just to stay upright. His eyes fluttered, breath shaking as he watched you taste yourself from his hand. When you finally let his fingers slip free from your mouth, he looked wrecked. Destroyed. Hopelessly in love in a way he didn’t stand a chance against.
You leaned in, lips brushing his, your voice low and sweet and completely unhinged in the best way. “Take me home,” you whispered, “so I can taste you too.” Yunho stared at you like he’d just realized something dangerous and exhilarating at the same time…. His best friend wasn’t just bold. You weren’t just wild. You weren’t just everything he’d ever wanted. No. You were insane. Deliciously, gloriously, wonderfully insane. And he adored it.
A slow grin curled at the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile born from pure, stunned desire and a little awe, too. “Oh my god…” he whispered, shaking his head as if trying to process you. “You’re out of your mind.” Your fingers hooked his belt, tugging him closer. “So you’re not taking me home?” you teased. He didn’t answer with words. He kissed you, harder, deeper, hungrier, both hands cradling your face like he finally understood he wasn’t dreaming. When he pulled back, his forehead stayed against yours, his breath hot and uneven.
“You’re not leaving our apartment again until I take you to work Monday.” He pulled back only so the two of you could get on his bike. He guided your legs tight around his waist, reached for his helmet and slid it over your head with shaking hands. Then he swung his leg over the bike, his voice rough and reverent as he settled in front of you. “Hold on,” he said, glancing back with a look that wasn’t just lust, it was possession and disbelief and devotion all tangled together.
His adrenaline spiked as he pulled his gloves out his pocket, you could feel it in the tense set of his shoulders, the way his breath shuddered, the way his hands gripped the handlebars like he needed to focus on not turning around and taking you right there behind the bar. He lifted his head, eyes closing for one slow breath. Because he knew. The second he got you home…. the second that apartment door shut… he was going to lose it. Completely.
He revved the engine once, a sharp, impatient growl, then pulled out of the alley with you wrapped around him, every inch of him vibrating with the need to get you home as fast as he could without losing control on the road. This wasn’t just desire. It was adrenaline. Years of waiting. The heady knowledge that tonight, everything changed. And the second that apartment door closed behind you both… nothing would ever be the same.
The night air rushed around you, cool against your still warm skin, sharp enough to make you gasp against his back. You wrapped your arms tighter around him, your cheek against his shoulder blade, breathing in that familiar mix of clean soap and leather and the faintest hint of bar smoke from his shift. But the real problem? The real danger? The steady hum of the bike beneath you. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t rough. But after what he’d just done to you… it felt like a live wire pressed between your legs. And he knew. Of course he knew.
Your fingers flexed against him without meaning to, a tiny, involuntary clutch the moment the vibration traveled up your spine. His shoulders tensed instantly beneath your palms, his grip tightening on the handlebars. You felt the breath he sucked in. You felt the low sound he bit back. He tilted his head just slightly, voice raised enough for you to hear over the wind. “You okay back there?” He already knew the answer. You hid your face against his back, mortified and already melting.
“Yunho…”
That was all you managed. Just his name, shaky, needy, warning and pleading at the same time. His hand left the handlebars for the briefest moment, sliding back to squeeze your thigh without looking, without missing a beat, a silent, I know. The bike picked up speed. Not reckless. Not dangerous. Just… deliberate. Enough for the vibration to deepen, to pulse steady, to make your breath catch in your throat. You pressed closer to him, thighs tightening around his hips as the sensation curled low in your stomach, stealing your control all over again.
Yunho felt it. He felt the way your legs gripped him. He felt your breath stutter against his back. He felt your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt. And he didn’t say anything for a long moment, like he was savoring it. Like he was memorizing the way you reacted to him now that he knew exactly what the bike did to you. When he finally did speak, his voice was low, rough, and shaking with restraint. “You’re getting worked up again, aren’t you?”
You buried your face against his spine, the vibration rolling through you with every bump of the road. “Yunho…” You sounded breathless, frustrated, and desperate in a way that nearly undid him. “It’s not fair…” He laughed softly, not mocking, but stunned, disbelieving. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something dark and warm, “I’m not doing anything.”
You tightened your hold on him as the next wave of sensation coiled through you. “That’s the problem,” you whispered and he groaned. Actually groaned, a low, rough sound carried away by the wind, one hand gripping the handlebars harder like the only thing keeping him from pulling over was sheer willpower as his head tipped forward for a moment, jaw clenched. “We’re almost home.”
The ride up the ramp into the apartment’s parking garage felt endless and way too short at the same time. Yunho’s breath was still uneven when he finally eased the bike into the spot beside his truck, the engine settling into a low rumble before he cut it off. Silence fell heavy. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Just charged. He swung one leg over and stood, pulling off his gloves slowly, like he needed those extra seconds to steady himself before he turned around and faced you.
You were still catching your breath when you reached up and unclicked the helmet strap. Your fingers trembled slightly, just enough that he noticed. You lifted the helmet off and shook out your hair, the soft garage lights hitting your flushed cheeks, your kiss swollen mouth, the dazed shimmer still lingering in your eyes. Yunho stared. Not politely. Not subtly. He stared like a man watching the aftershocks of his own undoing. Then you swung your leg to get off the bike and your knees wobbled. Just barely. Just a soft buckle. But enough that you grabbed the seat for balance.
His jaw flexed. His breath hitched. Something hot and primal flickered behind his eyes. “You okay?” he asked softly. But the question was a lie. He didn’t want you to say yes. He wanted you to admit what he already saw. You handed him the helmet, still touching the bike like you needed the extra second to steady yourself as he unlocked his truck and tossed his helmet inside. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, the ghost of the ride still humming through you. When you straightened, it was slower than normal, your legs clearly not trusting you yet.
Yunho swallowed hard, eyes dragging down your body and up again. The realization hit him like a punch…. he did this. His fingers twitched like he wanted to catch you, lift you, pin you against the nearest surface all at once. You finally met his gaze. The look you gave him, hungry, wrecked, wanting…. nearly took him to his knees. He stepped closer. Not touching. Not yet. But close enough that the heat from his body warmed your already sensitive skin. “Shaky?” he murmured, voice deep.
You nodded once, swallowing hard and his eyes softened in a way that was somehow more dangerous than anything he’d said all night. “Come here,” he whispered. You moved toward him, your legs still not entirely steady. And the moment you were within reach, he lifted a hand, slow, fingertips brushing your hip. The gentleness wrecked you. Because you could feel the restraint… the control…. the craving simmering right under the surface.
Yunho dipped his head, breath ghosting your temple. “Let’s get upstairs,” he murmured, voice rough. “Before I lose it down here.” The walk from the garage into the building felt different now, every step heavier, hotter, the air between you still charged from everything that happened on the bike. Yunho stayed close, his arm brushed yours with every step, close enough that his hand hovered at your lower back like he was trying, really trying, to be respectful for one more minute.
You caught him glancing at you twice. Once at your swollen lips. Once at your slightly shaky legs. Both times he dragged in a breath like he was one second from losing it completely. You reached the elevator. He hit the button. The doors slid open….. and there was your downstairs neighbor, Kevin. Of course. Wearing gym shorts, a tank top, earbuds around his neck, sweat still clinging to his collarbones. And the second he saw you, his whole face lit up.
“Hey!” he said, immediately grinning. “Didn’t know you were out tonight. You look…” Yunho stepped in front of you. Not dramatically. Not aggressively. Just a clean, unmistakable shift of his body that placed you directly behind him. A silent, No. Not tonight. Kevin blinked, thrown. “Uh…. hey, Yunho.” Yunho didn’t answer. He just pressed the elevator button for your floor with controlled, absolute calm… except you saw the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly like he was holding onto the last of his patience.
Kevin looked around Yunho’s shoulder to smile at you again. “You two hanging out tonight?” he asked. “Because if not, I was going to ask if you wanted to come down for…” Yunho turned. Slowly. But the look he gave Kevin? Yeah… Kevin shut his mouth fast. “We’re busy,” Yunho said, voice low, even, not raised at all, but carrying enough weight that Kevin actually took a step back.
Your breath caught. Because Yunho didn’t look angry. He looked possessive. Dark eyed. Unapologetic. Like he had finally stopped pretending you were just his best friend. Kevin cleared his throat. “Right. Got it. Didn’t mean to….” Yunho lifted a hand slightly, not hostile, just enough of a gesture to shut the conversation down. “We’re going up,” he said.
The elevator doors closed. And for a second, it was just the three of you in a tense, humming silence. Kevin stared straight ahead, suddenly very interested in the floor numbers. You stood behind Yunho, heart pounding, watching the broad line of his back rise and fall with each slow breath. He looked calm, but you knew him too well. His hands slipped casually into his pockets. But his fists were clenched.
Kevin glanced at you again, about to attempt a smile but Yunho shifted. Just half an inch. Closer to you. Blocking more of you from view. A silent claim. Kevin’s mouth snapped shut again. When the elevator dinged for Kevin’s floor, he all but stumbled out, giving a quick awkward nod. “See you guys later,” he muttered. The doors closed again and Yunho exhaled, long and low, turning to face you fully now that you were alone.
He stepped closer. Close enough that your back brushed the elevator wall and he braced one hand beside your head, caging you in without touching you. His eyes were dark, still burning from earlier, from the bike, from your shaky knees, from Kevin daring to look at you like that. “He flirts with you all the time,” he said softly, voice controlled but vibrating with restrained heat. “I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve tried to let it go.” Your breath hitched. “But sweetheart…” He leaned in, lips brushing your cheek without kissing it. “After tonight?” His voice dipped lower. Dangerous. Certain. “I’m not sharing you.”
Your pulse kicked as he moved even closer, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “Not with Kevin.” A kiss against your cheek. “Not with Scott.” A kiss brushing the corner of your mouth. “Not with anyone.” Your hands lifted to his chest on instinct, clutching his shirt. “And when we get inside,” he murmured, his lips ghosting yours, “I’m going to show you exactly what that means.” The elevator stopped. The doors opened but he didn’t move. His breath caught against your lips as he whispered, “Let’s go home.”
The apartment door clicked shut behind you with a soft thunk, the kind of sound that normally meant nothing… but tonight, it felt final. Like crossing a threshold you could never step back over. Yunho stood there for a moment, back against the locked door, hand still braced on it as though he needed that last second to pull himself together. Your boots tapped lightly against the entryway tile as you stepped farther into the apartment, kicking them off, familiar, shared, safe, and yet your heartbeat still ran wild beneath your ribs.
He watched you. Not with the wildness from downstairs. Not with jealousy. Not with restraint teetering at its edge. But with something stunned. Almost reverent. Like he still couldn’t believe you were here with him like this. You turned to face him, leaning your shoulder lightly against the hallway wall, the soft glow of the living room lamps warming your skin and your lips curled as he took his jacket off. “You know,” you said, voice light, teasing, even though your pulse thudded loud enough you felt it in your fingertips, “until tonight… I never knew how possessive you are.”
Yunho’s breath punched out of him. Not loud. But sharp. His eyes flicked down your body, slow, dragging, dark, and when they lifted back to yours, his entire expression had changed. He pushed off the door in one slow step, tossed his jacket on the open kitchen counter. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t crowd you. He just walked toward you with a focus so intense it made your knees go soft again.
When he stopped in front of you, he lifted a hand and tucked a piece of your hair gently behind your ear, thumb lingering at your jaw. “Possessive?” he repeated softly. You nodded, trying for playful, but your voice shook just a little as he leaned in, lips brushing the edge of your cheek, not kissing, just close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath. “I’m not possessive,” he murmured and your breath caught. His nose skimmed your temple, the faintest touch, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. “I’ve just spent years pretending I didn’t want to grab you every time someone else looked at you.”
Your pulse stuttered. “And now that I know you want me too…” He whispered this directly into your ear, his voice warm, low, certain. “I’m done pretending.” You exhaled shakily, your hands automatically catching his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking. He let out a soft, almost amused breath, the sound of a man who just realized teasing him is your love language, and he likes it far too much. “You really had no idea?” he asked, brushing his knuckles down your neck. “After all the times I cut off guys trying to talk to you? All the times I stepped between you and Kevin? All the times you laughed at some guy’s joke and I went quiet for the rest of the night?”
Your mouth fell open and he smiled. “That wasn’t me being protective, baby.” He tilted your chin up with two fingers. “That was jealousy.” Your heart flipped. “And now,” he added, stepping closer until your back pressed to the wall, “you’re teasing me about it.” He dipped his head, lips grazing your cheek again, slow, intentional, claiming without touching your mouth. “Keep going,” he whispered. “See what happens.”
Yunho didn’t even have time to react. One second he was caging you against the entryway wall, voice low enough to melt your spine… and the next…. You put your hands on his chest and pushed him back. Not hard. Not to escape. But with a deliberate, teasing shove that knocked the breath straight out of his lungs. He stumbled one step, two, surprised, eyes widening as he caught himself. And then you smiled. Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.
A spark lit in his eyes. “Oh,” he murmured, breath catching, “so that’s how we’re playing now?” You didn’t answer. You just walked toward him, step by slow step, and he walked backward automatically, entranced, until the two of you drifted into the open living room. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t grab you. Didn’t pull you in. He just watched you advance on him with that teasing tilt to your chin, that sly glimmer in your eyes, and something in him clicked sharply into place.
You were a brat. A gorgeous, soft voiced, impossible to resist brat. And the realization wrecked him. Because if this was how you behaved with someone you wanted? If this was how your teasing looked up close? If this bold, taunting version of you had been around other men before him…. He hated it. He adored it. He needed it aimed at only him. You stopped in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth off your body but not close enough to touch.
His breath shivered as you tilted your head, eyes locked on his like you were studying him, tasting the moment, savoring the tension stringing tight between you. “How many times,” you said softly, stepping even closer, “have you gotten yourself off to me?” Yunho’s whole body went still. That question hit him like a blow to the chest, fast, hard, unguarded, and for a heartbeat, he didn’t breathe. His jaw flexed His hands curled at his sides. A flush hit his throat and spread up to his ears. “Y/N…” he whispered, voice low, warning, desperate. “Careful.”
You weren’t finished. You slid your fingers up his chest, slow and taunting, eyes never leaving his. “Once?” Another step. “Twice?” Your body brushed his, feather light and intentional. “Or…” you leaned in, your breath brushing his lips, “was it more?” He inhaled sharply, a sound low and raw that came from somewhere deep. He grabbed your waist, not rough, but firm, grounding himself before he did something he couldn’t reel back. “You really want the number?” he asked quietly and your lips parted. “Yes.”
He let out a shaky laugh, stunned, wrecked, half delirious from finally seeing this side of you. “You don’t understand,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that your noses brushed. You smiled up at him. “Try me. That was the moment he realized it…. You weren’t afraid of his want. You weren’t intimidated by how deep his feelings ran. You weren’t fragile or shy or cautious with him. You were bold. Demanding. A little unhinged. And completely his now.
“Alright,” he whispered, brushing his lips over yours without kissing you. “I’ve touched myself to the thought of you more times than I can count.” Your breath hitched as his forehead rested against yours, his fingers tightening at your hips. “Did other guys get this version of you?” he murmured. “Anyone else get to see you act like this?” Your smile widened, the kind of smile that dared him to snap. “Maybe.”
He groaned, deep and frustrated and hungry. “Never again.” You slid your hands up his chest again, not to pull him close this time, but to push again. He stumbled backward, breath catching, and the back of his knees hit the couch. Before he could react, before he could even grab you, you shoved him lightly, confidently, and he dropped onto the cushions with a low, startled exhale. He stared up at you. Wide eyed. Chest rising fast. Every muscle in his body tightening like you’d just torn open a dream he’d never dared speak aloud.
You sank to your knees between his legs and Yunho’s breath stopped. Completely. His hands hovered in the air for a second like he didn’t know whether to touch you or dig his fingers into the couch to stay alive. His voice fractured. “Baby…” You looked up at him through your lashes, the soft glow of the living room lights catching the curve of your lips, the flush on your cheeks, the confidence rolling off you now that the tension had snapped in half. Then you set your hands on his knees, slowly sliding them up the strong lines of his thighs.
“Yunho,” you whispered, tilting your head just enough to make him curse under his breath. “You gonna let me taste you now?” He broke. Silently. Utterly. His head tipped back against the couch, eyes squeezing shut for half a second like he needed a physical reset to survive what you just said. Because this…. you on your knees for him, your voice like silk and sin, your hands sliding up his legs, your eyes lifted and full of intention… this was something he had imagined so many times he’d lost count.
When he finally looked down at you again, he looked ruined. Absolutely, beautifully ruined.
“Baby…” His voice was low, rough, like gravel dragged across velvet. You squeezed his thighs lightly, leaning just a fraction closer. “You gonna let me or not?” His breath shuddered as you ran your hands higher, tracing the muscle through his jeans, and he spread his legs for you without thinking, like his body answered you before his mind could catch up. His fingers curled into the couch cushion. His voice dropped to something that vibrated through both of you. “I’ve pictured this…” His throat bobbed “so many times it should be illegal.”
Your smile was slow, wicked, pleased. “Good.” Your fingertips brushed the edge of his waistband. “Then enjoy the real thing.” Yunho’s eyes fluttered shut like the moment was too much, too overwhelming, too perfect to look at directly. You shifted closer on your knees. Then, slowly, deliberately, you reached for the button of his jeans. Your fingers brushed his stomach as you worked the button open, sliding the zipper down inch by inch. His muscles clenched under your touch, a soft groan slipping from him when the denim loosened around his hips.
You dragged the jeans down and froze. Not because of his reaction. Not because of the heat rolling off him. But because staring back at you…. were bright red Deadpool underwear. For a second, you just blinked. Then your lips parted. Then you nearly burst into laughter. Yunho looked down at you, confused at the sudden halt, his breath still ragged from moments before. “What’s wrong?” he murmured.
You bit your lip hard, shoulders shaking and he followed your gaze downward. And immediately covered his face with one hand. “Oh my god,” he muttered through his fingers. “I forgot I wore those today.” You tried to hold it together. But the sight of this man, this ridiculously hot bartender who rode a motorcycle and had you coming apart on his bike…. sitting on the couch in comic book underwear… It was too much. A tiny giggle escaped. Then another.
You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide and sparkling as he groaned, dragging his hand down his face, cheeks a little flushed, ears red. “You’re killing me,” he said. “I’m trying to be….” A helpless gesture at himself. “this. And you’re laughing at my underwear.” You crawled closer, hands sliding up his thighs again, warmth returning to your gaze. “I’m not laughing,” you said, still fighting a smile. “I’m… charmed.” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “You’re absolutely laughing.”
You shook your head, leaning in until your lips brushed his inner thigh, your voice dropping to something low and wicked. “Yunho,” you murmured, “you being a nerd is one of the hottest things about you.” His entire body jolted as he lifted his head, stunned. “It is?” You nodded slowly, letting your teeth graze lightly against his skin. He sucked in a breath so sharp it shook. Then you looked up at him with a smile that could end civilizations. “Now,” you whispered, fingers hooking into the waistband of those ridiculous, wonderful Deadpool underwear… “let me take care of you, nerd.”
Yunho’s head fell back against the couch with a broken, breathless sound that said very clearly, you weren’t the only one who was about to lose it. You curled your fingers into the waistband of his Deadpool underwear, and Yunho’s whole body went still, lungs held, muscles tight, eyes locked on yours like he was bracing for impact as you dragged them down. Slowly. Too slowly for him. He lifted his hips for you without thinking, helping you tug them lower until they cleared his thighs and then you froze again.
Reality hit you like a warm, breath stealing shock. You’d always suspected. Every accidental brush against him when he walked around the apartment half dressed… every time he’d stepped out of the bathroom in just a towel… every morning he padded to the kitchen in loose sleep pants… every summer he’d worn swim trunks…. you always knew he was built for trouble. But seeing him now, fully, undeniably, no room for doubt….. Yeah. Your breath left your lungs in one slow, stunned wave. Your hands stilled on his thighs. Your lips parted. Your eyes widened before you could school your expression and Yunho noticed. He definitely noticed.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, a flush rising up his neck, and he let out a shaky, incredulous breath. “What?” he asked, voice low and breathless. “Why’d you stop?” You didn’t answer at first. You couldn’t. Not when all those little hints over the years had just crystallized into something very real and very impressive sitting there in front of you. You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks as you stared, his dick hard already, thick, long…. Yunho blinked again, slower this time, as realization dawned. A slow, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “Hey…” he murmured, dropping one hand to cup your chin gently. “You okay?”
Your voice came out softer than you meant. “I just…. you’re big.” Bigger than anyone you ever been with before. His breath stuttered as his hand slipped from your chin, dragging through his hair in pure disbelief, cheeks flushing deep like he hadn’t prepared for that kind of honesty. “Oh,” he said, voice cracking faintly. “Uh… thanks?” You laughed softly, still a little breathless, still staring even though you tried not to. “You have no idea,” you murmured, your fingers brushing lightly along his hip, “how many times I wondered…”
Yunho sucked in a breath like you’d touched him somewhere far more sensitive. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a delicious, sinful whisper. “Sweetheart,” he said, “if you look at me like that… I’m not going to last long.” You finally lifted your eyes to his. Bright. Warm. Wrecked. And the truth settled between you like gravity… all those accidental glimpses over the years? All those half noticed outlines in sweatpants, towels, pajama bottoms, trunks? None of them prepared you for this. None of them even came close. And Yunho was watching your reaction like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
You placed your hand on him, warm, soft, sure, and he made a sound so low it barely qualified as breathing. His fingers curled into the couch cushions, knuckles white, jaw tight like he was forcing himself not to grab you and guide your hand as you started to stroke him slowly at first. Exploring. Testing. Running your thumb over his tip. Watching every twitch of muscle in his stomach, every sharp inhale, every time his head fell back just a little too far. “Y/N…” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut, “please…”
Oh. So he was impatient. Interesting. You tightened your grip just a little, sliding your hand in a rhythm that made his hips jerk despite his attempt to keep still. He bit down on a quiet groan and pressed his head back into the cushion. “Yunho,” you teased softly, “relax.”
“I’m trying,” he said through a tight breath, “but you’re… you’re killing me.” Your smile turned slow and mischievous. Good. You shifted closer on your knees, bringing your face level with him, your fingers still working in that steady, deliberate rhythm that made his breathing uneven. Then you leaned in and let your tongue touch him. Just the tip. Barely a graze. A soft, warm flick that sent a violent shiver through his entire body. His hips bucked, just once, but he caught himself, gripping the couch so hard the fabric pulled under his fingers. “Baby….” His voice cracked on the word.
You did it again. And again. Each time a teasing tap of him against your tongue, like a dare as you looked up at him through your lashes, your voice warm and wicked. “Yunho,” you whispered, tapping him gently against your tongue once more, “are you the dominant type?” His eyes flew open. Dark. Heavy. Roughened with something deep and barely restrained. You tilted your head, still stroking him lazily with your hand as you dragged your tongue lightly along the edge of him, tracing at a vein. “Like to be in charge?”
He made a sound, low and absolutely broken, and his hand shot halfway toward your hair before he yanked it back, gripping the cushion instead. “I do,” he said, breath shaking violently, “but you’re not giving me a chance to act like it.” You smiled up at him, brushing your lips just barely over him in a way that made his entire body jolt. “That’s because,” you whispered, “I want to see how long you can behave.” Yunho groaned, head dropping back, chest rising fast. “If you keep doing that,” he warned softly, voice dripping heat and restraint, “I’m going to stop behaving.”
You dragged your tongue along him once more, slower this time. “Promise?” you murmured before finally taking him into your mouth. Yunho lasted about half a second before he snapped. His hand shot forward, fingers threading into your hair with a grip that wasn’t rough, but wasn’t gentle either. A grip that said he’d been holding himself back for too long and was suddenly done with that.
A shaky breath left him, his thighs tensing under your palms. “Oh… sweetheart…” His voice dropped so deep it vibrated through your whole body. “You have no idea what you just woke up.” You swallowed a little more of him, soft, teasing, testing and he groaned, loud this time, his head falling back against the couch before he dragged his gaze down to watch you. And what he saw? You on your knees, mouth around him, eyes lifted like a dare? It ruined him.
His grip tightened in your hair. Guiding. Controlling. Claiming. “Look at me.” You did. Your lips wrapped around him, your tongue tracing him in a way that made his breath break. His fingers curled more firmly in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “Good girl,” he whispered, heat sinking into every syllable, “you take me so good.” Your pulse jumped and he noticed and smiled, dark, hungry, knowing. “You like that, don’t you?” His thumb stroked your cheek as he slowly guided your pace. “You like when I take control.”
You hummed around him, the vibration making him swear quietly under his breath and his grip tightened. He didn’t force you but he directed you. Firm. Precise. Dominant in a way he’d clearly been behind closed doors. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice threaded with praise and something far filthier. “Just like that… don’t rush. I want to feel every second of your mouth on me.” You hollowed your cheeks a little, and he almost buckled. His free hand flexed against the couch cushion before sliding to your jaw again, thumb brushing your bottom lip where it stretched around him.
You took him deeper, just a little, and his hips jerked again despite himself. His hand instantly tightened in your hair and on your jaw. “Careful,” he warned, breath shaking as you pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing him in a way that made him curse. “Or what?” Something in him broke. A low, guttural sound left his throat. His hand in your hair wasn’t hesitant anymore. It was decisive. Possessive. He tilted your head up just enough to meet your eyes, his thumb brushing your lower lip again, voice warm and commanding. “Open.” You did, tongue out and his breath hitched.
“You listen so well when you’re on your knees for me,” he murmured. “Keep going, sweetheart. Let me feel that mouth.” And then he guided you down again. Firmer. Slower. Completely in control now. Your hands clutched his thighs, your breath warm against him, your mouth following the rhythm he built with his grip in your hair. Praise spilled from him in low, broken whispers. “Just like that. Perfect. You’re driving me insane. Mouth looks so good wrapped around me.”
You moaned around him, and his entire body jolted, his hand gripping harder at the sound. “Sweetheart…” he whispered, voice nearly unsteady, “I didn’t know you could be such a submissive brat…” His thumb traced your cheek as he guided you again, slower this time, savoring every second as you changed your rhythm. Slow at first… then deeper… then all the way, taking him until your lips brushed your knuckles and Yunho let out a sound that wasn’t even a word. His hand flew to your hair again, not pulling you down, just holding you like he needed the anchor.
You kept going, your mouth warm around him, your hands braced on his thighs as he struggled to keep his hips still. Every time you took him deep, his muscles jumped under your palms, his breath stuttering hard. He tried to keep talking. He tried. “You… god…“ You pulled back with a wet, slow slide that nearly made his eyes roll, catching your breath for a heartbeat before leaning in again, but this time, you stopped just shy of touching him.
Yunho blinked down at you, dazed, panting, already reaching for your jaw before he realized he was doing it. And that’s when you said it. “You gonna fuck my mouth,” you murmured, dragging your tongue in a slow, taunting line along him, “or are you just gonna keep talking while I do all the work?” Yunho froze. Absolutely still. A dangerous, electric stillness. His breath left his chest in a slow exhale, his head tilting, eyes darkening like a storm breaking open. Your lips brushed him again, teasing, testing. “I asked,” you whispered, “if you’re going to…”
He grabbed your chin, guiding your face upward until you were forced to look right into his blown out pupils. His thumb stroked your bottom lip, slow and claiming. “Say it,” he murmured, leaning just slightly closer. “If you want me to use your mouth, sweetheart, you’re going to tell me.” He brushed his thumb across your lip again and your pulse kicked so hard you felt faint. “Go on,” he whispered, breath warm. “Ask nicely.”
You didn’t answer him with words. You rose up onto your knees, leaned in, and kissed him. Hard. Hungry. Your hand curled into his shirt, dragging him down toward you as your teeth caught his bottom lip, gently at first, then sharp enough to make his breath stutter. He groaned, low and broken, as you tugged his lip between your teeth before letting it snap free as you whispered it against his mouth, the words brushing his lips like a sin he’d begged for. “Fuck my mouth.”
Yunho didn’t breathe for a full second. Then he broke. His hand slid into your hair, gripping with purpose this time, tilting your head back just a little so he could look at you, really look at the pretty, reckless, bratty person on their knees asking for him to ruin them. A sound ripped from his throat, part laugh, part disbelief, part every dark fantasy he’d ever shoved down finally surging to the surface. In one smooth, decisive motion, he stood, guiding you with him, his hand firm in your hair but still careful, still letting you feel the difference between dominance and harshness.
His other hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked down at you like you were the single most dangerous and irresistible thing he’d ever seen. “You think I haven’t imagined this?” he growled softly. “You think I haven’t thought about your mouth for years?” Your breath hitched as his grip tightened just slightly in your hair. “You want me to take over,” he murmured, his tone now a low, molten command. “You asked for it.” You swallowed and he smiled as you opened for him again.
His breath left him in a rough exhale, his fingers tightening in your hair as he guided you back toward him, angling your head just the way he wanted. “Good,” he whispered, voice thick, “just like that.” Then he moved. Slow at first, testing your rhythm, guiding your mouth down around him, letting the heat of you make his jaw clench. Then deeper. His grip in your hair was tight. He drew you in again, this time letting his hips meet the motion of your mouth. The sound he made, it wasn’t loud. It was quiet, wrecked, a breath ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.
“That’s it,” he rasped, adjusting the angle with a slow drag of his fingers in your hair. “Let me… yeah… just like that. Let me have you.” Your palms pressed against his thighs, feeling the way they tensed under your touch each time he guided you down, each time his control slipped just a little more. Your eyes met his and that broke the last piece of restraint he had. His hips rolled forward, shallow at first, then more deliberate, his hand tightening as he used your mouth with a steadily building rhythm.
“You’re unbelievable…” he breathed, staring down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Letting me do this… letting me take you like I’ve wanted to…” He swallowed hard, breath shaking as he thrust again, deeper this time, his voice cracking as he noticed you reach down between your legs and start rubbing at your clit. You moaned around him, the sound vibrating through him so sharply he nearly doubled over.
His hand flexed in your hair, guiding your pace just a little faster, each movement more precise, more desperate, his control slipping in the most intoxicating way as you grinding against your own hand, mouth full of him. “Look at you…” he whispered, his voice rough and low as he moved again. He groaned as you sucked, moaning around him, a sound that shot straight through you, and his hand tightened as he thrust into your mouth with a pace that made your eyes flutter. “That’s it… take it… you wanted this…” Another thrust. Another groan. His breath hitched.
Yunho was already losing it. Your mouth, your pace, the way your eyes lifted to meet his every time he thrust forward, your own fingers now buried inside yourself…. he was hanging on by a thread thinner than breath. His rhythm stuttered, hips tightening as pleasure built sharp and fast along his spine. His hand loosened in your hair, his hips beginning to retreat, instinct and conscience fighting for control…. but you didn’t let him. Your hands slid up his thighs, firm, steady, bracing him exactly where he was as you leaned in and took him deeper.
His breath left him in a ragged sound that didn’t even resemble his usual voice. “Wait…. Y/N…” You didn’t stop. Your mouth wrapped around him again, slow at first, then stronger, your tongue working him with the kind of deliberate pressure that destroyed whatever resolve he had left. His knees buckled as you hollowed your cheeks and he broke. Absolutely, completely broke. A strained gasp ripped from his chest, his fingers tightening in your hair as his head fell back against the couch, his whole body trembling as the wave hit him, hot, overwhelming, shuddering through him with nowhere to go except into your waiting mouth.
You swallowed. And his world stopped. His breath hitched hard. His hand froze in your hair. His other hand braced on the top of your like he needed to keep himself upright. “Sweetheart…” His voice was wrecked, unsteady, reverent and disbelieving. “You’re…” You swallowed again, slow and deliberate, your eyes on him the entire time. He made another broken sound, something between a groan and a prayer as you finally let him slip from your mouth with a slow drag, your lips swollen, your breathing warm and uneven. His body was still trembling, his jaw slack as he stared down at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of gravity.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then rose onto your knees just a little, close enough that he could feel your breath against his lower stomach. His vision dimmed as you looked up at him with the softest, filthiest smile he’d ever seen. “Worth the wait?” Yunho didn’t give you an answer. The moment you finished speaking, he grabbed your waist and pulled you up from the floor and straight into his lap with a force that was all instinct, all need. You landed straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips, your chest pressed into his, both of you breathless and shaking from what you’d just done to him.
His mouth crashed into yours. Not sweet. Not cautious. A hungry, desperate kiss that tasted like surrender and years of wanting you in silence. His hands slid under your skirt immediately, palms hot on the back of your thighs as he pulled you closer, pressing you flush against him and you felt it. His length, still sensitive from the way he’d lost himself in your mouth, still thick and hard beneath you, pulsing against the heat between your legs. You let out a soft, involuntary sound right into his mouth and he groaned in response, a wrecked, high sound he’d never made in front of anyone before, and pulled your hips down against him like he couldn’t get you close enough.
You rocked into him once. Just once. And his breath broke as you reached down between your bodies, your fingers sliding along the rigid shape of him through the open front of his underwear. His whole body shuddered as you angled him, your breath warm against his cheek. “I need you now,” you whispered, raw and shaking. And while he was still trying to process that, you used his length to nudge your panties aside. Yunho’s eyes widened, his jaw going slack as you began to sink down onto him. Slow at first, just enough for the stretch to steal your breath, your hands braced on his shoulders as you lowered yourself onto him.
Yunho whimpered. Actually whimpered, a soft, strangled sound of pure overload as his hands flew to your waist, fingers digging into your skin. You moaned, head tipping back as your body adjusted around him, the sheer fullness making your thighs tremble. He was big. And inside you fully now, every inch seated so deep you felt him pulse. “Yunho…” you breathed, voice breaking. “God you…. you feel so good….” He squeezed his eyes shut like he needed a second to survive the sensation, his forehead pressing to your collarbone as his breath trembled. “Baby,” he whispered, almost laughing from disbelief, “you’re perfect… too perfect”
You rolled your hips once. Just once. And he let out a low, helpless sound into your skin, fingers tightening on your hips hard enough to anchor him. He looked up at you then, eyes blown wide, face flushed, hair falling into his forehead as you sank down again, taking him even deeper. Slow still, testing the stretch, savoring the depth, then faster, your hands braced on his shoulders as you lifted and dropped onto him with a rhythm that was pure instinct.
Yunho’s mouth fell open. No sound at first. Just this stunned, undone expression, like he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that his best friend, the person he’s loved since he was seventeen, was riding him like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. Then the sounds came. Quiet, strangled, breathless groans as every downward motion pulled another broken noise out of him. You didn’t slow. You picked up speed, your hips slamming down onto him with a pace that nearly knocked the air out of both of you, the wet heat of you taking him again and again while he tried to hold himself together and failed spectacularly.
His hands flew to your waist, trying to anchor you, trying to steady you, trying to survive you as you slammed down again. He swore, head falling back, voice cracking with the sheer intensity of feeling you so tight, so warm, so desperate for him. You grabbed the back of his neck, panting into his mouth as you moved on him harder. “I can’t…. I can’t stop… you feel too good…..”
“Alright,” he breathed, standing up so fast you gasped, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he lifted you with his hands locked under your thighs. Your body stayed connected to his, still full of him, still pulsing around him. You clung to his shoulders, breath catching as the new angle made him hit deeper. He groaned, a deep, shattered sound, and thrust up into you once, hard and your whole body shook. “Y/N,” he rasped against your ear, walking you backward toward the hall with your body bouncing on him with every step, “if you keep taking me like that, I’m not going to make it to the bedroom.”
You whimpered as he thrust into you again mid step, the impact stealing every bit of breath from your lungs. He tightened his grip on you, his steps heavy, determined, each one punctuated with another deep thrust that made you cling harder to him. “Which room?” he panted against your neck, kissing the skin there in desperate, open mouthed presses. “Yours? Mine? Sweetheart, pick fast, because I’m about to lose it…”
You moaned into his shoulder, your voice barely holding together as he kept pounding into you while walking. “Yours…” you breathed. “take me to yours….” He let out a low, grateful, ruined sound. And then he did. He slammed his bedroom door open with his foot, carried you inside without stopping. He carried you straight to his bed, your legs locked tight around his waist, your mouth on his like you were both trying to make up for every year you went without touching each other.
He didn’t let you down. Not even for a second. His hands stayed under your thighs, holding you up with so much strength it made your breath catch, and while you were kissing him, messy and desperate, he was already thrusting up into you again. Hard. Deep. The kind of rhythm that made your whole body jolt in his arms. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your other hand clawing at his shoulders as every motion pushed a broken sound out of you. His breath shook against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as he moved inside you with the kind of pent up hunger that had been waiting almost a decade.
“Yunho….” you gasped, your voice cracking. “I… you’re….”
“I know,” he panted against your mouth, lifting you higher just to slam up into you again. “Baby, I know. I’ve got you. Hold on to me.” You tried to kiss him back, you really did, but your voice kept breaking, every thrust stealing the breath right out of your lungs. Your legs started trembling around him. He felt it instantly. His hands tightened around your thighs, supporting all your weight as he thrust into you even slower, deeper, dragging a sound out of you that made him shudder.
“That’s it,” he whispered into your neck, kissing your skin between breaths. “Come for me. I can feel you…. please…” Your legs locked around him, your nails digging into his back as your whole body tightened, the pleasure snapping so sharply it dragged a helpless cry out of you. “Yunho!” He held you through it, one arm wrapped around your back now, the other gripping your thigh so tightly he was probably leaving marks, thrusting you through the wave, kissing your jaw, your cheek, anywhere he could reach.
Your climax hit hard, too hard, and your body jerked in his arms, your breath breaking into little gasps. You clung to him, shaking uncontrollably as he kept moving, kept whispering against your skin, kept holding you like you were something precious that finally, finally belonged to him. When the pleasure crested, your body tensed again with the aftershock, and that’s when he lifted you. Pulled you up, your back arching as he slid out of you, and the moment he did, your release spilled over. A sharp, sudden rush.
Yunho froze mid breath. His mouth dropped open, eyes going wide as he watched the way your body reacted to him, the way your thighs trembled, the way liquid hit his stomach, the bed, the floor, everywhere, squirting. “Y/N….” his voice cracked, nearly a whisper, “holy…” You weren’t even fully aware, your head was buried in his shoulder, trembling, barely holding on. He held you through all of it. Strong arms around your back. One hand cradling your spine. His breath shaking against your ear.
You were shaking so hard he lifted you and set you gently onto the bed, brushing your hair from your face, still breathing like he’d run a marathon. He looked wrecked. And in love. And hungry for more. His palm slid up your spine, warm and grounding, before he cupped your cheek and tilted your face toward his. His eyes were soft now, not tame, never tame, but softened with something deeper. Something reverent. Then he kissed you. Slow this time. Deep. Unhurried, like he wanted to learn every shape your mouth could make against his.
He guided you backward until your head hit his pillows, his body hovering over yours, still panting lightly from everything you’d just done to him. His hand stroked down your side, over the curve of your waist, lingering like he couldn’t believe he was finally allowed to touch you like this. You were still catching your breath when his mouth left yours, traveling down your jaw, your throat, the line between your collarbones. He kissed every inch he passed, like he was memorizing the map of your skin. When he reached the edge of your green top, the one he’d been staring at all night at the bar, trying and failing not to imagine taking it off, he paused. His fingers slid along the hem. “This,” he murmured against your skin, a smile tugging at his lips, “has been driving me insane since the moment you walked in.”
You felt heat rush through you all over again as he lifted his head just enough to look into your eyes as his hands slipped beneath the fabric, palms warm against your ribs. He gathered the bottom of your top slowly, not ripping, not rushing, just savoring the moment. His knuckles brushed your stomach, your ribs, the swell of your breasts. Every inch he uncovered, he kissed, his lips soft and lingering, like he was blessing your skin with his breath. When he finally lifted the top over your head, he sat back on his heels for a moment, eyes washing over you with a slow, reverent hunger. Then he leaned in again, kissing the newly exposed skin above your chest, down your sternum, across your stomach, his pace maddeningly slow.
His hands moved to your skirt, thumbs stroking the waistband with agonizing patience. He looked up at you. “This little skirt,” he murmured, lips brushing your hip, “nearly got me fired tonight.” You laughed breathlessly, and he smiled like he’d been waiting to hear that sound in this context for years. Then, gently, his fingers curled into the waistband of your skirt and slid it the rest of the way down your legs, kissing the inside of your thighs as it pooled on the floor. His hands roamed upward, slow, reverent, mapping the curves of your hips, your waist, your stomach, like he couldn’t believe you were really lying naked on his bed for him.
You reached for him, breathless and wanting. He didn’t let you though. He caught your wrist gently, eyes dark and soft all at once. “No, sweetheart,” he whispered against the inside of your knee, “I’m not done looking at you.” You trembled as he sat back on his heels then, chest rising and falling harder than before. Without breaking eye contact, he hooked his thumbs under the band of his underwear and shoved them and his pants on down and completely off with a single sweep of his foot. His shirt was next. He grabbed the back of it, yanked it over his head, and tossed it somewhere toward the corner of the room without looking.
Then he looked at you again. Every muscle in his arms, chest, stomach tight and tense with the kind of restraint he didn’t usually need but absolutely needed right now. “My turn,” he murmured, voice lower than it had been all night. Before you could speak, he reached for your hips with both hands and pulled you across the sheets like you weighed nothing. You let out a startled sound as he shifted your body, repositioning you exactly where he wanted you, near the edge of the mattress. Your back hit the pillows. Your legs parted instinctively. And that was when you realized what he was doing. He climbed onto the bed, grip firm on your hips as he slid beneath you, guiding your thighs over his shoulders and your breath hitched. “Yunho…”
“Come here,” he said, voice rough, hungry. “I want you right here.” He pulled you forward with a strength that made your stomach flip, adjusting your legs so your knees framed his head, your thighs tensing around his ears as he settled between them. You tried to lift yourself up, nerves sparking through your entire body. He didn’t let you. His palms pressed to the outside of your thighs, warm, steady, holding you exactly where he wanted.
“Baby,” he murmured, looking up at you from between your legs like you were something holy, “sit.” Your breath caught. “You want me to…”
“Yes,” he said, grip tightening just enough to make your pulse jump. “I want you to ride my face.” Heat flooded you so sharply you swayed. He noticed, and his smile turned slow and dangerous. “You did all that to me tonight…” his thumbs stroked your trembling thighs, “now you’re going to let me take care of you.” He pulled you down that final inch, just enough for you to feel the warm brush of his breath against your pussy.
At first, you didn’t move. Not because you didn’t want to. Because the moment his mouth touched you, your whole body jolted like you’d been plugged into something electric. His fingers tightened on your thighs, his tongue easing you open with soft, slow strokes. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t greedy. Not yet. He was savoring you. Letting you adjust to the feeling of his mouth exactly where he’d wanted you for years.
Your hands slid into his hair, your hips hovering just a little, breath catching on every measured, deliberate stroke of him beneath you. “Sweetheart…” he murmured between kisses, his voice low against your skin, “come on… don’t hold back from me.” You trembled. Then you rolled your hips once. Just once. And his entire body reacted. A deep sound vibrated into you, half moan, half gratitude, half finally, his hands shooting up to grip your thighs and pull you down more firmly onto his mouth.
You gasped, your knees tightening around his head as he licked deeper, firmer, his tongue finding a rhythm meant to unravel you slowly. Your breath broke into little stutters as you moved again, a little faster this time. And then a little more faster. His moan rang through you like a shockwave. That’s when you gave in. When instinct took over. You started riding his face in earnest, building a rhythm that felt too good, too addictive, his mouth guiding you, meeting every movement with hungry precision.
Your thighs shook around his head. Your breath tangled in your throat. His grip tightened until you could feel his fingerprints warming your skin. He moaned again, deeper this time, the sound vibrating straight through your core. Tongue thrusting in and out of you. His hands slid to your hips, anchoring you, pulling you down so he could taste you deeper, sloppier, needier. He was losing it. But so were you.
You rode his mouth harder now, the same way you clung to him on the back of his bike, reckless, breathless, completely uninhibited. Your hips rocked against his lips, chasing every stroke of his tongue, your moans getting louder with every pass. His dick twitched helplessly between his legs, aching, pulsing, untouched and desperate. He wasn’t focused on his pleasure right now, he didn’t even care, he was obsessed with yours.
His fingers dug into your hips as you smirked down at him, riding his face harder, your voice thin and taunting and desperate all at once. “You’ve… you’ve been wanting this for years, haven’t you?” He moaned so loudly the bed shook. You laughed breathlessly, grinding down again. “Yeah… I can tell.” That broke him. His mouth grew hungrier, his tongue firmer, his grip tightening as he devoured you like you were the only thing on earth that could keep him alive. You cried out as his pace matched yours, as if he was urging you to lose yourself again, begging silently for it.
Your legs were shaking again.
Your hips were stuttering. The room was spinning. And he held you there, mouth open, tongue eager, moaning into you like he’d die if you stopped. “Yunho…” you gasped, fingers fisting his hair, body trembling…. and he pulled you down harder, his voice a low, feral growl against your skin. “Come for me.”
Something in you broke loose. You tightened your grip in his hair, planted your knees around his head, and rode his face like your life depended on it. Your hips moved with frantic, desperate need now, grinding against his mouth with a rhythm that made his breath hitch under you.He didn’t shy away. He held you there, fingers digging into your hips, arms strong and steady as he met every movement with his mouth, his tongue sliding deeper, firmer, hungrier. Your thighs were trembling so hard they shook the bed. Your breath came in broken, wild bursts. Your voice kept slipping out of you, soft at first, then louder, then barely even words.
He moaned into you. A deep, low sound that vibrated through your entire body and stole the last of your control. You screamed. Not a cute little moan. Not a gasp. A broken scream, your hands flying as your whole body arched forward, collapsing around the sensation of his tongue driving you straight over the edge. The wave hit hard, fast, sharp, your thighs locking desperately around his head as your release shook through you in violent pulses. But Yunho didn’t let you pull away. He held you down, hands tight on your hips, keeping you on his mouth as your body convulsed through the orgasm. His tongue kept moving, slow strokes, deep pushes, little circles that dragged every last ounce of pleasure out of you.
Your scream dissolved into choked cries, your body jerking uncontrollably as overstimulation hit. He groaned into you again, arms tightening, pulling you down harder onto his mouth, refusing to let you escape the intensity. He wanted it. He wanted all of it. Every tremor, every sound, every ounce of pleasure he could force out of you. Your hips bucked. Your hands flew to his hair again, not sure if you wanted to push him away or hold him there forever.
His tongue pressed deep into you, deliberate and slow, and another wave hit, smaller than the first but just as overwhelming, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you cried out again. He finally eased up but didn’t stop. He gave one more slow, hungry stroke with his tongue before kissing the inside of your thigh, breathing hard against your trembling skin. You collapsed forward, hands catching on the sheets, your body still twitching with aftershocks.
Your legs were still trembling when Yunho pulled you into his arms, breathing hard, kissing your shoulder, grounding you after the intensity he’d just pulled out of you. But you weren’t done. Not even close. You slid your hands up his chest, feeling the way it rose and fell in uneven breaths. You kissed him once, slow, deep, savoring the taste of yourself still faint on his lips, then you pulled back and let your mouth trail along his jaw. His breath caught instantly. “Y/N…” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut as your lips traced the sharp line of his jawbone,
Your mouth drifted lower, kissing down the strong column of his neck, lingering on his pulse until you felt it jump beneath your lips. Yunho groaned, quiet, helpless. Your tongue traced a slow path over the spot, and you felt him shudder. Then you nipped him. A sharp, teasing bite right where his neck met his shoulder. You smiled against his skin and did it again, slower this time, teeth dragging just enough to make his breath stutter, your tongue following to soothe the sting. He cursed under his breath as your kisses drifted down, moving from his neck to his collarbone, then lower to the broad expanse of his chest. His hand slid into your hair, not to stop you, just to feel you, to guide you without forcing as you pressed your lips to his sternum.
He let out a low, shaky sigh. Then your mouth moved left, soft kisses, slow licks, and you paused right over his nipple. Yunho’s breath hitched violently. He tried to hold still. He failed. Your tongue glided across it, light and teasing, and his whole body jerked like you’d hit a nerve wired straight to his spine. You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Sensitive?” You smirked and his jaw clenched. And you sank down again. This time, you opened your mouth around him, slow, warm, deliberate, letting your tongue circle before you bit. Not hard. Just enough to make his breath break. Then you tugged.
Yunho growled. A deep, low sound that vibrated through his whole chest and made his hand fist in your hair with a groan. He sat up so fast you gasped, his hand sliding down your back to grip your hips with dark, hungry intent. And you moved. Quick. Fluid. Laughing breathlessly as you slipped right out of his grip. “Y/N…” he warned, voice low and dangerous, “don’t you dare….” You backed away from him across the bed, eyes locked with his, a wicked glint flashing through yours. He lunged forward to grab you and you dodged him, giggling. “Come on,” you teased softly, backing toward the foot of the bed, “you’re faster than that… aren’t you?”
You turned around, bending over the foot of his bed, hands braced on the comforter, your back arched, your hips lifting high… and you gave your ass a slow, taunting shake. Yunho froze like you’d hit him with a stun gun. His breath left him in one sharp exhale as you looked over your shoulder, meeting his eyes with the most bratty grin he’d ever seen in his life. “What’s wrong” you asked sweetly, rolling your hips again.
That was it. That was the last thread of restraint holding him together. Yunho stepped toward you like a predator who’d finally cornered his prey, slow, deliberate, every muscle tight with hunger. His dick hung heavy and aching between his legs, twitching with every step as he stalked closer. “Brat.” he murmured, voice dropping to something dark and sinful as you wiggled your hips again, teasing, inviting, wicked.
He made a sound in his throat, half groan, half disbelieving laugh, and closed the last steps between you in a heartbeat. His hand came down on your hip, gripping hard, pulling your hips higher. “So this is how you want it?” he growled behind you, chest rising against your back as he pressed close without entering you yet. “Bent over my bed… shaking yourself at me like you want to be ruined?” You pushed back against him, just enough to feel the warm, hard pressure of him along your backside. He inhaled sharply. “Yunho…” you whispered, your voice dripping with challenge, “do it.”
He didn’t give you a chance to move. He grabbed your waist with both hands. Pinned you there. And you could feel him, hot, throbbing, ready, sliding along your entrance in a slow drag that made your whole body jolt. He groaned against your spine. He didn’t push inside you. Not yet. Instead, he slid forward just enough for the warm length of him to press against your entrance, then he dragged upward. Slow. Teasing. The entire length of him gliding along your folds, up to your lower back, then back down again.
Your breath hitched so sharply your knees almost buckled. “Yunho…” you gasped, pushing back instinctively and he grinned. A dark, wicked, triumphant grin you’d never seen on him before. “Impatient now?” he murmured, dragging himself along you again, slower, deliberate, letting the head of him catch and slide in a way that made your whole body quake. “Where’s all that brattiness you had a second ago?”
You pushed back harder this time, trying to make him slip into you, but he held your hips still, refusing to let you take control. “Let me…” your voice cracked, frustration spilling into the moan, “Yunho, stop teasing…..” He laughed softly. “Sweetheart… you started this.” He lifted his hips and dragged himself along you again, this time pressing a little firmer, just enough to make you gasp and arch your back, chasing him. You pushed back again, desperate now. And that’s when he did it. His hand slipped off your hip, and came down on your ass in a sharp, firm smack.
Your moan hit the room instantly, loud, broken, shocked, and somehow needier than anything you’d made yet. Yunho went still. Absolutely still. “Oh my god,” he whispered, staring at the way your body responded, “you liked that.” You were already pushing back again, voice breathless. “Baby…. do it again… please…..”
His breath left him in a ragged groan. “You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered and brought his hand down again. Harder. Your whole body jolted forward, a desperate sound ripping from your throat as your back arched beautifully for him. You looked back over your shoulder, eyes dark, lips parted, a sinful little smile tugging at them. “Give it to me.”
Yunho grabbed your hips, hard, positioned himself exactly where he wanted you and you could feel the head of him press right against your entrance, no more teasing, no more dragging, just pure, trembling need about to snap. He leaned over you, chest against your back, voice breaking against your ear. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, “hold on.” You sucked in a sharp breath, your elbows bending as your back arched, your fingers clenching at the sheets. The stretch hit deep and slow, your body tightening around him with a heat that made his jaw go slack.
He pushed deeper and your knees trembled as inch after inch filled you, his breath shaking against your spine, one hand locked on your hip to keep you steady. Then he bottomed out. A soft, helpless sound left you and a broken, guttural one ripped from him. “God…” he whispered, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades, “you feel unreal.” His free hand slid up your back. Slow. Possessive. Tracing your spine with aching precision, like he wanted to memorize every curve of you. The warmth of his palm trailed higher, over your ribs, between your shoulder blades, up the back of your neck…. until his fingers slipped into your hair.
He kissed the back of your shoulder once, like he needed something to ground him as you pushed your hips back the slightest inch. He groaned, then he pulled out, slow, deep, the friction making your whole body tense, before he thrust back in. Hard. Your mouth fell open, a moan ripping out of you as your hands clawed at the sheets. Yunho’s grip in your hair tightened, guiding your head down slightly, angling you perfectly for him. “Sweetheart…” he breathed, thrusting again, deeper this time, “you’re gripping me so tight….” Another thrust. Your knees nearly buckled. He held you up with both hands, one gripping your hip, the other tangled in your hair, and set a steady, powerful rhythm that had your breath stuttering with every movement.
Each time he drove into you, your ass met his hips with a sound that made him curse into your shoulder. Your voice broke into little gasps, each one pushing him closer to losing control. He leaned over you, chest flush against your back, his hand in your hair tightening as he thrust harder, deeper, the pleasure building in both of you like a tide that couldn’t be stopped. “That’s it…” he panted, kissing your shoulder, your neck, anything he could reach, “take it… take all of me….”
You moaned his name, desperate, breathless and his pace quickened, his grip in your hair anchoring you exactly where he wanted you as he thrust into you harder, your body pushing back on instinct, matching him with need that felt like it was burning through every nerve you had. “Yunho…” you gasped, voice breaking, “don’t stop….” His hand fisted your hair tighter, pulling your head back just enough for his lips to graze your ear as his thrusts grew harder, deeper, your body catching every movement, your breath breaking, his rhythm so relentless you could barely hold yourself up.
He felt it. The tremble in your legs. The way you tried to brace on the sheets but kept sinking. The way your sounds came out thin and wrecked. He slipped the hand in your hair lower… down your spine… around your waist… And then he pulled. You gasped as he dragged you upright, your back slamming against his chest, his hips still snapping up into you from behind, harder now with the new angle, your whole body jolting against him. Your head fell back onto his shoulder with a cry. His breath hit your ear, hot and ragged. “Look at you…” he groaned, his arm tightening around your waist to keep you from collapsing entirely. “Can’t even hold yourself up for me anymore.”
Your hands flew back, gripping his thighs, your body arching with every sharp thrust. He shifted his grip, his fingers sliding up, up, until his hand curled gently, firmly, around your throat. You exhaled a broken sound the second you felt it and Yunho groaned like the air punched out of him. His thumb stroked the side of your neck, slow and possessive, while his other hand gripped your hip, dragging you down onto him each time his hips surged up.
His grip tightened just enough to claim, not restrain, his breath trembling as he pressed his forehead to the side of your head. “You’re mine.” The words hit you harder than his thrusts. You cried out, back arching, your walls tightening around him so suddenly his rhythm faltered and he let out a strangled moan. He thrust up again, harder, his hand tightening on your throat as he held you against him, your body bouncing on his with every sharp movement. “You hear me?” he growled into your ear, voice shredded. “Mine.”
Your legs gave out entirely but he didn’t let you fall. His arm locked around your torso, his hand at your throat keeping your head tilted, your back arched beautifully for him as he pounded up into you with a rhythm that shook the bed. He kissed your jaw, your cheek, your shoulder, desperate and hungry between breaths. “Say it,” he groaned, his hips snapping up with a force that made you scream. “Tell me who you belong to.” You sobbed against him, breathless, shaking, undone. “Y… Yunho….”
His grip on your throat tightened. His hips slammed up into you again. “Say it.” You tried to breathe. To speak. To hold onto something solid. But all that came out was a choked, cracked sob, “Y… you… I’m yours….” Yunho broke. A sound tore out of him, his hand tightening at your throat in pure instinct before he released you entirely, catching your waist with both hands. “Baby…” he gasped, “come here…..” He pulled out of you so fast your knees buckled. Before you could fall, he turned you over, flipping your trembling body onto your back like you weighed nothing. His mouth crashed onto yours in a kiss that was desperate and breathless and warm, like he was trying to swallow every ounce of those words you’d just given him.
His hands cupped your face. Your thighs wrapped around his hips instinctively. Your chest rose and fell in broken breaths as his lips devoured yours. He kissed you like he’d waited a decade for this moment, like he couldn’t believe he finally heard you say it. Then, without breaking the kiss, he slid one hand down your stomach. Lower. Between your thighs. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers parted you gently, your pussy still trembling from everything he’d done to you on his face and from just moments ago. He pulled back just enough to breathe your air and look into your eyes. “Let me feel you,” he whispered, voice wrecked.
His other hand reached down, wrapped around his dick, and you could see it twitch in his grip, still soaked, still achingly hard. He dragged himself along your folds, slow, teasing, pressing his hips forward so you felt every ridge of him slide against your clit. You gasped, choking on a moan. He kept going. Up. Down. Dragging himself over you again and again in slow, sinful strokes meant to unravel what little sense you had left. The friction hit you like lightning. Your thighs spasmed. Your breath broke. Your fingers tightened desperately around his wrist as you shook your head helplessly.
He grinned, a dark, breathless, hungry thing, and pressed himself against you a little harder, moving his hips in deliberate circles. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing you again, swallowing the sound you made, “come for me.” You did. Violently. Suddenly. A rush that ripped through your stomach and your legs and your spine all at once. Your whole body arched off the bed, hands clamping around his wrist so hard he groaned, your voice breaking into a desperate, shaking cry.
And Yunho watched you fall apart with awe carved into every line of his face. “That’s it…” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth as your climax pulsed through you, “give it to me… all of it…” You collapsed back into the pillows, trembling uncontrollably, still clinging to his wrist as aftershocks shook through you. He leaned over you, forehead touching yours, breath hot and uneven, his dick still pressed against you. He lifted your leg. Then the other. Spreading you open beneath him, your thighs soft and shaking, your breath thin and uneven as he positioned himself between them. “Y/N…” he whispered, staring down at where your bodies met, “look at you.”
His voice cracked as he lined himself up with one slow drag of his hips, the head of him brushing your sensitive entrance and your whole body jolted. You clutched at the sheets as his hand slid to your inner thigh, thumb stroking gently as he whispered, “Hold yourself open for me.” You grabbed your thighs, spreading yourself wider, exposing every soft, trembling part of you. Yunho inhaled sharply, a sound that came from somewhere deep and starved as he pressed forward. Slow. Deep. You felt every inch of him glide into you, the stretch making your legs shake all over again, your mouth falling open in a soundless cry. Your walls fluttered, still oversensitive, still pulsing from your last climax.
He bottomed out, hips flush against yours, both of you breathless and shaking for different reasons. Your body clung to him, a warm, tight drag that made both of you gasp. And Yunho looked down. He shouldn’t have. Because the second he saw the way your body clutched around him, the way you glistened around his length, the way you pulled him back in like you couldn’t let go, his voice broke into a helpless moan. “Baby… you….” He pushed in again. Your body welcomed him with a soft, involuntary squeeze that made his knees tremble as you started to cream around him.
A soft, wet bloom each time he pulled back, coating him, marking him, pulling him deeper with every glide. Yunho’s head dropped back. “Oh my god…” he gasped, voice strained and thick, hand tightening on your thigh. He thrust again, not hard, but deep enough to feel the way you fluttered and coated him even more. He looked down again. And groaned. Long. Low. Destroyed. Your legs shook uncontrollably. His thrusts grew a little faster now, still deep, still deliberate, but driven by the sight of you softening and creaming around him with every movement. He was hypnotized. Completely undone.
His voice dropped into a broken whisper. “You’re mine… all of this… all of you… mine…” And he kept watching you take him. Again. And again. And again. He couldn’t look away from the way your body took him, couldn’t look away from the way you coated him, pulled him back in, squeezed around him like you were made exactly for him. But then your voice hit him. A soft, helpless sound. A broken whimper of his name. His head lifted. Your legs shook around his hips. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders. Your lips parted in a cry you couldn’t hold back. And suddenly teasing you, watching you, none of that was enough.
He needed you close. Needed you right here. Yunho leaned forward, bracing himself on his forearms until his forehead pressed against yours, your noses brushing, your breaths mixing, your bodies fully connected. Your hands flew up, gripping his biceps, dragging him closer with a desperate little sob. His next thrust hit deep. You gasped, back arching, eyes fluttering, body trembling around him. His forehead pressed harder to yours, his voice cracking against your lips. His breath broke. He thrust again, harder, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room, your cries getting louder, your nails sinking into his back.
“Fuck….” he gasped, hips stuttering, “I love you.” Your breath caught in your throat. Your hands trembled around his shoulders. Your eyes filled with something hotter than lust as you choked on a sob. “Yunho… I…..” But he kept going. Deep hard thrusts that pushed the air from your lungs, his voice shaking with each one. “I love you.”
Your voice broke completely. “Yunho…. please… please come for me….. come inside me…” He groaned, a sound so deep and undone it vibrated against your chest. You cupped his face, pulling him down into a kiss that was wet, messy, desperate, tears slipping from the intensity, “I love you… please….. come…” Your body clenched. Hard. So suddenly you screamed, arching into him, your release hitting like a tidal wave ripping through every nerve in your body. Your legs locked around his waist. Your nails dragged down his back. Your voice broke into a sobbed, “I… love….. you…”
Yunho shattered. A strangled moan tore from his throat as he thrust once, twice, a final, desperate, deep surge, and he spilled into you with a cry of your name, his whole body shaking, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. His forehead stayed pressed to yours, breaths uneven, his voice wrecked. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing you shakily, “I love you…. god, I love you so fucking much…”
You pulled him into you completely, bodies tangled, hearts pounding, both of you still trembling from the aftershocks. And he stayed there. Inside you. Against you. Wrapped around you. Like he’d finally found home.
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Monday morning sunlight stretched across the quiet street as Yunho’s bike rumbled into the school parking lot, a low, steady purr that made heads turn before anyone even saw you. Lisa was outside with her coffee.
Three teachers were talking by the door. A handful of students lingered on the sidewalk waiting for the bell.
Totally normal morning.
Except… not at all.
Because everyone knew the routine by now, Yunho giving you rides to work wasn’t new. They’d watched you hop off his bike for a couple weeks now, helmet hair and shy smiles, insisting you were “just friends.”
Except today wasn’t that.
Today, when Yunho parked and cut the engine, you didn’t hop off right away. Your fingers lingered on his stomach, your chest pressed to his back just a little longer than necessary. You finally swung your leg over and slid to the ground, tugging the helmet off with a soft breath. Your hair fell, messy from the wind and the weekend, but glowing in the morning sun.
A couple of students nudged each other. Lisa blinked into her coffee like she needed a caffeine reset as you handed Yunho the helmet. He took it. Then paused. Slowly, he removed his own helmet, shaking out his hair, that stupidly attractive half wet, half tousled look falling perfectly into place. And then he grabbed you. Not roughly. Not for show. Just with a certainty that said, mine, in a way that rewired the entire parking lot.
He tugged you forward by the waist, your bodies colliding, and kissed you, deep, warm, claiming, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission because you’d already given it a thousand times between Saturday night and that morning. You let out a soft sound against his mouth and reached up, gripping his chin in your fingers, tilting his face just the way you liked.
That tiny motion? It ended the parking lot. A chorus of shocked whispers rippled through the air. Lisa choked so hard on her coffee she had to turn around. One of the teachers dropped her tote bag. A senior literally said, “BRO?” loud enough to echo. And one girl muttered, “I KNEW IT,” with her whole chest.
Yunho only kissed you deeper before he finally pulled back, forehead resting against yours, thumbs brushing your hips as he whispered, low enough for only you, “Have a good day, sweetheart.”
You smirked, brushing your thumb across his bottom lip. “Pick me up after work?”
summary: in which you find out your boyfriend is really hot when he’s pissed off
warning: jealous/possessive/ dom yunho, bratty/sub reader, descriptions of violence (yunho gets into a fight) agonophilia, oral, anal fingering, overstimulation, mentions of blood, slightly toxic behavior, mirror sex, finger fucking, unprotected sex, slight degradation, JUST FILTH YALL
genre: drama, smut
pairing: yunho x afab reader
word count: 9.3k
masterlist:
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The car was quiet. Too quiet.
Not peaceful quiet, thick quiet. Choking, humid, argument still lingering in the air like smoke kind of quiet. The kind where the windows should’ve fogged just from the heat of it all, even though no one had touched anyone in hours.
Yunho’s knuckles were tight around the wheel, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he took the left turn toward the club a little faster than necessary. He hadn’t looked at you once since you got in the car, which would’ve bothered you more if you weren’t still fuming yourself.
The tension between you had started this morning when you made the mistake of reading one of his texts over his shoulder. Your mom asked if you’re single again?” you’d said, your voice already edged with something sharp.
He’d tensed up immediately, like he knew what was coming. “She wants me to meet some girl from her church,” he muttered. “It’s nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing. Not when this wasn’t the first time. Not when you’d been together for three years and she still referred to you as “that girl from the city.”
So naturally, you snapped. And then he snapped. And then came the hours of passive aggressive silence followed by sharp edged comments about your flirting habits, like how you couldn’t possibly go a night out without batting your lashes at some bartender to get free drinks.
“Maybe if you had a better job, I wouldn’t have to,” you’d shot back and immediately felt bad for saying it but too damn stubborn to apologize.
Now you were in his passenger seat, legs crossed, arms tight against your chest in your barely there black dress, because fuck his mom, and fuck being the respectable church girl she wants him with. You were wearing sin like perfume.
The air conditioning was blasting but your skin was hot. From anger, from guilt, from him. From the way he kept shifting in his seat like the veins in his arms were trying to keep him from doing something reckless. Like dragging the car over to the curb and telling you exactly who you belonged to.
“You gonna talk to me at some point,” you asked, eyes trained out the window, “or are we just going to arrive in awkward silence and pretend we haven’t been at each other’s throats all day?”
His hand flexed on the gearshift. “You wanna keep fighting?”
You turned your head slowly. “You’ve barely said ten words since we left.”
He scoffed. “Because if I open my mouth again, I’m gonna say some shit I can’t take back.”
You leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Try me.”
His head snapped toward you, his voice low and deadly. “You think it’s cute, don’t you? Playing dumb, dressing like that, laughing at every goddamn joke some guy tells you like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” you snapped. “I’ve spent the last three years watching your mom try to set you up with her fantasy nun in training while I’ve bent over backward for you, so yeah, maybe I like it when people treat me like I’m worth something.”
The tires screeched slightly as he pulled into the club lot, slamming the gear into park with a growl deep in his chest. “You think I don’t know your worth?” he asked, finally looking at you. Really looking, like he was seeing you through the fury, the hurt, the weeks of pushing it down and pretending things were fine. “I know exactly how much you’re worth. That’s why I haven’t ripped the head off every asshole who so much as breathes in your direction.”
His voice dropped, almost a whisper now, as his eyes dragged down your body. “But tonight? You so much as smile at the wrong guy… I might just stop holding back.”
Your breath caught. Not fear. No, nothing like that. It was want. Ugly, bitter, bone deep need. For him to snap. To do something reckless. To remind you why no sweet little church girl could ever survive the heat of his hands on her skin.
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The music hit first, bass thick enough to rattle your ribs, lights strobing like the club was trying to induce collective blackout. It was already packed inside, bodies pressed together in sweaty celebration, and the second you stepped in, Yunho’s hand brushed yours like he might take it.
But he didn’t.
He just pulled it away, shoved it into his jacket pocket, and set his jaw like he’d rather chew glass than touch you right now.
Mingi spotted him immediately from the upper section, two empty shot glasses in his hands and that stupid birthday grin that could charm the pants off anyone. “Yunhoooo!” he called out over the music, barreling down the steps. “There’s my man!”
You didn’t even get a second to adjust your dress or shake off the frost between you and Yunho before Mingi wrapped a heavy arm around your boyfriend’s neck and tugged him into a hug so aggressive it probably knocked his spine back into alignment.
“Come on,” Mingi grinned. “There’s a bottle with your name on it upstairs. I’m two tequila shots from legally changing my name to Park Seonghwa, so you’re babysitting tonight.”
Yunho opened his mouth like he might say something, to you, maybe, or to protest, but Mingi was already dragging him off by the shoulder, weaving through bodies like a man on a mission. And just like that, Yunho was gone.
You stood there alone for a beat, the throb of the music suddenly too loud in your ears.
“Rough night?” came a voice beside you.
You turned to see Seonghwa standing with a fresh drink in his hand, dressed in all black and already looking faintly amused, like he could read the tension radiating off you like heat waves. Hongjoong was beside him, half a head shorter and smirking like a little gremlin who knew everything.
“Oh, the roughest,” you said, shaking it off and forcing a smile. “Remind me why I didn’t just stay home and drink in my bathrobe?”
“Because I texted you three times that I’d be offended if you didn’t show up,” Hongjoong said, sipping his drink. “And because you knew you’d look hot in that dress and make Yunho insane.”
You raised a brow. “I’m not trying to make him insane.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Seonghwa muttered into his glass, eyes casually dragging down your body. “That dress is weaponized.”
You shrugged one bare shoulder. “He was already mad before I put it on.”
Hongjoong leaned in. “Still mad about his mom?” Him recalling the conversation, well you snapping about everything earlier on the phone.
You didn’t answer at first, just accepted the drink Seonghwa handed you, a dangerously pink thing with way too much vodka and sugar, and downed half of it in one go.
“He won’t say it, but yeah,” you muttered. “She invited him to brunch with that girl from her church. Again. Vanessa, Veronica or whatever.”
Seonghwa made a noise that sounded vaguely like a dying cat. “Does she think he’s gonna marry someone who plays acoustic guitar in the church choir and makes casseroles?”
“She made her own rosary beads,” you said flatly.
Hongjoong choked on his drink.
“I can’t compete with that,” you added. “I’ve said fuck six times since I walked in the building.”
“Seven,” Seonghwa corrected, then winked. “Make it eight and I’ll buy your next round.”
You laughed, finally, genuinely. It felt good. It felt like your ribs weren’t made of stone anymore.
But somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew Yunho was watching.
And he was. From the top floor, half a glass of whiskey in hand, pretending to listen to Mingi and San argue about who had better taste in partners. But his eyes?
They hadn’t left you once. Not since the moment you smiled at Seonghwa. Not since you leaned in a little too close to Hongjoong and tossed your hair like you knew exactly what you were doing.
Not since you crossed your legs in that dress and gave someone else the laugh he hadn’t earned all day.
And the way his jaw clenched?
It said you were about to learn what happens when Yunho stops pretending to be calm as he kept watching you now as the three of you grabbed shots.
Three shots in, the burn didn’t hurt anymore.
The first one had seared its way down like punishment, sharp and heavy in your chest, maybe for everything you wanted to say to Yunho but didn’t. The second tasted a little like regret and mango syrup. And the third? That one just made you warm.
You were sitting at the bar now, legs crossed, back arched just enough to be comfortable and just enough to make that slinky dress of yours hug the dangerous parts. Seonghwa had pulled up a second stool beside you, and Hongjoong stood between you both, drink in one hand and your wrist in the other like he was trying to show you how to fold a damn origami crane with a cocktail napkin.
“No, no, you have to crease it like this,” Hongjoong insisted, smirking as he pressed his thumb over yours. “You don’t just fold and hope for the best. It’s not your love life.”
Seonghwa snorted, and you flipped Hongjoong off, but not before laughing, real and unguarded.
It felt good to laugh. You needed it. And if Yunho wanted to stew in his own petty silence all night, that was his choice.
You snuck a glance upward, toward the balcony section. He was still up there. Still with Mingi, still nursing the same whiskey, still watching, but only occasionally. Not like before.
Which annoyed you. Which, you could admit it, hurt a little too. You wanted him to look.
You wanted him to care that you were here, having a good time without him, even if every laugh felt just a little bit hollow.
“You okay?” Seonghwa asked, nudging you with his shoulder, sharp eyes reading yours too easily.
“Yup,” you said, and took your fourth shot.
He didn’t believe you. Neither did Hongjoong. But bless them, they didn’t push.
The music was better now, less aggressive, more rhythmic. The kind that made your hips start to sway on instinct, even seated. Around you, the club pulsed with sweat and bodies and light. It felt like the kind of night that could go anywhere. Dangerous. Loose. Free.
You leaned in toward Seonghwa. “Do I look like I’m trying too hard?” His mouth twitched. “No. You look like a girl trying not to care about the fact that her boyfriend’s being a dick.”
“Good,” you said, lifting your chin.
Because you were. Trying not to care. Failing miserably, but trying.
And Yunho? He was back at the railing now. Still quiet. Still unreadable. Still stewing. He’d seen your fourth shot. He’d seen the way you smiled after it. The way Seonghwa leaned in to whisper something in your ear and you tilted your head, giggling into your shoulder.
He wasn’t mad at them. Not really. He trusted them, maybe more than anyone. But you? You were his. And watching you fall into that easy charm you always used when you were trying to prove a point…..
It fucking burned.
Mingi, oblivious and a little drunk, slapped his chest and offered him another shot. Yunho waved it off.
“I’m good.”
Mingi raised a brow. “You don’t look good.”
Yunho didn’t respond. Because his fists were clenched again. Because you were smiling again and it wasn’t at him.
And because deep down, somewhere under the bruised ego and unsaid apologies, he knew the longer this night went on, the closer he was to snapping.
You’d just finished twisting your straw into a coil of plastic frustration after Hongjoong and Seonghwa went to talk to Yeosang, when you felt a familiar weight drape dramatically across your back.
“Babe…” Wooyoung’s voice drawled against your ear, theatrical and soaked in tequila. “Why is your man up there glaring at everything like he’s about to set the entire club on fire with his mind?”
You didn’t even turn around. “Because he’s mad at me.”
“I can see that,” Wooyoung said, arms winding loosely around your shoulders as he leaned his chin on your head. “He’s staring like he wants to fight me just for being this close. Which, rude, considering I’m your favorite.”
You snorted, finally twisting in your stool to face him. “You are not my favorite.”
“Your mom thinks I’m your favorite.”
“My mom thinks you’re my gay best friend.”
“Exactly.”
Wooyoung flopped onto the stool beside you, already halfway through someone else’s abandoned drink like it belonged to him. He looked devastating, as always, black mesh shirt clinging to his chest, eyeliner sharp enough to draw blood, and those lips already curled into a shit eating grin.
“Did you two fight again?” he asked, voice sing song as he tapped your glass.
You hesitated, then nodded. “It’s been building all day. All week, actually.”
Wooyoung raised a brow, his voice dipping. “And yet here you are. Looking like sex in heels. Drinking without him. Laughing with Seonghwa. Flirting with Joongie. Mm, baby girl… you trying to start a war?”
You arched a brow. “I’m just living.”
“You’re poking the bear,” he said, eyes glittering as he leaned closer. “And the bear is feral. I haven’t seen Yunho look this pissed since that guy asked if you were single at karaoke night after you first started dating and you said….”
“‘Depends who’s asking,’” you finished for him, grinning.
“He didn’t speak to me for three days after that,” Wooyoung huffed, tossing back the rest of his drink. “I’m not even the one who said it! I just invited the guy to join!”
You giggled, your chest finally starting to relax. The club felt better now. Lighter. Fuzzy around the edges. Yunho was still up there, sure, but right now he felt like a shadow. A beautiful, brooding statue of rage and repressed emotions.
Until you made the mistake of glancing up again. Because he was watching. Elbows on the railing, drink forgotten, eyes locked straight onto you. He looked darker now. Not jealous. Not possessive.
Just done pretending he was okay.
Wooyoung followed your gaze. “Oh damn.”
“What?” you muttered.
“He just licked his teeth,” Wooyoung whispered, sipping someone else’s drink now. “You are so getting railed tonight.”
You rolled your eyes. “Unless he fights me first.”
“Oh, he’ll fight you,” Wooyoung purred. “With his dick.”
You shoved him, laughing, but your gaze flicked back up.
Still Yunho. Still watching. But now? Now he wasn’t just watching. Now he was moving.
Slow. Purposeful. Drink gone, hands flexing as he handed Mingi something and murmured something to San.
The bear had left the cave.
And he was coming straight for you.
You lost him somewhere between the bar and the DJ booth.
One second Yunho was a looming shadow stalking down the stairs, eyes fixed on you like a storm cloud with legs, and the next, he was swallowed by the crowd. A flash of flannel. The glint of his cross necklace. Then gone.
Which, fine.
If he wanted to play emotionally constipated beast, then you were going to be a brat right back.
You set your drink down and turned to Wooyoung, your lipstick stained grin already halfway to dangerous. “Come dance with me.”
He blinked. “Now?”
“No,” you deadpanned. “On my deathbed. Yes, now.”
Wooyoung let out a laugh that turned heads and gave a little bow. “Lead the way, queen of chaos.”
You grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor, already packed, already pulsing, the music vibrating up through your heels and into your bloodstream. Lights flickered hot pink and violet overhead, bodies moved in rhythm, and you let it all wash over you. Let yourself be loose. Let yourself forget Yunho’s cold shoulders and sharp words and that pinched, disapproving scowl.
Wooyoung spun you effortlessly, laughing when you bumped into him, hips brushing. He was warm and silly and sweet, your anchor and your weapon, all rolled into one. And unlike your boyfriend currently brooding somewhere in the shadows, Wooyoung danced with you like you deserved to be seen.
You threw your arms around his neck, tilted your head back, and let your hips roll to the music. The tequila shimmered in your bloodstream, making you bold, shameless. It was harmless. Just you and your best friend blowing off steam.
Until he appeared.
Not Yunho.
Some random half drunk guy with no boundaries.
You didn’t even catch his face at first, just the hands. One on your waist. Then another settling lower. Close. Too close.
You tensed, instinct flaring. But before you could even react, Wooyoung turned, “Uh…. hey man….” just as the guy leaned in behind you, his breath too close to your ear.
“You wanna dance, baby?”
You froze.
Baby.
BABY.
That’s what Yunho calls you when his voice drops into his throat and his hands are on your thighs and he’s about to wreck your entire existence.
You turned, slow and unimpressed, swaying slightly from the shots. Your hand rose to brush his arm off as you said, “Can you back the fuck off….”
CRACK.
The sound was deafening. Not from the volume, but from the shock.
Because in one heartbeat, Yunho was behind him.
And in the next, his fist was flying, slamming straight into the guy’s cheek so hard his head snapped sideways, body stumbling back.
“Yunho!” you shouted, but he didn’t even blink.
The guy barely regained his balance before throwing a punch back, landing hard into Yunho’s jaw with a sickening thud, and then it was on.
Not a scuffle. Not a push.
A full on, fists flying, tables shifting, club goers screaming BRAWL.
“OH SHIT!” Wooyoung yelped, immediately grabbing your arm and dragging you back as the two of them collided in the middle of the dance floor.
Drinks went flying. A table toppled. Yunho didn’t care.
He was all muscle and fury as he swung again, rage in every movement, pure instinct. You’d never seen him like this. Not even close.
Yunho. Sweet, loving Yunho.
Yunho, who once sobbed when he stepped on a roach and tried to bury it with dignity.
Yunho, who cried watching the last scene of Coco and apologized to a vending machine when he kicked it.
That Yunho was gone.
And in his place?
An unhinged, terrifyingly hot version with blood on his knuckles, fire in his eyes, and only one thing on his mind, protecting what was his.
And oh God, you were shamelessly, absolutely, wildly turned on.
“Holy shit,” Seonghwa breathed behind you, as he, Hongjoong, and Yeosang pushed their way through the crowd to join you and Wooyoung.
“Is that?” Jongho’s voice cut through, followed by the unmistakable bark of San yelling, “YUNHO, STOP!”
But he didn’t. Not until security came rushing in, two thick men grabbing the other guy, one grabbing Yunho by the arm. And still, Yunho fought to get one more punch in, his chest heaving, sweat glistening down his throat, lip split, hair wild across his forehead as he growled, “Touch her again, and I’ll fucking bury you.”
“Yunho!” Mingi was there now too, panting, trying to wrestle his best friend back with an arm across his chest. “You’re done, man! You got him!”
The guy, dazed and bleeding, was being dragged out through the crowd.
Yunho finally stopped fighting.
But he didn’t take his eyes off you.
His chest was rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, jaw clenched, fists still flexing at his sides as everyone turned to stare.
You should’ve been mortified. Shocked. Maybe a little horrified.
And sure, you were a little shocked. But mostly? You were wet.
Like ruin your underwear, (if you had any on), legs squeezing together, core clenching WRECKED at the sight of your usually quiet, soft spoken boyfriend losing his mind because someone dared to touch you.
“Are you okay?” Yeosang asked beside you, genuinely concerned.
You blinked at him slowly. “I think,” you said, voice dazed, “yeah….. I’m….” Need to climb right now. Make him know that you didn’t want that dude. Show him he was the only thing you wanted.
Yunho brushed past the others, not saying a word as he grabbed your hand, rough, fingers locking with yours like steel, like he needed to feel you to stay grounded. He didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t thank Mingi. Didn’t acknowledge Seonghwa’s wide eyed “what the fuck was that?”
He just pulled. Out the side door. Through the alley.
And straight to the car.
No words. No hesitation.
Just heat radiating off him like asphalt in the August heat, his grip ironclad and silent until he threw the driver’s door open, got in, and waited until you did the same before slamming it shut.
The engine roared to life. And still not a word.
The only sounds in the car were the pulse of your heart in your ears and the low crunch of his cracked knuckles gripping the steering wheel.
You swallowed thickly, sneaking a glance at him.
His lip was split, the crimson trailing into the corner of his mouth like a slash of warpaint. His knuckles were smeared with drying blood, his or the other guy’s, you didn’t know. His chest was still rising and falling beneath his black tee and flannel like he hadn’t quite come down yet.
And that look, his eyes glued to the road, the tight line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth twitching like he still wasn’t finished.
You clenched your thighs. Hard. Because it was too much. He looked like sin. Like a punishment.
Like a man who’d been holding it together all night and finally snapped, and now didn’t trust himself to speak because if he did, he might pull over and fuck you against the hood.
You watched the muscles in his forearm flex as he shifted gears, the bracelet on his wrist catching the streetlights in flashes of silver. Your thighs pressed tighter, core throbbing with each quiet second that passed.
You wanted him to say something.
You wanted him to do something. But the silence? It was worse. It was foreplay. Hot. Charged. Lethal.
You shifted in your seat, breath shallow.
“Yunho,” you whispered.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even blink. Just turned the wheel, took the last corner toward your apartment and parked hard, tires squealing a little as the car jerked to a stop.
He finally looked at you then.
And oh God, the look in his eyes…. Still silent.
Still storming.
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The door slammed behind you with a thud, the echo still ringing in the apartment as Yunho strode in like he was trying not to pace. His jaw was still clenched. His shoulders still tight. He was breathing through his nose like every breath might be the one that gets him under control.
You stood there in the entryway, your heels clicking on the wood floor as you watched him pull off his flannel, slow, tense, controlled, then reach behind his head and tug off his shirt.
It stuck to his skin for a second. Bloody, sweaty, soaked in a night that had ruined you both.
And still, he didn’t speak.
He tossed the shirt in the direction of the laundry basket in the hall but didn’t check if it landed.
Just walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, took a sip.
You were still standing there like a fucking Victorian ghost in a slutty dress and smeared lipstick, your thighs pressed together, heat pulsing between them like a warning siren, and he, HE, had the audacity to act like nothing happened.
He ran a hand through his hair, still silent, and finally said, muttering almost to himself, “I’m gonna take a shower.”
You blinked.
Hard.
And then your body moved before your brain did.
“Are you serious?”
He froze.
Slowly turned to face you.
You didn’t even give him time to process it.
“No. No, no, no. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to beat the shit out of someone for touching me, drag me out of the club like I’m about to be claimed in the wild, drive me home in brooding silence, and then, what? Shower? Like this is just a normal fucking Wednesday?!”
He stared at you.
And God help you, he looked even hotter under your kitchen light, busted lip, bruised knuckles, small blood smudged across his forearm, a red fingerprint on his neck where someone tried to pull him off. Bruised jaw. Like war torn sex.
“I am soaked, Yunho,” you snapped shamelessly, stepping toward him. “I’ve been soaked since you threw that guy across the floor like a ragdoll and growled at him like you were about to bite his throat out. And now you’re just gonna rinse off?!”
Yunho blinked once. Twice.
Then he let out a single laugh, dry and sharp, like it had been dragged from his chest against its will.
But it died in his throat almost as soon as it escaped.
Because something shifted in him.
His eyes darkened. His body stilled.
His hand snapped up to grab your jaw, not harsh but firm, fingers curled just beneath your ear, thumb brushing your cheekbone.
“You want me like this?” he asked, voice low and hoarse, barely more than a growl. “Blood on my knuckles and barely holding it together?”
Your breath caught as he stepped closer, chest brushing yours, the heat of him swallowing you whole. The scent of sweat, blood, his skin, him, was dizzying.
“You want me when I’m this fucked up?” he whispered, words pouring hot against your lips. “When all I can think about is burying myself so deep inside you I forget why I was pissed off in the first place?”
Your knees damn near buckled.
“I almost blacked out on that floor tonight,” he murmured, eyes flicking to your mouth. “Because some asshole touched what’s mine. You think I want to just walk away from that? Go take a fucking shower like I’m not starving for you?”
You whimpered, actually whimpered, and his grip tightened just slightly, dragging your gaze back to his.
“I want you,” he said, voice thick and full of everything he hadn’t said all night. “But you’re gonna say it.”
You blinked up at him, lips trembling.
He tilted his head. “Tell me.”
“I want you,” you breathed.
“Say it like you mean it.”
Your voice cracked.
“I want you to fuck me so hard I forget we ever fought.”
His eyes snapped shut like the words hit him between the ribs harder than that guy hitting him in the jaw as he let you go. The words hung between you like smoke. thick, intoxicating, fatal.
He didn’t see you drop.
He only felt it after.
The sound of your knees hitting the floor. The rush of air as you sank down in front of him, fingers trailing down his stomach as you settled between his legs like it was the only place you belonged.
His eyes shot open.
And what he saw?
You.
Looking up at him through your lashes, mouth already parted, pupils blown wide with lust and vengeance and that sick little spark that always lit up when you wanted to ruin him.
“Fuck.” Yunho choked, the word cracked and useless, falling from his lips as he stared down at you like he couldn’t believe what you’d just done.
But you weren’t teasing.
You were starving.
And so was he.
You let your hands drag up his thighs, slow, deliberate, until you reached the waistband of his jeans, already tented, already twitching with how unbelievably hard he was.
His busted lip split wider when he bit down on it.
“Baby…” he rasped, voice shaking, hands hovering at his sides. “You don’t have to…”
You looked up at him, lips brushing the fabric of his pants.
“I want to.”
One hand slipped beneath the waistband, fingers wrapping around him, hot, heavy, pulsing against your palm. He hissed, hips jerking slightly.
You pulled him out slowly, unzipping him, the way you knew drove him crazy, dragging your hand down his length and watching his body shudder from it.
And when you leaned forward and licked the tip, just the tip, his entire body snapped tight like a livewire.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, one hand flying to the back of your head, not pushing, just there, grounding himself, gripping your hair like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth.
You didn’t take your time.
Not tonight.
Tonight, you were making a point.
You took him into your mouth, deep and filthy, lips slick and cheeks hollowed as your hand followed, twisting at the base. His breath punched out of him in a moan so ragged it almost sounded like your name.
“F… fuck, baby…” he grunted, head falling back as your tongue swirled, as you gagged slightly and kept going, tears pricking your eyes but your grip never faltering.
The blood on his knuckles. The bruise on his jaw. The taste of him on your tongue and the weight of him hitting the back of your throat, everything about him was violent, raw, and so goddamn yours.
He looked back down, his jaw slack, lips parted as he watched you ruin yourself on him, lips stretched and dripping, your eyes fluttering closed like you’d die if he didn’t come undone.
“You want me to forget the fight?” he growled, voice low and rough. “You’re doing a fucking good job of it.”
You moaned around him in response, sending vibrations up his spine and causing his breath to hitch.
Your mouth was wrapped tight and hot around him, cheeks hollowed and lips swollen, spit trailing down your chin like sin in liquid form. Your hand worked the base, slow and tight, just the way he liked it, just enough to keep him teetering on the edge while your tongue licked along the underside like you wanted him twitching from the inside out.
“Fuck…” he groaned, eyes fluttering closed, hips stuttering forward involuntarily. “You’re gonna make me…”
But he didn’t finish the sentence.
Because he couldn’t.
Instead, he pulled back, not all the way. Just far enough that his dick slipped from your lips and dropped heavy against your mouth, wet and flushed, smearing across your cheek and lips in the filthiest, most possessive display you’d ever felt.
You gasped softly, breath hot against him, tongue darting out instinctively to trace the head, and then slowly, you flattened your tongue along the side of his dick, licking him like a goddamn lollipop.
And when your eyes locked with his? You smiled. “I don’t know why you get so jealous anyways…” His breath stopped as you licked him again. Slower. “your dick’s already ruined me for anyone else.”
Silence. Dead, soul leaving his body silence as Yunho stared down at you like he’d just heard the voice of God and it was moaning his name. His chest heaved, pupils blown wide, chest gleaming with sweat, busted lip dark red and parted in pure shock.
He looked feral. Possessive. His jaw clenched, hand tightening in your hair, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you exactly who you were playing with.
“I ruined you?” he asked, voice rasping out like he barely had the air to speak.
You nodded, dragging your tongue up his shaft again before pressing a soft, open mouthed kiss to the head.
“Completely,” you whispered. “You think any other man could make me drop to my knees like this?”
That did it. His hand fisted in your hair. He pulled you up finally but not gently, and not like a man with self control. Like a man who was done holding back.
His mouth crashed into yours, rough, biting, blood smeared, and when he shoved you against the kitchen counter, your back arching and your legs spreading instinctively, you knew exactly what was coming.
“Say it again,” he growled into your mouth, grinding against you through your dress.
“Say you’re mine.”
You barely got the words out between gasps, his mouth devouring yours, the heat of him pressing against you like he was seconds from splitting in two.
“Yours…” you breathed, voice already breaking as his tongue slid hot and hungry against yours. You clung to his shoulders, grinding up against him like your body didn’t care that you were in the kitchen, on the edge, half drunk and half mad.
“All yours.”
Yunho grabbed your waist and lifted you like you, slamming you down on the kitchen counter, the thud echoing through the apartment.
He shoved your knees apart in one motion, his frame crowding yours completely. Then came that dress. That little black fucking dress.
He pushed it up, rough, almost angry, and when his eyes landed on the space between your thighs, everything stopped. His jaw locked. His nostrils flared. “You didn’t wear panties,” he growled.
You met his gaze, all fire and challenge, heart hammering. “Nope.”
A sound left him, low and dark and almost a snarl.
“You went to that fucking club,” he said, voice sharp with disbelief, “after everything today… dressed like that… with nothing on under this fucking dress?”
You didn’t flinch. Just held his stare and whispered, “What’re you gonna do about it?”
His hands gripped your thighs so tight you gasped, bruises incoming, and he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter with a force that nearly knocked the salt shaker over.
His eyes dropped back between your legs, where your pussy glistened under the low light, slick, swollen, already needy just from the weight of his voice. He licked his lips, his busted one splitting slightly again from the pressure. Blood be damned, he needed a taste.
“You walked around all night like this?” he muttered, dragging two fingers up your slit so slowly you saw stars. “With this pussy dripping for me the whole time?”
You moaned, helpless, arching, wrecked from the pressure of just that.
“Answer me,” he snapped, fingers teasing at your entrance but not pushing in, his breath hot against your throat.
“Yes,” you whimpered. “I wanted to mess with you…. to watch you lose your mind.”
He laughed, low and wrecked and dangerous.
“You want to see what that looks like, baby?” he whispered, kissing your neck before his voice dropped darker. “I’ll fucking show you.” He dropped to his knees. Right there, on the tile.
Dragging you to the edge of the counter, spreading you wider, arms locked under your thighs as he dove into you like a starving man, like he was angry, desperate, and starved for the taste of you.
You screamed.
His mouth was brutal, tongue flattening against your clit with every pass, lips sealing around you like he was trying to suck your soul out through your cunt. And when you tried to close your legs, he growled, deep and low, holding you open as his nose brushed your folds and his tongue pushed deep inside you.
You nearly came right there as his tongue fucked into you with a rhythm that felt dangerous, mouth slick and hot as he pinned your thighs wide and buried his face deeper like he wanted to drown in your pussy. And God, he was so good at it.
Every flick. Every suck. Every guttural sound he made as he licked you like a man starving, it hit every nerve, every shaking muscle, until you could barely even breathe. And then you felt it. His fingers.
Two of them, wet from his mouth, slick and long, sliding into your cunt like he owned it. Curling deep and pounding harder, pushing against that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back in your skull.
You clawed at the counter, heels digging into the drawers, hips jerking helplessly as he tongue fucked your clit and finger fucked your pussy with ruthless, relentless thrusts.
“Oh my God…. Yunho, I’m… fuck, I’m….”
He didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down.
And you were too wrecked to notice that while one hand worked your cunt, the other, wet from your own slick, had slid lower, fingers circling your ass. He pushed one inside. You gasped, the sound jagged, more like a sob than a moan. Not pain. Shock. Pleasure so sharp it made you twitch.
Your pussy clenched wildly around his fingers as his tongue licked harder, and then he added a second finger to your ass. Slow at first, then pushing deeper. The stretch. The fullness. His tongue fucking into you. You shattered.
Screaming. Shaking. Legs trembling so hard your heel knocked over a jar of cinnamon that crashed to the floor unheard. Your orgasm hit like lightning, ripping through you as his tongue kept moving, his fingers kept fucking your ass full, your pussy dripping, your voice gone.
But Yunho didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause. He slid his fingers out of your ass and thrust three of them back into your cunt, sticky, soaking wet, so thick it burned deliciously as he shoved them in to the knuckle.
He pulled his mouth away and looked up at you from between your thighs, face soaked, lips swollen, eyes wild as he stood back up.
Then his free hand gripped your chin, hard enough to tilt your head and force your dazed, tear filled gaze to lock with his. “Fuck yourself on them,” he growled.
Your thighs trembled against his forearms, your back arched, sweat clinging to your skin as you tried, really tried, to move. To fuck yourself on his fingers like he told you to. But your body was wrecked.
Still twitching. Still fluttering from your orgasm. Your clit throbbed, your pussy clenched tight around his fingers, still soaking wet and stretched wide, and he hadn’t even really fucked you yet.
“Come on,” Yunho rasped, voice wrecked, his grip on your chin tightening just enough to make you look at him. “You said you were mine. Show me.”
You moaned, high and breathless, as you reached down, trembling hands fumbling for his wrist, trying to ground yourself.
Your fingers wrapped around his thick forearm, nails digging in, and you rocked, hips lifting off the counter, pushing yourself down on his hand with a broken cry. But it wasn’t enough.
Your body jolted from overstimulation. Your legs were too weak. Your core too sensitive. You whined in frustration, grinding down again but gasping halfway through the motion, overwhelmed and desperate.
“I…. I can’t….” you choked out. “I want to, I just… fuck, Yunho, I can’t do enough!” Your voice cracked as he stared down at you like a man seeing divinity for the first time.
You. Completely undone. Trying so hard to please him you were shaking. Still soaked. Still needy. Still his as he leaned in slowly, lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re trying for me even when you’re falling apart.”
You whimpered. His fingers curled inside you just right and your legs jerked.
“You know how fucking beautiful that is?” he whispered. “You look so sweet when you’re desperate for me.”
You moaned into his mouth, still pushing, still riding the edge of madness as your walls fluttered helplessly around his fingers, so close to the edge again it was embarrassing.
“Let me take over,” he murmured against your lips.
And when you nodded, meek and broken and begging, he growled, low and feral.
“Good girl.”
He pulled his fingers from your pussy with a filthy sound, and you gasped, collapsing against his chest, body shaking. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you like you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, still dazed, lips brushing his throat.
“Bed,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “Please, Yunho…”
He didn’t answer, just carried you down the hallway and into your bedroom like a man on a mission, and made a hard left.
Straight past the mattress.
Straight to the far wall.
To the floor length mirror.
You blinked, confused, until you met the cool surface of the mirror and Yunho pressed into you, hips grinding against you as his hands slid down to your ass.
Your eyes opened wide.
And you saw it.
You saw everything.
Your ruined dress hiked around your waist.
Your slick thighs trembling.
Your lipstick smeared from moaning into his mouth.
Your chest rising and falling like you were trying not to cry from how badly you needed him again.
Yunho stared into the mirror, one arm braced beside your head, the other hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread open against the glass.
His voice was low, rough, and feral.
“I’m not taking you to bed,” he said. “Not yet.”
“Yunho…”
“No.” His eyes burned into yours. “I want you to watch.”
“I want you to see how I fuck you,” he growled. “I want you to look in that mirror and watch me really ruin you for anyone else.”
You were breathless.
Heart pounding.
You turned your head slightly to look at him, still expecting him to slide into you, to lift your leg and finally, finally take what was already his.
But instead? He stepped back. And started taking off the rest of his clothes.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Your breath caught as you watched his busted knuckles.
Dried blood flaking down the side of his ring finger. A smear near his wrist. A dark bruise already blooming on the back of his hand.
And then your eyes dragged upward, over the slope of his jaw to that beautiful mouth. His lips, still swollen. The bottom one split and drying now.
You clenched your thighs so hard it almost hurt.
And the worst part?
You knew his mother would call this blasphemy. She’d throw holy water at you through the phone, clutch her rosary, say three Hail Marys and ask Saint Veronica or whatever the hell that girl’s name is, to shield her baby boy from the succubus in the mirror.
Too late.
Because you weren’t sorry.
You were more turned on than you’d ever been in your entire life.
You couldn’t stop staring, at the bruises, at the blood, at the way he stood before you, naked now except for the weight of his rage and the throb of his dick, hard and leaking.
“Fucking look at you,” Yunho muttered, stepping closer. “Pressed up against that mirror, staring at me like I’m a goddamn drug.”
You whimpered as he stepped behind you again, his dick brushed the swell of your ass. One big hand came up to cup your throat, not tight, just there, possessive and warm and so him.
“That what I am to you?” he whispered against your neck. “Something you can’t quit?”
You moaned.
And in the mirror, your eyes fluttered shut.
“No,” he growled, hand tightening just a little. “Keep them open. I want you to see exactly what kind of man you’re letting ruin you.”
Yunho’s voice was dark silk, frayed, trembling on the edge of something unholy. His hand was still wrapped loosely around your throat, not choking, just there, a reminder. A claim.
And behind you, you felt him line up.
Thick. Hot. Ready.
He didn’t thrust, not yet. Just slid the head of his dick through your folds, slow and teasing, smearing your slick everywhere as you twitched against the mirror, your breath fogging up the glass.
“You feel this?” he muttered, rubbing the tip against your clit with just enough pressure to make you gasp. “You’re soaked. Messy all over me.”
You moaned, pushing back against him, thighs shaking.
“Still begging for more even after I finger fucked your ass and made you come all over my face.”
Your eyes rolled back and he growled, deep, rough, animalistic.
“Eyes on the mirror. Now.”
You obeyed. Because how could you not? The reflection was pure sin.
You, flushed, lips parted, eyes wide and dazed.
Him, bruised, blood streaked, dark and towering behind you, dick thick, big and twitching against your pussy. He pushed in. Just the tip.
Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan, your fingers clawing at the mirror, trying to stay upright as he held you still and slowly, agonizingly slowly, slid in another inch. Then another. Stretching you wide, your body pulsing around him.
“Still so fucking tight,” he rasped against your ear, voice strained like it was costing him everything not to slam into you. “You take me like you were made for me.” And you loved it.
Every possessive word. Every filthy groan. The bruises, the blood, the way his dick made you feel owned. A little toxic. But you didn’t care. You arched your back, pressing your ass against his hips.
“You like this,” he said, tone dark and almost accusing, like he couldn’t believe the shameless, needy moans falling from your lips. “You like knowing you’re mine. That no one else’ll ever get this pussy again.”
You looked right into the mirror. Met his eyes. And grinned. “Your mom would be so disappointed in me,” you panted, voice high and wrecked. “Guess Saint Vanessa, or Veronica, or whatever the hell her name is, doesn’t get off to blood and bruises.”
Yunho snapped.
His hand clamped tighter around your throat, not choking, but claiming, and he slammed into you with one brutal thrust that shook the mirror and knocked every coherent thought from your skull.
You screamed. Loud. Messy. Wrecked. He didn’t stop.
He fucked you hard, each thrust knocking your body forward as he held you up like a doll, his dick driving so deep it punched the air from your lungs. You heard the slap of skin, the creak of the mirror, your own choked moans.
And through it all, you watched in the reflection of the glass.
Watched your body shake. Watched your mouth fall open in silent pleasure. Watched the dark, dangerous man behind you lose himself in you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.
He wasn’t coming yet. This wasn’t about that. This was about making you remember exactly who you belonged to.
Your moans cracked apart into sobs. Your hands slipped down the mirror, leaving streaks in the fog from your breath and the heat of your body. He just kept fucking you. Deep. Brutal. Possessive.
One hand gripped your thigh, the other curved tight around your waist like he was afraid to let go. And all you could do was take it, choke on your own cries, mouth falling open with every thrust as your pussy fluttered around his dick, so wet, so swollen, so wrecked.
“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” Yunho groaned, lips brushing your ear. “Dripping. Shaking. Dumb for my dick.”
Your eyes rolled back. Your hips pushed back on instinct.
“And you love it, don’t you?” he growled. “You love when I’m like this, fucked up, furious, making you take every inch like a good fucking girl.”
“Y…. Yes… yes, fuck, Yunho!”
His grip on your waist tightened as he drove deeper. “You want sweet? That’s for Saint Vanessa. You want me? This is what you get.”
You came again with a scream, your entire body spasming against the glass, legs giving out, completely ruined, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave of sin and surrender.
Yunho kissed your shoulder, soft for just a breath. Then he pulled out.
And you whimpered, the loss unbearable. But before you could collapse completely, he scooped you up, carrying you to the bed like you were made of glass. Only you weren’t. You were made to be broken.
He didn’t throw you down. He placed you, on your hands and knees, your dress bunched around your hips, your body still twitching. But the mirror…
The mirror was still in view.
You caught sight of yourself, face flushed, eyes wide, hair wild, tears dried on your cheeks, and behind you, him. Towering. Silent. Bloody. Bruised. Hard.
Yunho climbed onto the bed behind you, spreading your legs wider. His palm came down on your ass, hard, the crack echoing and you yelped, your body jolting forward.
He growled, grabbing your throat from behind, fingers wrapping firm around it, not choking, just owning as he leaned in close to your ear, voice so low it made your spine arch.
“I don’t need church,” he whispered. “Not when I see God every time I fuck you.”
And then he slammed into you from behind. Hard. The bed shook. You screamed.
Yunho set a rhythm that had no mercy, his dick punching deep, every thrust sending shockwaves through your entire body. You could barely hold yourself up on your arms, your thighs shaking, your hands gripping the sheets like lifelines.
And in the mirror, you watched it happen. You. Bent. Spread. Eyes rolled back. Him. Hand on your throat. Blood on his mouth. Possessed.
Wrecking you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“Look at you,” he growled. “So fucking beautiful when you’re ruined.” He slipped your dress on off, tossing it somewhere on the floor.
Your mouth dropped open as he slapped your ass again, then gripped it to pull you back harder on his dick, fucking into you so deep your arms nearly gave out.
“Who do you belong to?” he asked, panting, voice shaking now.
“You,” you sobbed. “Yunho…. fuck, you!”
And the mirror reflected it all. Your confessional. Your surrender. Your salvation.
“Fucking perfect,” Yunho growled behind you, hips snapping into yours with a rhythm so brutal it made your vision blur. “You’re taking me so deep, baby. You feel that?”
You did. God, you did.
Every inch. Every vein. Every stretch of his dick had you clenching, fluttering, crying around him.
You could barely hold yourself up anymore, arms trembling as your body rocked forward with every thrust. The mirror still showed the wreckage, your open mouth, your glassy eyes, the way his hand on your throat kept you steady even as he unraveled you from behind.
“I can feel you about to come again,” he panted, breath catching in his throat. “This pretty little pussy’s choking me.”
You sobbed something, his name, maybe, or just a plea, and Yunho groaned, hips faltering just once as his hand slid down your belly, curling around your waist.
And he slowed. Not stopped. Not gentle.
But that punishing pace softened, replaced by something deeper. More intimate. More devastating.
His hand left your throat and slid around your front to cup your chest, pulling you up slowly until your back was flush against his chest and you were both kneeling on the bed, still joined, still locked together.
The mirror reflected everything now. Your body, shaking, your mouth, open, your skin, marked. And Yunho? A mess.
His busted lip pressed to your shoulder. His hand trembling where it gripped your breast. His eyes burning as he stared at the reflection of you both, his forehead pressed to your temple, hips grinding slower now, deeper.
Right there. Right on the edge.
“Look at us,” he whispered, voice raw and broken. “Look what we are.”
You whimpered, body so close to unraveling again you could barely breathe.
“After everything today,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder, “you’re still mine. Still here. Still letting me love you like this.”
You blinked tears. “Yunho…”
“I’m close,” he groaned. “Fuck, baby, I’m…”
He pulled out of you gently, and you gasped, ready to beg for him back, but he turned you around, guiding you down with such care it made your heart seize.
Your back hit the mattress. Your legs fell open.
And Yunho, bruised, blood stained, beautiful, hovered over you like you were the only thing in the world that could save him.
He looked into your eyes as he pushed back in, deep and slow.
You moaned, hands flying to his shoulders, your body stretching around him again like it was made to.
“I love you,” he whispered. “No one’s ever gonna touch you. Not after this.”
You nodded, tears streaking your cheeks. “Only you. Always you.”
He kissed you then, desperate, open mouthed, sweet and ruined as he started to move again. Slow. Deep. Loving.
You clung to him.
And as your body clenched around him, tight and wet and so incredibly his, you felt him gasp.
“Come with me,” he begged. “One more time, baby. Just once more.”
And you did.
Together. Wrapped in each other. Shaking, crying, kissing between gasps as he spilled into you and you shattered around him, lips whispering love and reverence like prayers as your bodies gave out.
You didn’t need anything else.
Just him.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The sun was pouring through the curtains in soft gold, casting lazy stripes across the bed, the sheets… the clothes still scattered all over the floor like the aftermath of a spiritual and physical exorcism.
You were half sprawled across Yunho’s chest, one thigh tossed over his waist, your mouth slack against his collarbone, his hand still curled around your hip possessively even in sleep.
He was knocked out cold, busted lip healing, but otherwise calm, peaceful.
Which was ironic.
Because last night, this bed had been ground zero for a war zone. And the mirror still across the room bore the faint handprint smudges to prove it.
It was a rare kind of silence. Too rare. The kind that should’ve been a warning. The front door opened. You didn’t stir. Neither did Yunho.
But fate didn’t need your permission today.
“Yunho, sweetheart?” a familiar voice called gently. “Are you home? You didn’t answer my calls.”
The sound of heels on hardwood. A gasp. The kind only a Korean mother with a key she wasn’t supposed to have and a deeply Catholic soul could make.
“Oh… oh sweet Virgin Mary!”
You jerked awake.
Yunho startled hard, blinking groggily, hand tightening on your thigh like he’d just woken up in a battle field. “What the fuck….”
That’s when you heard it.
“JEONG YUNHO!”
He sat up so fast he knocked your arm off his chest, blanket sliding down to reveal your entire very naked, thoroughly marked body.
And standing frozen in the doorway?
His mother.
In slacks. With a handbag. And a face that looked like she’d just seen Lucifer himself and he was balls deep in her son’s girlfriend.
“Mom?”
She raised a hand. “Don’t even, don’t you dare speak right now!”
Her eyes swept the room, his busted lip, the mirror across the room with streaks still fogged up, and the unmistakable smell of sex so thick in the air it could’ve been bottled and sold at Sephora.
You, bless your brave, exhausted, freshly fucked soul, pulled the sheet up just enough to cover your chest and rested your chin on Yunho’s shoulder.
Yunho made a choked noise as his mom’s eyes bugged.
“I… You….” she sputtered, clutching her bag like it might save her. “I came to drop off side dishes! I didn’t come to witness my son’s moral collapse!”
“Too late for that,” you mumbled under your breath.
“What was that?!”
“Nothing,” you said, batting your lashes.
Yunho groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Mom, seriously. Why do you even have a key?”
“Because I thought my son was in need of spiritual nourishment, not….” she gestured wildly between your bodies, “living in debauchery!”
You smiled sweetly, full of pettiness. “Would you like some coffee before you go?”
She backed out of the room like she was escaping a crime scene, muttering to herself about incense and repentance and how many Hail Marys it takes to erase what she just saw.
The door slammed. Silence. And then? Yunho looked at you, utterly deadpan.
“She’s never going to cook for me again.”
You shrugged, curling back into his chest. “That’s fine. I’ll ruin your soul and your cooking standards.”
He laughed, truly laughed and kissed the top of your head.
there's something out there... and it wants to come in.
▷ genre, warnings. MATURE. supernatural horror, angst, suspense; swearing, graphic depictions of violence and gore, character deaths, yn does hunt animals (sustainable hunter, only small game), stalking, kidnapping, a lot of dead animals and some animal cruelty mentioned, obsessive/manipulative behavior, it takes place in a past not too long ago? (they use landlines lol), implications of purposeful self-inflicted harm (not by yn), a certain level of stupidity from the mc TT but it wouldn't be a horror fic without it, faking d*mestic violence for sympathy, death by drowning, no smut (it's rated mature bc it's intense and dark)
DISCLAIMER: what you are about to read is dark and somewhat disturbing. this is NOT a romance. my depictions in this story do not represent these idols in any way—it is just fiction. please remember to READ THE WARNINGS, as you are responsible for what you consume.
▷ word count. 24.6k (ao3 link)
▷ associated tunes. white winter hymnal (i always found the lyrics somewhat ... unsettling), carol of the bells, every breath you take (the police) (for obvious reasons)
▷ this is my submission for the nightmare before christmas collab hosted by @jinkoh and @blizzardfluffykpop !! thank u both for hosting; this fic was such a fun challenge <3
a/n: okay to be so honest w y'all idk if this can actually be considered horror, but it's certainly /dark/ anyway hope u enjoy nonetheless!
one. the forest remembers
There were footprints in the snow.
Not even a mile into the woods, blanketed in white, you already caught onto a trail. From what you remembered, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to find wildlife so abundant in these parts; you simply didn’t count on finding anything so soon. These tracks in particular were not as defined in the soft snow beneath your feet. However, you could make out the two toes and their heart-shaped nature by comparing the different prints.
There was no doubt about it. You’d stumbled upon a deer.
A familiar thrill rushed through your veins, the blood pulsating against the thin skin of your throat. The excitement that came with knowing there was an animal nearby was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in years. Your instincts were rusty, but they were slowly returning to you.
Your gloved fingers tightened around the neck of your bow. The crossbow your aunt and uncle owned remained in the warmth of the cabin—that was something you needed more time retraining yourself with. Your intention wasn’t to come out and hunt; your intention was to refresh your archery muscles, and maybe explore the surrounding woods a little. To actually find animal tracks though—talk about beginner's luck.
Eyes darting between the footprints and the surrounding area, you swiftly and carefully picked your way deeper into the forest. Your breaths came out in short, visible puffs, nearly blending in with the abundant snow. An overcast sky hung over your head, high above where the evergreens and birches stretched.
The tread marks you left behind were light, quiet. The snow was fresh from the night before, soft, not icy.
You told yourself you only wanted to see the deer. There was nothing quite like catching sight of one in the wild.
It wasn't denied to you for much longer, in fact.
Several meters ahead, you spotted the light brown fur of a doe. Her lean form was bowed toward a patch of grass sprouting up through the snow. There were delicate, little white spots dotting her side, not quite at her belly.
You kept your shoulder pressed to the nearest tree, the bark scratching against your jacket and your cheek as you marveled at the deer ahead.
You nearly jumped as the animal suddenly whipped her head up.
Your hand tightened on your bow, your entire body tensing to keep from making a sound. It was as if the deer had sensed you watching it, except…
Her head wasn't turned in your direction—she was turned slightly to your right.
The hairs on the back of your neck stood erect and a chill crept down your spine despite the thick jacket keeping out the winter cold. You turned your head in the direction of the doe's gaze, staring out into the white wintry woods.
What had she sensed?
It was as if the whole forest had gone silent while lying in wait. Or perhaps, even the birds had abandoned this neck of the woods, for fear of what predator they'd spied. Not a single chirp was heard nor breath was seen.
You and the deer held still for a moment.
And then another.
After the third beat of silence passed, you decided it wasn't worth finding out what an animal's survival instinct had picked up on. You tried not to make a sound while running back to the cabin.
Your estranged aunt and uncle had entrusted you with their cabin for a month. They were a couple whom your relatives enjoyed gossiping about, with the occasional comment about their reclusiveness and their “uncivilized” nature because they were hunters. You found it rather hypocritical, really. After all, several of them were trained to hunt, too, including yourself.
You kept in touch with your aunt and uncle the most out of your relatives, which was why you suspected you were their first choice to cabin-sit for the month of January. After a stressful season at your investment firm, you were ready to become your own sort of hermit in the mountains. Where else better than the secluded wintry wonderland of your youth?
The chains looped around your car's tires clinked together as you rolled into a parking spot along a curb in town. Your cabin was one of the farther ones out, but the drive into town wasn't terrible. The only issue would be if you were snowed in, but that was what the radios were for.
Despite the temperature being below freezing, the small town was a-buzz with people. They all seemed to know each other—waving hello, stopping to chat, helping one another on their way, and the like. Everyone in town was close-knit, including your aunt and uncle. It had been several years since you were last here; would any of them recognize you?
As the bell twinkled above the café door, warmth swarmed every inch of your exposed skin. The air was perfumed with the smell of cinnamon and butter, leading you straight to the counter as if you were hooked to a fishing line. Stepping inside was like being drowned in a cup of hot chocolate.
“Well, I'll be damned,” said a deep voice to your right.
Your head turned in that direction, tearing away from the baked goods behind the glass display. There was a blond young man seated on one of the stools at the counter, cheekbones smattered with freckles, lips stretched in a smile that glowed like the sun. You felt your memory twitch. He seemed familiar.
“I'm sorry,” you said with an awkward smile. “Do I…?”
The man's smile didn't even budge. In fact, it seemed to widen. “Is this what working on Wall Street did to you? Fry the memory of your old partner in crime right out of your brain?”
Partner in crime?
Then it clicked.
Your eyes shot wide open, and his own twinkled in a mischief that made you a little too nostalgic. “No way,” you gasped. “In my defense, I didn't expect you to look like a fried chicken, Felix.” The last time you saw him, his hair was still its natural color.
He threw his head back in a laugh before lifting his palms up in surrender. “Alright, fair enough,” he relented. He patted the open stool beside him. “Come, sit! It's literally been ages.”
“It definitely has been,” you agreed as you took the spot he offered up.
The older woman stationed behind the counter arrived before you, and you requested one of the pretty-looking raspberry danishes from the display, as well as a cup of coffee.
As she left to retrieve your order for you, you turned to Felix. “And by the way, I don't work on Wall Street.”
“All finance is the same to me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his cup to his lips.
You shook your head, then thanked the woman as she set down a piping hot cup of coffee and danish in front of you. “That's exactly what my aunt and uncle say to me.”
They were always rather supportive when you spoke to them, but they hadn't the slightest interest in what you did for work. What interest could they possibly have when they lived in such a quaint place? They lived the perfect little life up here.
Felix brightened. “Oh, speaking of your aunt and uncle,” he piped up, “I was so surprised to hear they were actually going out of town. They aren't the sort to opt for a tropical vacation, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” you mused. You took a bite out of your pastry, dusting the crumbs onto the plate. “They won some sweepstakes trip to an island. I don't think they would've considered it had I not agreed to watch their place for them.”
Your companion gave a knowing nod. His parents owned a cabin up here, as well, which was why you knew each other in your mutual youth. Spending one's childhoods together bonding over snowball fights and cookie-baking was a friendship that was difficult to forget.
“Yeah, my folks rent out our cabin most of the year anyway, and it was hard for me to convince them to pick someplace else to vacation this year. Truly though, they had a bucket list of places. It wouldn't kill them to see new things.”
“For sure,” you agreed wholeheartedly.
“But you know” —his voice dropped a little lower and he leaned in slightly, eyes glancing around as if to ensure no one nearby was listening too closely— “maybe it's best that they're all away this year. People have been saying that we've got a bit of a wolf problem now.”
Your brows twisted together, heart kicking in your chest. “A wolf problem?” you echoed. You knew it wasn't unheard-of to see a wolf here and there deep in the woods, but their population was never an issue. “What do you mean?”
Felix's expression had gradually fallen into something solemn and serious, a strange look for a man whose smiles were his resting face. “Well apparently, a pack of rogue wolves migrated into the area at the tail end of last winter. They hunt, like, all the time and they've nearly decimated the local wildlife population.”
Oh. A frown etched itself into your face.
Since however long you'd known this place, you knew that there was a pack of gray wolves that already occupied this territory. Predator species were usually no trouble; in fact, wolves were the keystone species of this ecosystem. They held up the natural order.
But for there to be a new group of wolves in town? How could they possibly coexist?
You mulled over the new information Felix told you. But hadn't you just seen a doe earlier today? “That’s unfortunate to hear,” you murmured. “Has the town leadership tried to do something about it yet? Maybe call in an external wildlife group to help relocate them?”
“I think they did, but it might not have worked out,” he replied before taking another sip of his beverage. “I just wanted you to know to be extra careful if you're out there.”
“I appreciate the warning, Felix. Thanks.”
The doe from earlier… had she sensed a wolf? But a wolf wouldn't have waited that long to go after the deer, and the deer would've run sooner.
None of it quite made sense to you, but maybe your hunting logic was still a tad unseasoned.
You finished up your coffee and pastry, passed the waitress the money to cover your bill, and promised Felix you would give him a call once you got back to your cabin. It was comforting to know that at least one person remembered you, and that one person just happened to be one of your friends.
You tightened your jacket around you, yanking up the collar around the lower half of your face to brace for when you returned into the cold.
The bell above the door gave another chime as you exited—a more aggressive jangle than the one before, just as an aggressive and frigid gust of wind blew past.
“Good grief,” you muttered with a wince.
You shoved your hands into your coat pockets and continued to trudge down the street. There were a couple errands you needed to run before you could return to the cabin, and that included stocking up on emergency supplies and figuring out what you would eat for dinner.
As a second unforgiving gust of wind rushed you, you slowed your movements and raised a hand to shield your face against some of the icy particles.
You weren't able to see the person walking opposite you then, and you felt your shoulder ram into the hard muscle and bone of someone else's.
“Ow—oh, sorry! I didn't see you there,” you said as you turned to address the person you bumped into.
Your footsteps and breathing faltered as a pair of sharp and dark eyes pierced into you like twin shards of ice. You weren't expecting immediate and direct eye contact. He was a lean and limber young man, about your age perhaps, with short blond hair and a prominent nose. There was a mole beneath one of his eyes, something that drew your attention away from his lack of layers. How he could survive such temperatures with only a thin overshirt, you would never understand.
“No, it was my fault entirely,” he replied. His mouth pressed into a small smile and he clasped a hand onto the shoulder he collided with. “Are you alright?”
His tone and expression were friendly enough, and you took your increased heart rate as a sign of pleasant surprise. He was rather handsome.
“Oh yeah, I'm fine,” you dismissed with a chuckle. “Don't worry about me.”
He withdrew his hand from your shoulder and cupped it over the back of his neck in a sort of sheepishness. “This is a little embarrassing, but… you're new around here, right? I could've sworn I haven't seen you here before, but I could be wrong.”
You gave a slight shrug, grinning at him. “Somewhat. I'm housesitting for my aunt and uncle, but I haven't been up here in ages. I suppose you can say I'm new.” You stuck your hand out to him. “I'm Yn, by the way.”
The man slid his palm against yours, thumb locking your hands together in a handshake. “Wooyoung,” he said. “Planning to stay here long?”
“A few weeks,” you answered. “You?”
“Oh” —he gave a shrug— “I'm here all year 'round. My brothers and I… we've got a place nearby.”
You nodded. “That sounds nice. I've always liked being here.”
His head cocked to the side at your comment, and you thought you saw his eyes narrow, but perhaps that was just the icy wind blurring your vision. “You have, hm? Well, we could always use more pretty faces around here like yours. You should stay all year long,” he said.
His lip twitched upward at the corner and you took that as a sign that his words were light-hearted. His compliment didn't go unnoticed by you, though, and you were glad it was cold enough to prevent yourself from feeling too flustered.
You laughed. “I wish! If I could retire early, I would, then I’d move up here to live out the rest of my days.”
The sound of regular chatter and jolly laughter drew your attention away from Wooyoung momentarily, and it reminded you of your agenda further down the street.
“Do you happen to hunt?”
Your head swiveled back to Wooyoung, who's stare never left your face. “Hunt?” you parroted back. “I do. I'm a little rusty though, if I'm being honest.”
He stuck his tongue in his cheek, smile widening. “No worries, it's just like riding a bicycle—I don't really know how to ride a bicycle, but… y'know.”
“I understand you completely,” you reassured. “Listen, it was really nice meeting you, Wooyoung, but I'm afraid I've got some errands to run. I'm sure we'll bump into each other in town again sooner or later.”
Something flickered across his face, but he nodded. “It was really nice meeting you, too, Yn. I hope it's sooner rather than later.”
You were already beginning to step away, but you lifted your hand in a wave. “Count on it!”
You turned on your heel to continue on your way, shoving your freezing hands back into the safety of your coat pockets. The entire time you walked, you didn't know why, but the hairs on the back of your neck pricked up like they had in the woods earlier—back when you were in the midst of a predator.
There was fortunately still light outside by the time you returned to your cabin later that afternoon. It was light enough, in fact, that you returned to the woods several feet from your back porch, to try your luck once more.
Felix's words from earlier rang in your ears again, and that was partly why you rather wanted to go find that deer.
Did she happen to get away safely, you wondered, as you picked your way through the ice-covered dirt and lifted tree roots. The last couple hours of light filtered through the thin, dark trees, like bars in a prison. You promised yourself you were only curious and would turn back before it grew dark.
But the deeper you ventured into the woods, the more that sinking feeling grew in your gut.
Your feet came to a halt at the sight of a dark lump lying by the foot of a tree.
Even from a slight distance, you knew what a dead body looked like. An animal's dead body.
The doe's eyes were so wide you could still see the light reflect off her black pupils, her mouth open in fear or a frozen snapshot of her screams. Her entire middle had been eviscerated, flesh torn, ribcage cracked open with the bones bloody and red-brown. The snow around her body was a murky shade of rust by now.
A wave of heavy acceptance washed over you. So there was a wolf here earlier, and she hadn't gotten away.
Just as you decided to wait here for a moment in silence, that distinct weight of a stare fell upon you.
It raised the hairs and goosebumps on your skin, made your heart quicken in your chest on its own.
Right, it would be foolish of you to linger out here for too long. That deer carcass wasn't exactly old. Before you could scare yourself anymore, you turned tail and headed back to the safety of your cabin.
two. a learning curve
“You ought to have the cabin checked out, honey. I know your aunt and uncle haven't secured their locks in awhile, but you're livin’ up there alone.”
A good-natured laugh tumbled out of you as you hugged a paper bag of small household appliances to your chest. It had been a few days since you arrived, but everyone in town treated you like family, especially once they realized who you were related to.
This was only one such instance—you met Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins in one of the stores in town while you were grabbing some extra batteries, matches, cleaners, and the like. They once ran a small business of installing security systems for cabins and homes before they retired. Most of the security was to ensure bears or mice couldn't get in, but on the offhand a wolf or something was near, they assisted with that, too.
Mr. Hawkins held the door open for you as you and his wife strolled out of the store. “Charlene is right, y'know, Yn,” he said. “We could give the cabin a quick once-over—free of charge.” He made a gesture with his hands before hooking his thumbs into his pockets. “I know I would be anxious about our daughter living in a cabin so close to the woods on her own.”
“I appreciate it, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins, but—”
“It's not that we don't think you can take care of yourself,” Mrs. Hawkins cut in with a tender gaze. “Really, with all of these wolf attacks lately, it's better to be safe than sorry. What'd'ya say?”
You bit your lip. “Well…” It wouldn't hurt, would it? They were the best in town and friends of your aunt and uncle's. “As long as it's no trouble.”
The couple smiled warmly at you as your trio stopped next to their truck. “No trouble at all,” she assured you. “Are you headed back now? We can drive up in our car behind you.”
“Oh, yes! My car's parked just down the road—thanks a bunch, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins.”
They nodded their understanding and promised to be right behind you.
You hugged your bag of purchases to your chest with one arm while you fished around in your pocket for your keys. You hurried over the icy snow to your car, a block's walk from the store you just visited.
As you spotted your car in the near distance, your eyes also snagged on a familiar blond making his way down the street toward you.
It was strange, really. It was a rather small town but you truly didn't think you would see Wooyoung this much. It seemed like every time you were in town, the two of you would just so happen to bump into one another.
At this point, it was too frequent to be coincidence.
“Hey Yn,” he greeted you as he practically jogged the rest of the way to you.
There was a certain energy about him today, a wildness in his eyes and in the wideness of his smile. His lips were slightly redder, making the white of his teeth all the more apparent.
“Hey Wooyoung.” You clutched your keys in a fist and pulled your arm out to hold your bag with two hands. “Funny seeing you here,” you jested.
He laughed. “It really is a small town.” His eyes flickered down to your car keys and the paper bag. “You heading home?”
You nodded, absentmindedly glancing at all of the stuff you bought. “Yeah, just about to…” your words trailed off as you lifted your gaze. A smudge of dark red on the collar of his shirt made you pause. Your eyes shuttered, blinking. “Been out hunting recently?” you asked. That was the only explanation for what looked like blood on his clothes.
He seemed to perk up at that, straightening. “Yes,” he said with a grin. “It was a good exercise in patience, if you know what I mean.”
You supposed you did know what he meant. “Yeah, of course,” you said. “Well, uhm, I should be on my way.” You jabbed your thumb in the direction of your car.
“Don't let me keep you,” he said, raising his palms with a grin.
You pursed your lips together, lifting your fingers in a gesture of goodbye, then making the rest of the way back to your car.
You dumped everything into the passenger seat, cranked up the heat, and scanned the road for the Hawkins's truck. Sure enough, you spotted their black four-wheeler lingering across the street, with the couple inside waving at you.
You returned the gesture and began to peel away from the curb.
Just as you turned the steering wheel, instinct had you turning your gaze back to the sidewalk. Wooyoung was no longer there. In fact, he wasn't anywhere along the street anymore.
He's probably gone into one of the shops nearby, you thought to yourself, almost chidingly.
You thought nothing much of it afterward—not the blood on Wooyoung's clothes, the speed at which he disappeared, nor the fact that there were no indications that he was even there at all.
The familiar sight of your aunt and uncle's cabin came into view about fifteen minutes into driving. Your chained-up tires crunched along the icy road as you carefully steered the car up into the driveway.
You killed the engine in a swift tug, jamming the keys into your pockets and hurrying to meet the Hawkins as they parked beside you.
“Wow, it has been quite a while since I've been out here,” Mr. Hawkins chuckled, shaking his head as he marveled at the cabin. “Joanna and Ethan sure keep this place looking cozy.”
You smiled proudly up at the log cabin. “They do,” you agreed fondly. “It looks like not a day's even passed since I was a kid and it was winter break.”
“Well,” Mrs. Hawkins chirped and trudged over the snow beside you, “we'll test out the doors and windows, then be out of your hair, honey. We'll let you know if anything seems troubling.”
“Sounds great,” you said sincerely. “Thank you again, by the way.”
You and the couple began walking toward the front of the cabin.
“It's not a problem, really. We—” Mr. Hawkins's words came to an abrupt halt.
You all saw it at about the same time.
“Oh dear…” Mrs. Hawkins murmured.
There was a pile of fresh snow littering a section of your porch, right before your front door. The snow being out of place wasn't the problem; it was what physically blocked the entrance to your house that was troubling.
Lying upon the snow like it was the prized game to be carved at a feast, was the body of a deer. It was clearly only recently killed, with its blood still a deep red as it dribbled from gnarly gashes in its side. It hadn't yet begun to smell because of the cold, but it didn't stop the horror curdling in your stomach.
Finding dead animals on one's porch tended to elicit such a reaction.
“I'm glad we came up here when we did, Yn,” Mr. Hawkins said grimly, glancing between you and the corpse at your door. “I don't know who thought this would be funny, but” —he shook his head, a crease appearing between his brows— “you just be extra careful, alright?”
Your fingers suddenly became deadly frozen. “I will,” you muttered, nodding shallowly. Who, or what, could have done this? Surely it was sending a message.
Mrs. Hawkins rubbed her hand over your upper back, eyes sympathetic. “We'll help you get it out of the way. Don't you worry.”
In all your years of life, you'd never once read or heard about something like this happening. When there were wolves out in the woods hunting down all the wildlife, then what could have left their perfectly-dead meal at your doorstep instead?
It was almost like an offering. A rather morbid one, but an offering nonetheless.
Or a warning.
What else could it be?
The wind whistled through the cracks in your windows as you stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel furiously through your wet locks. A healthy fire crackled in the main room, helping greatly to keep your body warm. Outside, white wispy flurries whipped past your windows in the dark; there was definitely going to be a fresh layer of powder on the ground by tomorrow morning.
Sleep had yet to tug at the corners of your eyes and you settled onto your couch to pick up your nightly bout of reading.
Just as you were settling in, a loud trill rattled through the cabin. You leapt out of your skin slightly, head swerving in the direction of the rotary phone spasming to life on the end table.
You crawled over the cushions and latched onto the phone, tucking it into the crook of your neck. “Hello, Ln Residence.”
It was rather late to be getting a call.
There was the sound of a hitched breath from the other side—then, “Yn, it's uhm Mr. Hawkins.”
Oh. You shifted into a more comfortable position on your current couch cushion. “Hi, Mr. Hawkins. What can I do for you?”
“Ah, right—I—we, Charlene and I, were talking.” His words trudged along low and slow, as if they were creeping along the surface of a frozen-over lake. “And we realized that, uhm, we were being a little overzealous with our examination of the cabin earlier.”
Your brows furrowed. How odd. “So you're saying…”
“You're perfectly safe in the cabin, and, ah—you shouldn't need to worry about upgrades.”
“Mr. Hawkins, I don't think I understand,” you replied, tugging your knees to your chest. Frankly, you were deeply confused and rather concerned. “Earlier, you and Mrs. Hawkins were adamant about putting higher security measures in place, especially after seeing that dead deer at my door—”
“Well we were wrong!”
You heart slammed against your throat, and you thought you heard what sounded like a low growl in the background.
Mr. Hawkins's voice came back stammering even more violently than before. “I—I apologize. I didn't mean to yell at you, Yn. It's… it's been a long, uhm, day.”
Your fingers clutched the phone in a tight grip. “I understand,” you replied softly. It was clear to you that there was immense strain in his voice. He sounded like he was distraught or stressed. “Mr. Hawkins, is everything alright? Are you and Mrs. Hawkins doing okay?”
Had something happened to them after they disposed of the deer in the woods?
He cleared his throat loud. “Yes, we're doing perfectly—perfectly fine, Yn. We're sorry for, ah, wasting your time earlier. You don't need to expect us tomorrow mornin’.”
“You weren't wasting my time, Mr. Hawkins, I assure you.” You twisted the phone cord around your fingers, tightening them into a slight fist. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes darting in the directions of your front and back doors. “But the more I've been thinking about those security measures, the more I'm sold on them. Would you and Mrs. Hawkins possibly be able to still install them for me? I'll pay you for the trouble.”
“No.” The word slugged you in the chest. “That won't be necessary. You'll be fine. Good—good night now.”
He wasn't giving you much room to argue. What happened to all that talk about being a young woman living on the edge of the woods alone? You couldn't help but frown. “Yeah, alright. G'night Mr. Hawkins. I hope you both have a nice evening.”
The phone hung up with a click and steady dial tone.
You set the phone back onto its receiver and stared at the rotary dial for a long moment. Maybe they changed their minds about installing all that stuff for free and didn't know how else to refuse you. But still, hadn't you offered them compensation?
It was so… strange. And Mr. Hawkins's voice over the phone sounded so uncertain of himself. He was stressed, or perhaps, nervous about something.
Should you go check on them tomorrow?
“Would it be neighborly of me to do?” you asked yourself aloud while reaching for your book again. They'd been so eager to offer you a helping hand, only to take it away so suddenly.
Could it have been that they were made anxious about you?
Stranger danger in a small town wasn't exactly a foreign concept. At one point, you were bound to feel like an outsider. You just couldn't take it too personally.
You didn't see the Hawkins couple in town after that day. You wondered what someone could have possibly said to make them avoid you like the plague, or—perhaps more terribly—could something have happened to them?
“Someone mentioned that their house is empty,” Felix said to you offhandedly one morning over a donut and hot chocolate.
The two of you sat opposite one another in the bakery-cafe to breakfast together. You were plagued by concerns over the Hawkins's, as well as the continued appearance of dead animals at your door. Only the first time was the animal left at your front door; every other time since then was at the back.
It was consistently larger game, like deer and mountain lions, that you didn't enjoy hunting. You were a small game hunter and only hunted what you knew you could utilize all of.
There were no tracks and no traces left behind. You'd checked.
The concept of leaving dead animals at one's door had to be an omen of some kind. If a human was doing it, it was bound to escalate from a warning or threat. But if it was another animal doing it… you shuddered to think what animal was large enough and had the intellect to constantly drag offerings to your door like a cat bringing dead mice and insects to their owners.
This was a problem you didn't disclose to Felix. You had a lingering feeling that it was why the Hawkins couple so suddenly changed their minds.
But you did ask him if he'd heard anything about them recently.
“Really?” you voiced aloud, suppressing the amount of interest you had in their whereabouts. “Anyone know why?”
He shrugged. “Apparently they left a note at the door saying that there was a family emergency, and that they'd be gone a few days.”
Ah. Your shoulders visibly deflated, and you started picking at your breakfast. That meant they were likely just stressed about their family emergency.
(Then why didn't Mr. Hawkins just say that?)
Felix considered you from over the rim of his cup. “You seem relieved to hear that,” he noted.
“Yeah,” you let out a laugh that you hoped didn't sound as anxious as you were, “I just chatted with them the other day, and… haven't seen them since. You know how it's a small town.”
Your companion seemed to buy your statement and gave a nod. “Understandable. People seem to be disappearing at a moment's notice a lot these days.”
“Is that so?”
He lifted his shoulders half-heartedly. “What can you do, y'know? Don't stress too much, Yn. People up here can handle themselves.”
You pressed your lips together. “Even after your warning to me about wolves?” you couldn't help but ask.
Felix smiled around his last bite of pastry. “This town's thrived for so long already; the wolves are concerning, but someone must have it handled, I'm sure.”
Must. If no one else was freaking out about them constantly, then you didn't need to either, right?
Wrong, a voice echoed in your head. You lifted your cup to your lips.
With your free hand, you reached back to hold the nape of your neck where the hairs had risen once again. Over the past few days, your body was constantly reacting as if there was something lurking behind you. You couldn't sit still, couldn't feel comfortable in your own skin.
One moment, it felt like ants crawling beneath your flesh; the next, it was as if someone was gently blowing their breath over you.
You weren't about to say you'd grown used to the feeling of being watched, but it was certainly becoming more frequent than you'd like it to be.
One might think that the constant stream of dead animals on your porch would make you lose your appetite for a hunt, but you hadn't gotten the chance to brush up on your skills since you arrived.
The name of the game was rabbit, and rabbits in winter were just as tricky to catch as rabbits in the summer.
Armed with a crossbow and quiver of arrows, you staked yourself up in a perch on a low-hanging tree branch. The evergreen was a welcomed respite from all the slim and frail-branched birches around you, and it provided you with adequate cover to wait for your prey to come.
Guns were usually the weapon of choice to go hunting—they were efficient and convenient in their execution and use. But you didn't often need a rifle to kill something as small as a rabbit; plus, it had been awhile since you'd last used crossbows and bows. They were efficient enough to reach their target when aimed correctly, as well as deliver a quick and painless death.
You didn't have much hope for a rabbit stumbling across your field of vision, but you hoarded a sliver of it still.
A bolt was already loaded up into the barrel of your crossbow. Having it primed would mean one less small noise to spook your flighty prey.
Somewhere in the distance, as you waited, a crow's caw echoed in the weak afternoon sunlight.
As the minutes ticked past, you remained ever vigilant and ever patient. You reasonably had about three hours left of daylight before you would consider heading back, so there you stayed.
It was nearing the one hour mark when you spotted it.
The rabbit was a grown adult, with light brown fur that looked almost like dirty, matted snow. It snaked through the snow-covered leaves, bouncing from tree to tree in search of vegetation that hadn't yet become food for the decomposers.
Nature drew it right to your doorstep.
There was a small patch of grass—weak, little tufts really—poking out of the snow several meters to your one o'clock. The rabbit sniffed the grass before nibbling its way down the stalks, each one disappearing faster than the last.
You brought the scope to level with your eye, finger curling around the trigger, but not yet pulling.
Once the rabbit's body was within the cross hairs—
SNAP!
You didn't flinch as badly as the rabbit, but your head nearly turned away from your target entirely.
The rabbit's head raised from the grass, no longer tempted to stay in this one place. You swore under your breath as it darted to the right, aiming to head deeper into the woods and farther away from you.
You moved the crossbow with its movements—and fired.
The bolt whizzed through the air.
And pinned the rabbit into the snow.
You could barely believe your aim had been true. If you hadn't let your instincts move your arm, you would've been going home empty-handed today.
Carefully, you dismounted the branch in the evergreen tree, eyes scanning your close surroundings. What in the world made that noise? No predator would have done such a thing, not when there was a rabbit so ripe for the taking in front of it.
You frowned after finding nothing and no one in the vicinity.
It wasn't like you imagined it; the rabbit reacted to the noise, as well.
You trudged over the snow to where the poor rabbit was staked against the ground, crimson staining the white beneath its body. It was definitely dead upon impact, you decided, while examining the entrance and protrusion of the bolt.
“Sorry, bunny,” you murmured under your breath, squatting down next to the body to begin preparing it to take back with you.
A few minutes later, you had the bunny strapped to your belt and a bloody bolt between two fingers.
You straightened, body turning in the direction of your cabin. A familiar wave of foreboding fell over you—the weight of eyes, of a phantom presence. The hairs on the back of your neck stood again and gooseflesh littered your skin despite the warmth of your hunting jacket.
As nonchalantly as possible, you made another scan of your surroundings.
It was so quiet, even the crows couldn't spare another caw. By all rational definitions and observations, you were alone. But if you had to ask the demon on your shoulder… It would be a different answer entirely.
three. they simply couldn't be helped
After the day you caught the rabbit, the bodies at your back door grew smaller.
It seemed that whoever (or whatever) was leaving you these… offerings had figured out your preference for smaller game. (You didn't want to admit how they would have discovered this. You certainly had not been alone in the woods that day.)
Nonetheless, you were sure half the reason this area was losing its wildlife population was because of whoever was doing this to you. And you didn't know how to fucking stop it.
You'd even gone and lined your entire property with a tripwire. If someone came by and triggered the alarm, you would know. Though, if there really was someone watching you, how effective would it be if they'd seen you set it all up?
This morning, you trekked about a mile into the woods to find a place to deposit the latest body—another rabbit—in a place where some other animal could have it. If you weren't going to make use of it, the best thing to do was to give it back to nature and let the circle of life run its due course. About a mile in would give some berth between them and your cabin; plus, you usually didn't venture in this area of the forest.
On your way back, you were stopped by the ceaseless sounds of shrill chirping.
Your head swiveled to and fro in search of the noise. It was clearly the strained helping of a bird, but where…?
Down by a pile of snow, dirt, and mulch was a creature just about the size of your palm. It had a round, black-colored head and wings, and a white body that was matted with muck.
“Chicka-dee-dee-dee,” it tweeted up at you as you slowly and carefully crouched before it.
“I'm not a danger to you,” you assured it quietly, keeping your palms facing toward it. You wondered if it understood. Birds were intelligent creatures, and chickadees in particular were known to warn other birds of fast-approaching predators. They were the fire alarm in a building, except instead of blinding lights and high-pitched buzzing, it was a chorus of infamous chicka-dee-dee-dee's.
Your eyes narrowed on its body. It must have been grounded for some reason since they usually stash their burrows higher above the ground in evergreens.
The chickadee's round head cocked to the side, beady black eyes assessing your danger level.
With cupped hands, you reached out toward it.
When the bird didn't express any disapproval, you scooped its body into your palms. “Huh,” you hummed to yourself, spotting a difference between its wings. One was far more crooked than the other. “I think I can help you with that, bud.”
You stepped over the mulch and a protruding tree root, keeping your bird friend cupped in your palms. “This isn't kidnapping, by the way,” you said aloud. “Imagine me as the Emergency Medical Services for birds. We're on our way to the infirmary—my house.”
The bird made a peep sound in reply.
The cabin appeared not far ahead; the air fogged up with your sigh. You lifted your foot so as to not hit the tripwire. “I don't know why I'm talking to you either.”
The back cabin door closed behind you and it took eleven seconds for the locks to click into place on the other side: shunk—that was one; clink—marked two; schick—there was the third.
“The wolf” always counted.
The only reason it took you so long this time was because of the hitchhiker you'd carried right into the warmth of your home. Who knew it would be the most annoying sound in nature to be granted entrance first? It was… infuriating. And yet, enlightening.
A shadow lingered upon the edge of the wood, sinking behind the large trunk of an evergreen. “The wolf” kept one eye pinned to your disappearing and reappearing form in the back window. In one morning, you had taken yet another of his offerings, left it in the forest for some other undeserving creature to feast upon, and took in an injured, living body to aid.
How interesting. “The wolf” finally understood.
For a moment, he could not leave the sight of you. He could not bear to leave your vicinity, to part with the familiar scent of your musk and blood for long. But the thrill beating in his chest—the wild excitement of finally understanding—was a lure strong enough to tear him away. It was all for you, after all. Everything, ultimately, was because of you.
He was careful not to nick the tripwire on his way out.
The forest was deadly quiet as he stalked through the trees. Silent, but never empty. The woodland, even in winter, was stocked full of birds to choose from.
If you wanted one, he could retrieve for you a set. Didn't humans collect dolls?
Once he picked the bird to pluck from its nest, all they would see would be a blur of teeth and wild eyes.
And all that the rest of the forest would hear were the screeches of birds and a sickening crunch.
If birds made noise when danger was abound, so too did people. The town buzzed with an energy akin to the particles of water in a tea kettle as it boiled. You could hear their chatter and gasps and murmurs even through the windows of your car. Everyone milled around in groups no smaller than three, eyes darting from one another.
Despite the commotion, their faces were solemn. There was a distinct weight that had fallen over the town. Something serious must have happened overnight or this morning.
You parked your car along the curb by the town pharmacy and clinic. In the distance, you spied Felix's bright, wheat-colored hair amongst the frenzy. It was the first time you'd ever seen his face lacking a smile, his lips pulled into a flat line and his brows scrunched in a concerned furrow.
“Felix!” you called to him as you made your way over.
He and the older man he was speaking to glanced up in your direction. Recognition sparked in his eyes and he waved at you, beckoning you to join them. “Yn,” he greeted, “boy, am I glad to see you. Did you hear?”
You shook your head, speeding up into a jog to reach them. “No, I didn't hear,” you said. “What's going on? Did something happen?”
You recalled the name of the man whom Felix was with—Mr. Ly, one of the town's teachers at the nearby grade school. He folded his arms over his chest, sighing. “Something happened, alright,” he murmured. “It was a terrible tragedy. Do you know the Hawkins family?”
“The Hawkins's? Yeah, I… I do.” What in the world happened to them?”
You met Felix's eyes, and his expression softened. “We were just talking about them the other day, Mr. Ly,” said Felix. “But Yn—somebody found their bodies this morning.”
You blinked, heart stopping clean in your chest for a second. “What?” Bodies. That meant they were dead.
“Jay Raiden, one of their friends,” Mr. Ly explained, “went over to their house to borrow their toolbox from their garage, 'cause he's got a key. You heard about the note they left, right? About their family emergency? Well, both of their cars were still in the garage.”
“They never left,” you filled in aloud, lifting a hand to cover your mouth in shock. “Oh my god.”
“Jay went 'round back and saw dried blood through one of the windows. He called the sheriff—they broke in and…” Mr. Ly's voice trailed off as he rubbed his face with his hand, distraught. He sighed again, fingers pressing into the corner of his eye. “They think it was some wild animal attack.”
“One of the new wolves,” Felix added.
So the rogue wolves really were a danger to the town. You were right to have harbored some worry about them.
But Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins… You gagged a little at the mental image of what exactly Jay and the sheriff walked in on. Perhaps, had Mr. Hawkins sounded so stressed during his phone call with you because they saw wolves outside their house? That would explain the growling sound you believed to have heard.
Why wouldn't he just say that then? Why wouldn't he tell you to get them help? They never gave you the impression of being too arrogant for their own good.
A hand warmed the place between your shoulder blades and you leaned your forehead against Felix's shoulder. Your eyes fluttered shut. “I feel so awful for them,” you said quietly.
Felix wrapped his arm around you in a small hug, squeezing your arm as he did so. “Yeah, me too.”
“We all just need to be a little more careful.” Mr. Ly thumped his hands onto your shoulder and Felix's shoulder. “Look out for each other, and keep your radios on. I think the sheriff's gonna start up a volunteer watch group.”
“Should've started one a while ago,” you muttered.
Mr. Ly gave a helpless shrug, though he seemed like he agreed with your statement. “Take care of yourselves, you two.”
“See you, Mr. Ly,” you and Felix said as he made his departure down the street.
And then there were two. You and Felix lingered there for a moment in a rare bubble of quiet. All around you, the machinations of small town word-of-mouth ran like the motor on a speedboat. The news was a wildfire and this place might as well have been kindling.
Felix was the one to break the silence. He gently nudged you with his fist. “Hey, you got a radio?”
“A radio?” you echoed.
“Yeah,” he chirped, “like one of those ham radios.” He gasped, snapping his fingers as the thought came to him. “You still got a walkie talkie?”
Your eyebrows flew up. “Do I?” You gestured for him to follow you back over to your car. Despite the grim atmosphere, the simple mention of walkie talkies brought back even a sliver of lightness to the air.
You opened the passenger side door of your SUV, popping open the glove compartment beneath the front console. You dug around for a moment and rifled past all of the motor vehicle papers and registration until—
“Aha!”
You emerged from the car with a pair of walkie talkies, brandishing them with the pride of your seven year old self.
Felix's face brightened immediately. “No way,” he gasped.
“Yours, my friend,” you said, extending one to him.
He accepted it swiftly. “You're a blessing.”
You snorted. “You're welcome.” You fiddled around with the walkie talkie you kept for yourself, thanking the energy gods that the batteries in this thing still had juice.
Felix shifted beside you and the two of you bowed your heads, hunching over in a miniature conspiracy huddle together. “What channel are you configuring it to?”
“They should be configured to one another. I haven't exactly used them in—”
Your words were cut off with the sound of a hissing click and chime.
“Well,” you laughed, “there you have it.” You kept your finger pressed against the 'Talk’ button on the side. “Testing, one, two. Testing, one, two. Do you copy, Felix? Over.”
Chk-chk. “Loud and clear,” you heard from beside you and faintly through the device in your hand. Felix grinned. “Over.”
He lifted his thumb from the button. “This is sick,” he marveled. “I forgot how cool these were.”
“Cool and useful,” you chimed in while hooking the device onto a belt loop. “They should be able to span across several miles.” In an emergency, and when phone lines were down, they could save a life.
Felix expressed his thanks to you as you locked up your car again, and the two of you headed back onto the sidewalk and into the pharmacy. The warmth from the radiator in the corner of the room hit you in a hot wave to the face, nearly making you fumble backward.
You could already feel the sweat begin to bead on your forehead.
“So what did you need from here?” he asked as he trailed behind you, a chick following a mother hen; his eyes were wide as he peered at all the same things you did on the shelves. “Are you restocking your first aid or something?”
“No, not exactly,” you drawled distractedly. You scanned the items in front of you before picking up a roll of gauze to examine. “It's kind of a weird story, really.”
“Can't be that weird.”
You cocked a brow at him, then returned to scrutinizing the label on the gauze. “I need something biodegradable. Y'know, I found a chickadee in the woods this morning—it’s wing was broken. I brought it back to my cabin to make it a little sling, but I realized it would need something more suitable when I eventually let it go.”
Felix lifted his shoulder up as he nodded. “Oh. That makes sense. What's so weird about that?”
For a moment, you hadn't remembered Felix had no idea about why you'd been out in the woods this morning in the first place. That was the truly strange part. “Can I,” you said to him softly, biting your lip and glancing around to ensure no one was nearby, “tell you something?”
His brows scrunched together. “Yeah, of course,” he replied with a nod. Concern twisted his features as he took a step closer, angling his body slightly so you could speak into his ear and he could keep one eye on the lookout. “What's going on?”
“There's been some… things happening.”
“Yn, what things?”
There truly was no easy way to say it, was there? “I think I'm being stalked—or something.”
Alarm flickered across his face, his eyes widening. “You what?”
“Shhh!” You patted his arm with one hand and fisted the roll of gauze with the other. “I'm not sure, but there are signs. I don't know if it's human or an animal.”
“Yn, we both know it's not an animal,” he scoffed. “This is crazy; you wouldn't say it if you weren't sure.”
You licked your lips, pushing out a breath of frustration. “It's just that—everywhere I go, I have this weird feeling. You know that feeling when someone's staring at you, even when you're not looking?”
He nodded.
“And then…”
Felix cocked his brow expectantly. “And then, what? Yn, please tell me. Tell me so I can help.”
You absentmindedly picked at the roll in your hands. “For the past several days, something has been leaving dead animals at my door—freshly killed, and lying on a bed of snow like they were trying to preserve them or something. I don't know. It sounds ridiculous—”
“No, Yn, that sounds terrifying.” Felix placed his hands on your shoulders, keeping your attention on him. You weren't about to escape this talk. “When did this start? Have you reported it to Sheriff Lang?”
“The first time was the day I told you I spoke to the Hawkins couple. They actually were the ones who moved the deer carcass for me.” You added, “And no, I haven't told Sheriff Lang yet.”
Felix swore under his breath, a hand on his hip. “Well, shoot. You have to tell him, especially if you're being stalked and you're being threatened.”
“I just” —you slowly began moving to the other end of the aisle— “don't know, Felix. There's something else.”
“What is it?” he asked, clinging to your heels as you scanned the shelves for some extra cotton balls and medical tape.
You grabbed the items and scooped them into the crook of your arm, against your chest. “The bodies so far had been larger game, like deer and mountain lions; but the other day, I went out and killed a rabbit. It was the first time I'd gone out hunting since I got here. The next day, instead of deer or cougars or goats, it was another rabbit.”
Felix pinched the space between his eyes. “Wait a second,” he said, “so what are you trying to say here?”
“I’m saying that it isn't cut and dry.” You waved your hands in the air, uncertain of what to think or how to articulate your thoughts. “These bodies left at my door weren't eaten or torn to shreds or anything. They were mostly killed by blood loss.”
“Puncture wounds? Knife marks?”
Oh, he was going to hate this. “More like… claw marks?”
Felix lifted a hand and let it fall against his leg. “You're shitting me.”
“I could be wrong.”
“I'm going to hope you're wrong.” He pursed his lips, the sides of his mouth digging into his cheeks. “I don't want to say it has to do with our wolf problem.”
You shot him a pointed look, turning to head to the register. “But you will.”
“Well, what else am I supposed to think, Yn? You said claw marks.”
At the cash register, you and Felix both mutually agreed (through eye contact) to not mention anything about your issue around the pharmacist ringing up your total. Pleasantries were exchanged, bills were given up, and your items were bundled in a cozy, little paper bag in no time.
Felix fell into step with you on your way out of the pharmacy, piping up, “So what? Do you think these are some kind of twisted offering?”
“I don't know what to think, Lix,” you admitted.
He jammed his tongue in his cheek, his stare pensive. “Well then, what do you say if I came up to make sure your cabin was properly locked up? Maybe I can see if there are tracks left around. Did they leave anything behind today?”
You nodded. “They did, but I brought it back out to the woods. And, would you? I would really appreciate that,” you told him, glancing over while you reached for the door blindly. “I think a second pair of eyes is exactly what I—”
You felt the door's swing come to a stop, its surface reverberating as it hit something solid. You glanced up, only to find Wooyoung standing there, mouth pressed shut and eyes screwed tight in a wince with his hand grabbing the edge of the door.
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” you blurted out. “I wasn't looking.”
He let out a small chuckle, lifting his hand off the door to show you his palms like it was okay. The movement, however, drew your eyes to the crimson red blooming beneath the thin material of his overshirt sleeve. “You're fine, Yn, really. I—”
“Are you alright?” you asked.
“Hm? Oh,” he said sheepishly, grabbing his forearm with his opposite hand. “This?”
Felix sucked in a breath through his teeth as he watched the blood seep through. “Man, that looks pretty bad. You should get that checked out.”
Wooyoung didn't even pass Felix a glance. “Didn't really notice it until now, to be honest.”
“Well, maybe you should see the pharmacist about it,” you suggested, jabbing your thumb back in the direction from where you just came. “I'm sure they'd be glad to help you out.”
“No, it's okay,” he insisted. “Really, it's just a scratch.”
“Wooyoung,” you chided, “it's going to get infected or something. It's already ruining your shirt!”
He smiled. “I appreciate your concern, Yn.”
Felix gave you a nudge with his elbow, and Wooyoung's eyes whipped over to him. “Don't you have a first aid kit in your car, Yn?”
It was like a lightbulb had gone off behind your eyes. “Oh! Oh, you're so right!” You turned to Wooyoung, fixing him with a firm look. “You're coming back to my car. If you're not gonna see the doctor, you'll at least see me.”
“See you?”
You sniffed. “I know first aid,” you defended. “Come, come. I won't take no for an answer.”
With a flick of two fingers, you beckoned him to follow. The three of you trudged across the snow-covered sidewalk, peppered with shoe-prints, toward your car parked nearby. You popped open the passenger side door once more, leaning in to dig through the middle console for the first aid kit you kept stashed there. The kit had served you well plenty of times before, even while you were living at home in the city.
You stepped down from your SUV and gestured for Wooyoung to roll up the respective sleeve. Felix lingered by, his hip and shoulder leaning against the car door for the back seats.
“Ah,” you grunted as you took his arm by his elbow to inspect the gash there.
The smooth, pale skin there on the underside of his forearm was marred by a nasty scrape that cut through skin. It likely formed on accident as there were differing levels of depth to the wound—one area was far shallower, with only the top layer of skin disturbed and peeled up; whereas the other, deeper portion looked to be where all the blood had gurgled out from.
It was strange, though. For all the blood you saw seeping through, there wasn't a whole lot of it now. In fact, the wound looked as if it was already healing over.
“How's it look, Doc?” Wooyoung asked, peering at you through his lashes, tongue wetting his lips.
You glanced at him, then twisted around to crack open your first aid kit. “You're lucky it's just a surface wound,” you told him. You ripped open a packet for an antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a little.”
You gently pressed the wipe to the cut, cleaning up as much of the exposed wound as possible. You heard the tiniest hiss from his mouth and murmured an apology.
As you worked, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to one of the other times you'd bumped into Wooyoung. “Was this from a hunting trip?” you asked him. “I feel like I'm always seeing blood on you.”
“You could say that,” he said.
“Do you go out hunting a lot, Wooyoung?” Felix chimed in.
Wooyoung's eyes darted to your friend, then to you, and finally back to Felix. “Yeah.”
“I hope you're careful out there then. You've heard about the Hawkins couple, haven't you?”
Wooyoung stared at you, but you kept your eyes on his arm, carefully placing the stitch bandages over the gash. “I haven't,” he drawled. “Who are they, again?”
You raised your head to share a look with Felix. “They were found dead in their home this morning,” you told him. You reached behind you to grab a roll of bandages from the kit and began wrapping up your handiwork. “Folks think it was a wolf attack.”
“Oh. Right.”
When you released his arm back to him, Wooyoung ran his thumb over the section of bandage that the scrape was hidden beneath. “Thank you.”
You shot him a small smile as you packed up the plastic kit box. “No problem,” you said. “I hope it heals over fast.”
“I'm sure it will.” He chuckled, “I feel like it's already halfway there.”
“You're a regular medical professional, Yn,” Felix joked. “I mean, first the bird, and now a person?”
Wooyoung's eyebrows flew upward. “A bird?”
You shot Felix a look, but couldn't help the sheepish grin on your face. “Yeah, I found a bird in the woods near my house earlier with a broken wing. I'm trying to fix up a sling for it while it heals.” Swiftly, you tossed the kit into the open middle console, wiping your hands over the surface of your jeans. “Speaking of, we should probably start heading out now. Felix?”
Felix pushed off the car. “Right! Should I meet you there?”
You paused in thought. “Maybe I can drive you?” you suggested. The last time someone offered to come inspect your property, it was the last time anyone ever saw them again. You massaged your lips together to calm your worries. “I'd be happy to drive you back to your car afterwards.”
“Sure, whatever you're most comfortable with.”
“He’s going with you to your cabin?” Wooyoung piped up. His face had become a rather unreadable slate, an unusual and uncanny state to find him in. At least, for you.
“He's, ah, helping me out with some cabin maintenance.” You stepped away from the passenger side door to make way for Felix to climb in. “I'll see you around, Wooyoung. Take care of yourself.”
“Yeah, see you, Yn.”
You jogged around to the other side of your car and clambered into your seat, your whole body shivering from the stagnant cold outside the door. Felix cranked up the heat as soon as you started the car up. It seemed you both had the same idea.
“So…” Felix dragged out the word, leaning the side of his head against his fist as he looked at you. There was an impish smile dancing on his face.
You pulled out of your parking space, eyeing him suspiciously. “What?”
“He seems… nice.”
You snorted. “Nice? That's all you can say?
He hummed, straightening out in his seat. “I mean, what else can I say? He didn't talk to me a whole lot. I'm pretty sure that man only thinks you exist.”
“Oh, please.” You'd noticed that Wooyoung was a little short with Felix, but you figured it might have been because he'd never met Felix before. Then again, your own memory contradicted that observation. The first time you met Wooyoung, he had been the one to initiate a proper conversation. He'd spoken freely and smoothly. “Maybe you give him a weird feeling.”
“Me?” your friend squawked in indignation, shooting up in his seat as if you'd shocked him with lightning. “Maybe he gives me a weird feeling!”
Your brows creased together and you casted him a brief look. “Does he?”
Felix sobered and scratched the place behind his ear. He blew a breath of air from his mouth. “Shoot, I don't know. He seemed to treat you alright, so I'm guessing he's not a raging misogynist.”
“We can only hope,” you joked.
You couldn't help but glance through your back windshield in the rearview mirror. Even from down the street, you could still see the sidewalk outside the pharmacy quite clearly. There were different shades of white and gray where tire tracks and bootprints cut through the snow. Townsfolk continued to mill about with the latest news and their own errands.
But again, Wooyoung had seemingly disappeared from the vicinity immediately.
The only thing you could do with your thoughts about him was to brush them under a mental rug. After all, you and Felix were heading to your cabin with an express purpose.
There was still a healthy amount of winter sun left in the sky as you pulled into your snow-covered driveway. The sounds of the car doors slamming reverberated off the facade of the cabin and the nearby trees; you and Felix trudged through the snow side by side, low murmurs exchanged between you about your plan of action while he was here.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins and I found the first deer here” —you motioned to your front door with the hand that wasn't holding your bag of fowl medical supplies— “and that was also the last time the bodies were brought to the front. Every other time since then has been on my back porch instead.”
Felix climbed the steps onto the front porch, eyes squinting as he considered it. “Huh,” he muttered. “You said the Hawkins's were the ones who moved the carcass for you?”
“Yep.”
He glanced back at you. “Maybe I'm reaching, but it could be that moving their offerings to the back ensures that less people see it.”
A chill spider-crawled down your spine. You nervously moved a strand of hair from your eyes as a breeze blew past. “I never even thought of it like that,” you stammered out.
Something troubled contorted your features as you stared at the floorboards of your porch. It wasn't like they were hurting you—yet. Whoever, or whatever, they were, their approach could change at any moment. Who cared if they changed their game from big to small based on your preference? It could have been that they had hunted all of the big game to the point of scarcity already.
“Your locks seem to work fine,” Felix said as he wiggled the front door knob. He shoved his shoulder and body weight into the door, the wood and metal holding firm against his force. “Hinges and door, too.” He scanned the doorframe, fingers running over the linings as if it had all the answers.
“What could all of this possibly mean?” you wondered aloud. “I mean, what did I do to provoke this kind of behavior? I just got into town.”
Felix frowned, eyes softening sympathetically. “It's not your fault. I don't believe it could've been anything you did on purpose. All of this—it’s sick, really. I'm telling you, Yn, you should just report this to the sheriff. He'll want to help you.”
Your gaze shifted from him to the forest on your left, then back to him. You knew he was being the voice of reason. There was a large part of you who knew that the sheriff needed to know about this. “Okay, yeah. You're right,” you relented at last. “When I drive you back into town, I'll let him know—”
Chicka-dee-dee-dee—chicka-dee-dee-dee—chicka-dee—
“What on god's green earth?” Felix mumbled, hopping down the stairs and tilting his head toward the sky.
The chirping rang a few bells in your head. “Why would the chickadee be alerting if it's…?”
You and Felix both froze. The realization came at once, your eyes meeting as it did—a mutual agreement passed between you, and the two of you crept back over to your car. You always left a small handgun in the glove compartment; you were licensed to carry, and you had been for over a decade now.
Felix was handed an emergency flare. It wasn't just to signal for help; used a certain way, it could be a weapon on its own.
Together, you both moved toward the back of the cabin, in the direction of the ceaseless chickadee calls. It couldn't have only been the chickadee inside your cabin, you realized. There had to be more out there. And they were seeing something that made them afraid.
As you rounded the structure, you held the pistol out in front of you, your finger steady on the trigger. The sound of your blood rushing thrashed wildly in your ears, your heart palpitating in your chest with every step you took. Whatever was out there, you would get to them before they got to you.
You kept your back to Felix and covered the woods. You weren't able to see his movements, but you could hear him and a mixture of bird calls somewhere behind you.
A beat passed. There was nothing in the forest that you could see. No sudden movements, no rustling branches.
“Uh, Yn?”
“Yeah?” you called back. When you cleared the woods for any immediate danger, you whirled backward and joined Felix on the back porch.
He stood stock-still over a section of it just beneath the back window sill. At his feet was the source of all the yelling.
There were three birds grounded on the floorboards of your porch—another chickadee, a robin, and a crow—all an assortment of horribly crooked, broken wings; all alive, but mutilated.
You couldn't decide if this was better… or so much worse.
four. don't you ever listen?
“Hit me.”
“The wolf” watched as one of his eldest brothers fixed him with a strange look. “You've said weird things before, but this is—”
There was not a single trace of mirth on his face. He opened up his limbs, spreading them away from his middle—an open target. “Make it look bad.”
His brother stood slowly from his seat. “This is about…”
“The wolf” nodded. He'd watched you and that damned human boy take those broken birds into your home. It was so easy. It was too easy. And it had been there the whole time. He was almost giddy at the prospect of finally crossing this threshold of your relationship. He'd observed, tested his theory, and was prepared to apply his findings.
“If you insist,” his brother murmured, head cocking to the side. His eyes narrowed into a predatory sharpness and weighed his options while examining the body before him. What would leave the worst impression?
“The wolf” watched as his brother reached over to his desk drawer and pulled out a pair of thick, leather gloves. “What are those for?”
His brother's response was to don the gloves before fishing out a pair of pure silver knuckles from deeper within the drawer. The accessories winked in the low lamp light. He grinned. “To make it last longer.”
“You should just come stay at my place, Yn. Your aunt and uncle's cabin is so isolated—it’s not safe at all,” Felix insisted over the phone line. It was something he'd been saying since the two of you left the sheriff's office earlier this evening. As planned, you and Felix went to report your escalating issue to the police, only to be told that because you had rid yourself of the dead bodies (evidence), they couldn't do anything.
Furthermore, the only other witnesses to any of the slayed animal carcasses were conveniently dead.
(Well, screw you then for cleaning up your own cabin. Birds didn't just break their wings en-masse either.)
You rubbed a hand down the side of your face as you sat hunched over your knees on the couch, the phone receiver pressed against your ear. “I would, Lix, trust me. But I don't want them to start showing up at your house, too.”
This evening was not one characterized by the fall of snow. There were only dark clouds shrouding the night sky, casting a rather ominous shadow over the community. You didn't particularly enjoy the way it aligned with everything happening.
“I don't really care about all that, Yn. I'm much more worried about your safety.” He let out a sigh, before saying, “Listen, we don't know what this guy's next move is. How would you feel if I came over and just slept on your couch?”
Your eyes went to the empty bedroom your aunt and uncle usually occupied. Now that you thought about it, it wouldn't be terrible to have another person over here with you. Maybe just for the night. “Alright, but you're sleeping in my aunt and uncle's room, and not on the couch.”
He laughed. “I’ll take it. In the morning, we'll finish putting out the rest of the traps like we planned. You've activated them, yeah?”
Your head dipped in a small nod. “They should be activated.” Absentmindedly, you glanced over to the birds you'd set up close to the back window sill. They were close enough to the hearth to feel the warmth of the fire, but far enough to not be burned. Felix had helped you put the birds’ wings into makeshift slings and casts; they all quieted down rather fast once within the safety of the cabin.
Any time you weren't taking care of the birds had gone toward setting up traps around the perimeter of your house. The tripwire could only warn you when someone was coming. At least traps might buy you more time.
“I remember turning on the front ones after you left, but I'm gonna go check on all of them, too,” you said and stood up from the couch, lifting the landline as you did to keep the phone cord from pulling.
“Maybe you should wait until I get there,” he suggested. “It’s quite dark out tonight.”
There was an impenetrable wall of dark blue-ish black outside your window. The only reason you could even make out the eerie silhouettes of the trees were because of the glow of your house lights. “Yeah,” you murmured in agreement. “Just knock when you get here, alright?”
“Sure. I'll just be ten or fifteen minutes while I pack some stuff.”
You nodded. “No problem. I have extra toiletries,” you replied. “Thanks again, Lix.”
His voice was warm even through the phone. “No need to thank me. See you soon!”
After reciprocating the goodbye, you reset the phone onto its dial and returned the entire machine to the couch's end table. The birds warbled and cooed amongst themselves, peering at you curiously through beaded eyes as you made your way over to the back window to stare out into the cold night.
Who knew this place that had filled your childhood for the holidays could become such a nightmare?
You folded your arms over your chest, jamming tongue into cheek. A single shot hunting rifle leaned against the opposite sofa, beneath the window sill. It was only several feet away from the back door—if you moved fast enough, you could arm yourself before an intruder could reach you.
As long as they came in through that door.
An abrupt shudder rippled down your spine. It was probably a good idea to get ready with a coat on for when Felix—
You stopped short as the small radio box on the end table lit up.
One of its bulbs had gone from a dull red to a bright maraschino cherry. Every fiber in your body went taut.
That was the tripwire.
Something had just set it off.
You launched yourself over to the other sofa, ducking behind it as you grabbed the rifle. The box of ammo was tucked just behind the leg of the sofa, and you sat up against it to load a bullet into the chamber.
Carefully, you peered over the ledge of the sofa and the window sill, out into the abyss of ice and darkness.
The tripwire wasn't too far out on this side of the house, but you weren't exactly sure which side had been triggered.
You swore you could hear the sound of a voice, muffled through the wooden infrastructure and glass. It carried like a human voice, one that sounded suspiciously like a cry for—
“Help! Help, someone please!”
You leapt to your feet. That was someone calling for help. And it was coming in this direction.
You craned your eyesight, pressing your nose against the cold glass in an attempt to better see into the woods.
Lo and behold, you could make out the shape of a man running for his goddamn life. It wasn't just any man—it was Wooyoung.
“Oh shit,” you swore, cocking the rifle as the shell casing fluttered onto the ground. You flew for the back door, ripping it open and letting the winter night swarm you.
Wooyoung was running, but his gait was unsteady, one arm wrapped around his middle as one leg went faster than the other. He kept glancing behind him, over his shoulder, running from something.
“Wooyoung! Wooyoung, keep running!” you shouted at him, raising the rifle up to prepare to aim at whatever was chasing him.
His wide eyes made contact with yours. “Don't shoot!”
What?
And there, emerging in the swell of darkness behind Wooyoung—as the man tumbled through the bramble of forest to your cabin—were a pair of eyes. They seemed to glow, even from deep in the confines of the woods, even in the moonless swath of night. Unforgiving, unforgettable.
They pierced into your memory and etched themselves there for eternity.
“Yn?”
Wooyoung's voice snapped you from your fearful stupor. He wasn't glancing back at the predator who had stopped chasing him; he was now gazing up at you on your porch, your rifle loose in your grip.
That was when you saw them—a whole lot of them. Wooyoung's once flawless skin was now blooming with dark purple splotches. There was a particularly nasty one beneath his right eye, one that busted his lip open, one swelling at his cheekbone. He still had an arm clutched around his stomach as he limped toward the steps.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, hurrying down to meet him. Your head whipped backward to see where the eyes had gone—only to be met with an empty forest. Your heart would not cease as you scooped Wooyoung's arm over your shoulder and helped him up.
The back door slammed shut behind the two of you, and you deposited him onto the closest couch before locking up the door. Your eyes darted feverishly between the window and Wooyoung; even after you yanked the curtains closed, you couldn't stop your eyes.
The birds were chirping and cawing and making a ruckus. You tried to put the noise to the back of your mind as you rested the rifle up against the sofa again.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” you asked Wooyoung, crouching before him as his body sank against the couch cushions. “What was that out there? Did that… did it…?” No, these injuries were not something an animal could do. These were…
A lump formed in your throat as you drew your eyes down his form. These were very human.
“It was just chasing me,” he rasped. He winced, reaching up to gently run a finger over his throat. There was purple there, too. “Smelled my blood. I think I got cut at some point. Gagh.” He tried to sit himself up, only to fall back onto the cushions.
You leaned forward swiftly, gently pushing his shoulder down to keep him there. “Don't move; it's gonna hurt more.” You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “I should call the clinic in town—”
“No!” He stammered to reply to the confused look you shot him. “I—I don't want any trouble. It's already bad enough that I ran onto your property, but if people found out that…” his voice trailed off, and you thought the wet gleam in his eyes was something wobbly like vulnerability.
“Wooyoung,” you said softly, settling yourself next to him on the couch. “Who did this to you?”
Behind you, the birds would not stop screeching.
Wooyoung pressed his lips together, eyes squeezing shut when he remembered his lip was busted. “It was—one of my brothers can get really aggressive when he drinks. It was just a bad night.” He was swift to add, peering up at you imploringly, “Don't tell anyone. Please. We're already outsiders around here, and I don't… I don't want any trouble.”
Your chest twisted violently at this news. It was a wonder that not many people knew him around town. He'd never seemed hurt before, but you should've known that he would have hidden it well. It would explain why he was so nonchalant about the scrape he got earlier today. The dressing was still there, dirty and unchanged. “I'm so sorry,” you murmured to him in earnest. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I just need a place to lay low for the night. I'll be out of your hair by morning, I promise.”
You shook your head. “You can stay until you're better, Wooyoung. I can't let you go back there in good conscience. Look at what he did to you.” Your eyes swept over his visible injuries again, your mind filling in the gaps. It didn't leave much to the imagination anyway.
He must have had to flee as soon as he could, because he wasn't even wearing an overshirt anymore. No, you definitely couldn't stomach sending him home in the morning.
“You're really too sweet.”
Your mouth pressed into a sad smile, hand warming his. “It's the least I can do. I do think that calling the town doctor would be best though. I don't know how to properly handle all of your injuries—”
His hand on your arm stopped you from moving. “I,” he said, “know how to treat them. I just need a little help.”
Oh. You wanted to give this guy a hug. “Of course,” you replied, shooting to your feet as you nodded. “I'll grab my medical supplies. You just wait right here.”
Just as you were about to go, you turned on the ball of your foot and went over to the birds in the corner. They turned their beady eyes and loud beaks toward you, hobbling around on unsteady feet. You fixed them with a stern look. “Guys, I need you to relax a little. Whatever's in the forest is gone now,” you said, scooping up the birds’ makeshift nest. “At least, I hope.”
You carried the birds out of the main room and left them in your bedroom, where they mercifully quieted down as you hustled to find all of your medical supplies.
Wooyoung was waiting patiently for you when you returned, head perking up when you came back into view.
“Okay, I hope all of these will be enough,” you said to him while rifling through the box. “I can get you an ice pack once we're done here, too.”
He nodded, screwing up his face in an attempt to sit up again. You were quick to lean over and guide his back into an upright position, arms curling around him without putting too much pressure anywhere. “Thank you,” he exhaled out. “I think my ribs are just bruised and my ankle’s a little twisted, so we can treat the other areas for now.”
He said it so calmly, it startled you.
“Right,” you stammered. You ripped open an antiseptic wipe and raised it up to his face. “Sorry, this is gonna sting like before.”
He didn't react as physically as he had earlier. He was quiet while you worked—hyper-focused even. You had to scoot closer to him on the couch, knees brushing as you did so, hand taking his chin to give you better access.
As you dabbed some ointment over his black eye, you found the little mole beneath his other eye again. His eyes were asymmetrical, you came to realize the longer you were focused solely on him.
“You have pretty eyes,” you muttered absentmindedly. Your fingers swiped over where his cheekbone was swollen with the ointment. It would hopefully lessen the swelling overnight.
There was a glint in his eyes, and the corners of his lips tilted upward. “Thanks,” he chuckled. “I don't usually get compliments on 'em.”
“Well, you should.”
Wooyoung's lips parted as if he was about to respond, but no sound came out. Instead, he sat still and the lift of his lips slipped off his face like melting snow on a mountainside. It was like he'd heard something, sensed something. There was a change in the air that you couldn't pick up on and he wasn't too pleased with it.
Moments later, a frenzied pounding rattled your front door.
You leapt out of your skin, hand jerking back from Wooyoung's split lip. “Christ.”
“Yn, it's Felix! Can you get the door? It's freezing out ‘ere!”
Your eyes shot open and you cursed. “How could I forget?” you whispered to yourself. The memory must have slipped your mind in all of that chaos. You set the used cotton pad on the lid of the box, standing up to get the door. “Don't worry, Wooyoung,” you said to him from over your shoulder, “Felix will be discreet about this. I invited him over earlier because I was… I was feeling anxious.”
You didn't hear if Wooyoung answered, but you thought you heard him grunt in acknowledgment.
After a quick peek through the peephole, your fingers deftly undid the locks on the front door. A shivering Felix bumbled in through the doorway, hands jammed into his pockets and face practically hidden in the collar of his jacket. His nose and cheekbones were already bitten red from the cold. As mentioned, he had a bag slung over his shoulder with anything he needed, as well as a hunting rifle that rivaled your own.
“Thanks,” he said with one, last violent shiver. “Sheesh, it's cold out. It wasn't even this cold earlier; I swear it's like a gust from the Arctic Circle just arrived.” Felix's smile turned into something confused as he lifted his gaze and made eye contact with Wooyoung on the couch. He instinctively took a step backward. “What a surprise—woah. Are you alright, man?”
You tugged at the collar of Felix's coat. “Here, give me this so I can hang it up.” Your eyes flickered between one man and the other, hesitating. “It's” —you bit your tongue— “complicated.”
“Ah.” Your friend didn't need you to say anything else.
You tucked Felix's coat into the closet by the door before returning to Wooyoung's side. His jaw was clenched, you noticed, and he was eyeing Felix with the resolve of a wounded animal—no, not a wounded animal. It was something far more calculating.
You didn't want to label it. “I know I said I'd give you my aunt and uncle's room, Lix, but I hope you'll understand if I let Wooyoung stay in there tonight.”
Felix nodded readily, lowering himself onto the couch across from you and setting his backpack on the floor by his feet. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “I completely understand.”
“I'm not intruding, am I?” were Wooyoung's first words since Felix arrived. He didn't need to physically gesture between you and Felix for you to understand.
“No, no,” Felix replied with a shake of his head. “Yn's been having some issues—well, I'm just concerned for her safety, is all. So I was going to at least stay the night.”
Wooyoung's eyes shifted back to you, a crease forming between his brows. “Are you in danger? Why would he be concerned for your safety?”
You licked your lip, sharing a glance with Felix. He only shrugged at you helplessly. This would be your decision, whether you wanted to tell Wooyoung about the troubles plaguing you recently. But there was a feeling prodding at the back of your mind.
It made you stop and think about it for a few moments longer. Maybe it wasn't something you should tell him, at least not tonight.
“It's nothing for you to worry about,” you reassured him. You stood and collected the medical supplies into their box. “I think you should get some rest now. Let me help you into my aunt and uncle's room.” You inclined your chin down a small hallway to your right. “It's just down that way.”
Wooyoung gladly let you sling his good arm over your shoulders again, and used you as a crutch to get down the hall. Every small movement was followed by a labored breath or a barely-audible hiss. It became a reminder of everything Wooyoung divulged to you earlier.
You helped him to settle onto the edge of the made-bed.
“I'll grab you the bandages and things so you can dress your ribs and leg,” you told him. You raised your pointer finger as a thought came to you. “Oh, and an ice pack or two. Are you sure I can't help you with any of your other injuries?”
Wooyoung smiled up at you, a sheepish, little thing. “You’ve already been so generous, Yn. I'll be okay.”
You nodded, then promised to be quick.
In a few minutes, you had set Wooyoung up with an abundance of supplies so he never had to get out of bed if he didn't have to. The bedside table was covered in an array of bandages, ointment, painkiller pills, and water. There were a couple bags of frozen vegetables there, as well, for him to prop under his ankle and to press against the bruises on his face.
You lingered in the room for a second, uncertain why you felt awkward in your own cabin. He kept his eyes on you most of the time without speaking as much. You chalked it up to his exhaustion.
“Well,” you drawled by the door, hand over the knob, “I'll just be down the hall if you need anything—and Felix is in the main room, too. I'm sure you'd like some alone time.”
“Wait.” He stopped you from closing the door completely. “Could you leave it open?”
You considered him again, tense shoulders softening. “Of course,” you said quietly. “Good night, Wooyoung.”
He shot you a smile. “Good night, Yn.”
You lifted your hand from the door and disappeared down the hallway, out of his sight. As you entered into the main room again, you found Felix lingering by the mantle, his gaze buried far within the burning embers in the hearth.
“Read any prophecies in there?” you murmured in jest, leaning against the opposite side of the mantle from him.
He spared a grin. “Very funny,” he said in his low voice. He cleared his throat, his expression suddenly sobering. “So what did I miss?”
You pursed your lips and glanced down the hall in the direction of Wooyoung's room. “He was running from home,” you told him. “He stepped on my tripwire and I was alerted to it. I thought it could've been something or someone else, but I heard him screaming out for help. When I looked out, I saw that he was being chased by something.”
Felix's brows twisted in concern. “Could you see it?”
“No.” You paused, then amended, “I saw a pair of eyes. My cabin lights must have reflected off them or something, because they looked like they were glowing.” You shook your head in disbelief. It must have been a trick of the light.
“Well, shit.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
Your friend carded a hand through his blond hair. “We’re both probably super tired and I don't think it's safe right now to go tend to the traps, even together. I'll just be vigilant.”
You sent him a look. “Don't lose sleep on my account, Felix.”
“That's why I'm here, isn't it? To make sure nothing happens.” He flashed you a grin that was far too upbeat for a situation like this. “And I can't exactly do that if I'm snoozing.”
He had a point, but it didn't mean you had to like it. You'd survived this long; you could survive one more night, right?
“Oh, by the way,” Felix piped up while clearing his throat, “where are the birds from earlier?”
The birds? “They're in my room. I had to move them there because they kept on alerting even when Wooyoung and I were safe in the cabin.”
A pensiveness possessed your counterpart's face. “Huh. They were able to sense danger even from all the way in here?”
You gave a half-hearted shrug of your shoulder, but nodded nonetheless. “They were going berserk. Y'know, they could probably see through the back window,” you said, inclining your chin in that direction. Felix followed your gaze. “He came from that direction anyway.”
There was a long beat of silence.
Felix's voice seemed to drop off a cliff in volume. “Yn, no one lives out there in that direction. It's just forest for miles and miles.”
That thought sank in.
“Are you sure he came from that direction?”
Your eyes flitted down the hall, then back to Felix. “I'm sure,” you whispered. “I know what I saw, and I know what he told me. He was running for his life, Felix—you saw the damage.” You flung your arm out in the direction of where you'd left Wooyoung; you wouldn't be able to unsee those bruises and the vulnerable sheen in his eyes ever.
He seemed hesitant to agree, but eventually, he bobbed his head. “Alright,” he relented. “It could make sense if he came from the direction of the road and got lost, then somehow ended up on this side.”
“Right,” you chimed in.
Even if your own brain was actively poking holes in this theory, there was still rationality to it.
Wooyoung was an experienced hunter and likely knew a lot of the woods around his home, but it was dark and he was in distress. Humans weren't known for their ability to move in straight lines, and that wasn't about to change while they were running for their lives.
(Felix's hesitation nestled itself deep in your brain, though. After what you knew about Wooyoung, you wanted to believe him. It could have just been fate that brought him to your door.)
You kept your gaze on the floor, arms folded loosely across your chest. “Why does this kind of feel like I've been offered another sacrificial lamb?” you thought aloud. It was a morbid kind of musing, but in times like these… One of your hands came up to unconsciously rub the nape of your neck. Why were your hairs standing on end?
Felix's mouth was set in a line. “Maybe the pattern you think you see actually is a pattern.”
The hearth was ash and the main room was dark when “the wolf” emerged. It had been a few hours since the fire died out and the human boy fell asleep. One did not need supernatural hearing to know that his breathing had fallen into a shallow, steady rhythm characteristic of sleep.
While the entire cabin slept, including you and the birds in your bedroom, “the wolf” remained awake.
The silver pill he'd swallowed down earlier had been a nightmare to deal with. As it ran its course through his bloodstream, he'd been practically chained to that bed, sweat matting the hair against his forehead and dripping down to the mattress beneath him.
The room he was given smelled only slightly like you. It was enough to drive him mad, having you only a thin wall away when you were so close to him earlier. He could recall the smell of your skin, the shared space of your intermingling breaths. Your compliment of his eyes rang clear as bells in his ears.
It almost drowned out the deafening rage that accompanied the conversation that you and the human boy shared.
Felix was his name, wasn't it?
Despite “the wolf's” success, it shattered as soon as Felix arrived.
“The wolf” could move without disturbing even the dust in the air. It was an important skill for hunting. He loomed over the back of the couch that cradled the sleeping human—your so-called guardian.
How pathetic.
He wrestled down the growl trapped in his throat. The root of his problems now manifested in this creature. “The wolf” glared down at Felix's sleeping form, watching his nose twitch.
Wolves eat chickens, “the wolf” mused lightly to himself.
He gripped onto the backing of the couch to steady himself as a wave of silver-induced nausea swept through him. The silver kept his natural regeneration and strength from kicking in. He knew you weren't yet ready for his true identity and purpose, but once you understood all that he had done for you, it wouldn't be hard to convince you he was your perfect match. That he was your perfect mate.
When the nausea passed, he considered the human beneath him in a slightly new light. Tonight would be the last time Felix would ever come between the two of you.
If there was anything good to come from this situation, it was putting a human in his place.
five. what was never just a wolf
You decided that Wooyoung was to remain at your cabin until he fully recovered. Even after sleeping on what you and Felix discussed, it didn't change your immense sympathy for the man. How could one forget horrible things that have happened, especially when they were so blatant?
The next morning, you fixed up a quick breakfast for the household before getting dressed to head out. Felix was also up-and-at-em, blinking the sleep away as he stood over the coffee pot to pour himself something bitter and dark. He did end up falling asleep last night; you didn't blame him, and all three of you were perfectly fine.
Whether the perpetrator had left something at your door yet though would be another thing to check for.
You announced your arrival to Wooyoung with a light knock on the doorframe.
He was seated upright in bed—not for lack of struggle, of course—a mug of piping hot coffee cradled in his hands. He peered up at you quietly, and in the morning light, he almost seemed docile. The coloring on his face and neck were still angry purples, but the swelling was nowhere near as bad as it was last night.
“Hey,” you greeted him quietly with a small smile.
He reciprocated the expression, nodding his head. “Hey. Thanks for the breakfast and for letting me stay.”
“No worries.” You stepped into the room and looked for where he'd put the box of medical supplies. It was left in the corner of the room closest to you, on the far side of the nightstand. Huh. It was a rather inconvenient place to have it if he couldn't move very well.
You picked it up by the corner and brought it with you to the bed. Settling on the edge, you said to him, “Could I help clean and redress anything before I head out?”
Something flickered across his face. “You're leaving?”
“Only for a couple hours,” you assured him. “Felix and I were going to put out some traps, but we'll be as quick as we can, and we'll be close by.” You examined the injuries on his face more now that you were closer. “The bruises look a bit better,” you said. “The swelling went down a lot last night, which is good.”
“They just needed some tender love and care,” he chuckled.
You let out a small laugh. “More like a good night's sleep,” you mused.
There was something needling at the back of your head. You were forgetting something.
“Oh!” You snapped your fingers together as it came back to you. “I have an extra radio to give you. You can use it if you need to get in contact with me.”
With hurried steps, you shot out of the room and down the hall, nearly sliding into Felix as you did so.
This morning when you and Felix finalized your plan, you'd dug out an extra walkie talkie from your aunt and uncle's electronics box. It worked well after you plugged in a fresh pair of batteries. At least with the radio, Wooyoung could still have a way of getting in touch with you if the phone lines were down.
“Ready to go yet?” Felix asked just before you turned on your heel.
“Yeah! Just a sec.”
You returned to Wooyoung's room with the walkie talkie in hand, and extended the device to him. “Here you go. Have you used one of these before?”
Wooyoung set his coffee down and fiddled with the switches. “Once or twice.”
“It's pretty easy once you get the hang of it,” you said. You tapped your finger against the side of the device. “This is the talk button; hold down on it while you talk, but you have to release it in order to hear the other people on the line. The volume buttons are here—then this is the dial to change the frequency, but it should already be in tune with mine and Felix's.”
He glanced up at the latter mention. “It contacts both of you?”
You nodded, propping your hands on your hips. “We're all on the same frequency; it's just easier that way.”
“Oh,” he replied, attention wandering back to the walkie talkie as he bobbed his head in understanding.
“Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do for you before we go?”
Wooyoung met your eyes once more. “No, thanks. Stay warm out there.”
“I'll try,” you chuckled. Satisfied, you left Wooyoung to his devices and went to get Felix.
Bundled up in a warm hunter's jacket, scarf and gloves, you led Felix out to the garage where you'd stashed all of the leftover traps that hadn't been put out yet. Your aunt and uncle liked to use the garage as a miniature workshop, fitted with conventional tools and all of their ammo and weaponry. You slung a crossbow and quiver over your shoulder, and attached an ax to your belt. The cabin was in desperate need of firewood.
Felix equipped himself with his hunting rifle and fresh ammo, then grabbed the box of traps to rig. Both of you brought along your respective walkie talkies; the forest was much less intimidating in soft sunlight, and splitting up to get the job done faster was an enticing endeavor.
As you made the trek through the fresh snow toward the back of the house, you lifted your gaze far out in the direction you'd seen the glowing eyes last night. From your position, the only thing that could be seen were miles upon miles of trees.
“Hey, look” —Felix inclined his chin toward the back porch— “it's empty.”
You followed his gaze, and sure enough, there were no dead animals, and no injured ones either. You released a breath. “I don't wanna get too excited,” you murmured back in response, “they've been delivered later in the day before.”
Felix frowned. “Oh.”
“I appreciate it though.” You nudged his side with your elbow. Truly, you needed some optimism at this point.
You resumed the walk into the woods, stepping over invisible lines and checking that the traps you'd set last night hadn't been triggered.
They were all untouched, it seemed.
“He ran from this way,” you said suddenly, raising your arm in alignment with the path you remembered Wooyoung had run. “There aren't any tracks—it must have snowed sometime last night.”
Felix hummed. “Interesting. There really aren't any properties out that way, Yn, at least that I know of.”
You weren't quite sure what to do with that information. It could've still been as you hypothesized last night: Wooyoung had veered off course due to his own human nature and fear.
At this point in your hike, Felix set down the box of traps to pick out a couple to set up in this area. You were going to take the few left in the box out north; once you'd emptied the box, you could at least use it to collect small pieces of firewood.
“Radio me if you need anything!” you called to him over your shoulder as you departed.
He waved to you with a sunny grin. “And if I need to bother you?”
You only laughed in response.
Snow crunched beneath the soles of your heavy boots, leaving footprints in the hills of white. Though it was rather quiet out here, the sound of birds trilling and chirping echoed from nearby. You'd nearly forgotten why you were out rigging traps around your property.
For the first time in weeks, the peace you felt while being in these woods returned.
A sigh flew from your mouth in visible smoke. This situation was taking too much out of you. Any ounce of relaxation seeped out of your body, replacing itself with skittishness and anxiety.
You were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But it never seemed to come.
Half an hour later, you were crouched by the base of a tree about a mile out from the spot you originated from.
Three down, one to go, you thought to yourself as you straightened from your position. The knees of your pants were cold with a wet spot from the snow, and you brushed any remaining bits off your clothes.
You brushed a bead of sweat from your forehand with the back of your hand. Once you were done with this last one, you could start making your way back in Felix's direction.
Chrr-click!
“Shit.” You definitely skipped a heartbeat there. You snatched the walkie talkie from your waistband just as Felix's voice travelled through.
“Hey Yn, I just finished my set. Over.”
You lifted the radio to your mouth. “I'm almost done, too. Over.”
“I might head for a walk in the direction you were interested in. I probably won't walk for long, but if I do end up being gone longer, I'll radio you.”
The direction you were interested in? Right, Felix knew that Wooyoung was on this line, too. The organ in your chest gave a kick. Why did this feel treacherous? “Copy that,” you replied. “Let me know if you see anything, Lix. Just be careful. Over.”
The device clicked once more with Felix telling you the same before you were hooking the walkie talkie back into place.
You finished rigging the last trap in a couple minutes, and soon, you were hiking back in the direction of the cabin in search of firewood. There was a part of you that wondered if you should check on Wooyoung. But the other part of you didn't wish to bother him.
He was fine, you assured yourself. He was probably asleep—sleep was good for his injuries, after all. It was best not to disturb him.
The walkie talkie chirped again.
“Yn, where are you?”
You felt your brows twist together in confusion as you yanked the device up to your mouth. “Headed your way. How far out are you? Also, why—’s something wrong? Over.”
Felix's breath came through in light pants as if he had been jogging. You could hear the awe in his voice. “No, nothing's wrong, per se. I just didn't realise there was a lake out here. Did you know there was a lake out here? Over!”
In your memories somewhere, you fished out the vague scene of a body of water, frozen over. There had been a couple of boating accidents in the spring following your first and only trip out there—your parents were far too worried to let your aunt and uncle take you there ever again.
You'd completely forgotten about it.
A skip in your step launched you in that direction with giddy speed. “It slipped my mind,” you admitted. “But I think I know where it is. I'll meet you there—over.”
“Roger that. You know, it's strange.”
“What's strange?”
“I get that feeling you described before—that someone's watching you.” You heard him chuckle again. “It's kind of un—”
The line broke so abruptly, you nearly skidded to a halt.
Your eyes went wide as you smashed the “talk” button. “Felix? Felix, do you read me?”
No answer.
“Felix. Felix, are you still there?”
Panic began to rocket up your throat with every passing moment of radio silence. You dropped the box in your hands and took off in the direction of the lake.
You grabbed the axe at your side and ran with it gripped tightly in your hand, letting its heft launch you forward. Blood thundered in your ears as you bolted through the forest. Even with the snow a couple inches deep, you had to keep your feet moving, had to get there fast. Every single bad scenario in your mind projected itself before you like a Nightmare's Greatest Hits marathon.
The crossbow at your back clattered with its weight, and you stripped it off without a single thought. It was one less thing to weigh you down.
You tried the radio again, its chirping an empty sound next to your ragged breaths. “FELIX! Felix, answer me!”
With each silent second that passed, your heart dropped further into your stomach.
At last, the wide, frozen body of the lake appeared through the curtain of trees. It was a solid gray mass lying still in the winter landscape. Just looking at it made a cold chill pinball down your spine.
You skidded down the embankment, eyes widening and noting the other pair of tracks that led to the edge of the lake.
But the blood was something you could not miss.
Scarlet stained the white snow by the frozen shoreline where Felix's footprints ended. Drops of blood trailed out onto the middle of the lake before disappearing completely. Like he'd been snatched straight out of reality.
“Felix!” your voice carried across the lake. Your head swiveled in search of any life. Not even his hunting rifle was visible.
Fear coursed through you, pure and unfiltered.
Where had he gone? There weren't any other footprints here, so what happened?
Your lungs scorched as you cupped your hands around your mouth and screamed, “FELIX!”
Something banged up against the ice—beneath you.
Your feet jolted into action as a blurry mass hit against the ice again. It was… it was a hand.
“Oh my god,” you croaked. “Oh my god!”
Felix's blond hair fluttered out around his head as his face contorted in an inaudible scream. Bubbles flew from his mouth, hand banging up against the ice. His eyes were wide, movements frenzied.
“Felix, oh fuck,” you cried. You lifted the axe in your hands over your head. “Fuck—just hold on!”
The axe crashed down against the ice.
Hit after hit after hit—seconds passed. Then a minute.
Tears streamed down your face now, your hands sweaty and raw from your axing. Shards of splintered ice flew into the air, some slicing into your flesh to leave angry, bloody gashes in their wake.
But the ice was too thick, your axe far too weak. The dent you'd formed wasn't enough.
Felix's hand continued to bang up against the ice. You kept your own eyes pinned to his pleading expression, features contorted as if he was crying.
You could save him you could save him you could save him YOU COULD SAVE HIM—
His eyes rolled back.
A cry slipped from your throat, raw and guttural. Adrenaline bullied its way through your system as you brought the axe down like a strike of lightning.
He choked on a lung full of water.
(Fear, you knew. Fear would be the last thing he felt, and you would be the last thing he saw.)
“No!” Your vision watered as his hand fell away from the ice. “Nononono—”
The axe clattered to the frozen lake, and pain shot up your legs as your knees slammed against the ice beneath you. You pummeled your fist against it in a delusional attempt to keep fighting.
You kept punching, scraping, clawing at it until your knuckles were split open, until your nail beds tore, until your blood spilled over the ice to join the last bits of life Felix left.
The reality of it wasn't just hitting—it slammed into you. Your entire body trembled as you hunched over the pathetic divot you made in the ice.
All of your energy was spent; and yet, in the back of your mind, you could feel that someone else was there.
But it didn't matter.
You couldn't save him.
They said it was a freak accident.
You thought different—knew different. The last remnants of Felix's voice echoed in your ears like a goddamn church bell; every time you closed your fucking eyes, he was there, banging up against the ice, scared.
He didn't deserve to die scared. He didn't deserve to die.
There was a hole in the ice found on the surface of the frozen lake. His walkie talkie and hunting rifle were abandoned in nearby shrubbery. No one could tell you what really happened.
Your eyes stared into the fire flickering in your hearth, but you weren't truly looking. Anything to not feel the chill of the ice between your fingertips anymore.
What are his parents going to say? you wondered horribly. You wondered if they would blame you—in a way, you hoped they did. You would, too. After all, the whole reason he was remotely close to that lake was because of you.
“Can't sleep again?”
Your entire body jerked.
And then there was Wooyoung.
Something had shifted, not only in you, but in your newest house guest, after Felix's death. You didn't want to confront it, but when it didn't dissipate after the first day, you weren't sure what to think.
His mood was… lifted. Easygoing. His ankle healed magically, and he could walk around the house without limping. There was constant energy behind his facial features—no solemnity or dread. He didn't mention Felix, never uttered his name.
You liked to believe it was out of respect for you, but deep in your chest, you could feel the vine begin to tighten.
“No,” you rasped, clearing your throat of the hoarseness trapped there. You brushed your hair out of your face as you turned back to the fire, letting its warmth curl over you.
You felt the couch dip beside you. “I'm sorry to hear that.”
The two of you sat by the crackling fire with nothing to say. Your hands, wrapped up in your own biodegradable bandages, clasped one another in your lap, willing the trembling to go away.
“Can I tell you a story? To help you fall asleep?”
His words drew your attention back to him. They were the first normal sign of human comfort he'd exhibited thus far, but when you looked at him, the firelight reflecting across his face was far from comforting.
You decided it was something about his eyes. Beautiful, but terrifyingly sharp. It wasn't that beautiful things weren't allowed to hurt, but there was a glint in his irises that scraped at your skin.
He took your silence and your staring as a sign. His lips curled into a smile. (When had his busted lip healed over? How had the purple gone to sallow yellow to normal skin so quickly?) “Maybe you should lie down,” he said softly, voice curling into your ear, a cat crooning. His hand cupped the side of your face and gently guided you to lean on his shoulder.
His fingers danced among the strands of small hairs by your ear. They were warm, but rough at the pads. Your body remained stiff as a board, but you let your eyes flutter shut in an attempt to relax.
Wooyoung’s hand continued to pet the side of your head. “My brothers and I were adopted together by a woman we called our den mother. Every night, without fail, she would tuck us into bed and tell us the origins of a creature called the werewolf.”
Werewolves? How fitting, you thought. After everything that happened, you'd forgotten that this town was infested with rogue wolves.
“The werewolf was a creature trapped between two forms—man and wolf,” he continued. “Upon the full moon, wolves newly born to their dual forms shed their human skin for the body of a wolf. By morning, they would have no recollection of what transpired.
“They said that werewolves were bloodthirsty, carnal creatures, ruled by their basest needs and desires. Their teeth were as sharp as knives for a reason. They were more animal than they were man.” His fingers paused on the side of your head, before picking a lock to twirl around his index. “But what man did not know was that the werewolves were conscious and intelligent; they were imbued with divine purpose.”
Though his storytelling wasn't conventional, you clung onto every word. Your hand gripped the fabric of your pajama pants, eyes remaining shut.
Wooyoung's nose nudged the side of your head. “Though their bodies were a curse, their abilities could be used to find their blessings. The universe tends toward balance, after all.”
“A blessing?” the two words slipped from your lips, barely audible.
But doubtlessly, he heard it. You couldn't see the very wide smile on his face at your interest. “Yes, sweet girl, a blessing,” he said, brightened. “Each soul, born to the body of a werewolf, was given one divine mate. A soul that made theirs whole; a soul made exclusively, mutually, for each other.”
The organ occupying your chest gave a hard thump against your bones.
“And it was the werewolf's divine duty,” he murmured against your hair, “to find this soulmate and do everything in his power to have her.”
Your heart throttled in its cage and your eyes flew open. All feeling bled from your fingers again; they were as numb as the moment you watched Felix die.
Because of you. He died because of you.
You lifted your head from Wooyoung's shoulder, ignoring the burn of his gaze and the way his fingers curled into your hair like he was going to root you in place if he had to. “I—I think I've actually become quite tired,” you stammered, knees shaking as you stood.
“Yn—”
“Thanks, Wooyoung.” You flashed him a smile that would convince no one, but it faltered when you caught the look on his face.
Maybe it was the angle of his body positioned against the fire, but a dark shadow had fallen across him. His features were unreadable again—no, just unfeeling. Calculating. You couldn't ignore it this time, nor could you ignore the near-painful spike of fear that pierced your chest.
That glint, that flash of steel in his eyes—you should have known by now what light reflecting off the edge of a blade looked like.
It took everything in you not to run.
six. there's something out there in here
You didn't sleep a wink. The nerves in your body remained taut and uncomforted, fueled by the presence of your house guest. You waited in your bedroom for the feeble rays of winter sun to lift night from the sky. As soon as the dark sapphire lightened to a shade of frozen ice, you got dressed.
It gave you too much time to think and mull over everything that had happened recently.
The rational side of you couldn't put stock behind Wooyoung's supposed bedtime story. And the rational side of you also knew that one didn't have to be a fucking werewolf to pull off any of the messed up shit you'd endured the past few weeks.
Right?
Nonetheless, the five injured birds you kept harbored away in your room were to be freed today—fully recovered or not. They needed to get out. You didn't know why the urge suddenly consumed you like wildfire, but you would set them free before something prevented you from doing so.
The birds sat together in their makeshift nest, chirping up at you as you slipped out of your room and into the hallway.
You swiveled your head—left to right—marking no presence of your house guest. The other bedroom door was ajar as it always was, but you knew he didn't need it to be able to get around without a sound.
(You should have known something was wrong when you suddenly felt that the eyes were in your house, too.)
“Don't start yelling—I mean it,” you chided all of your birds as you continued out into the main room. They seemed to still at once, as if sensing that they had left the safe haven of your bedroom. You could relate; a tingling sensation cascaded down your body from your shoulders, down your spine, and curling in your toes.
The main room was dark, but you could smell the distinct char and bitterness of roasted coffee beans from the kitchen.
“Sleep well?” asked Wooyoung from where he stood behind the coffee maker, arms crossed over his chest, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
“Uhm yeah—yes—”
The birds started their symphony.
You jerked as they each bellowed their individual calls, beady eyes transfixed upon the man who stood in your kitchen, across the room from you. It wasn't a trick of your eyes or ears when you witnessed Wooyoung narrow his gaze and pull his lips back in a snarl.
A dull thunk sounded from the couch's end table—you didn't know how you noticed it.
“What the hell?”
The tripwire had just been triggered again. There was absolutely no time to fully digest everything that was happening. There were too many things happening.
You could deal with the birds later, you decided. Them and you were all on the same page about your house guest, but there was something out there trying to steal away your attention.
“Wait here,” you voiced out instinctively, marching over to grab the rifle leaning against the couch. You didn't wait to hear Wooyoung's response over the sound of the birds.
The back door slammed shut behind you, wooden slabs rattling against its wooden frame. The cold bit your cheeks as you cocked the rifle. Your boots sank into the snow and you stalked along the first rows of trees around the perimeter of your home.
It could be that regular wildlife just happened to set it off this morning. That would be the best case scenario.
Then what's the worst case? you asked yourself, keeping the rifle level with your eye, finger wrapped around the trigger.
You didn't want to admit that Wooyoung's story from last night flashed through your mind. It was only a children's bedtime story; it wasn't real.
It couldn't possibly be…
In the stagnant winter morning, not a soul could be heard. Only your fears and your breath kept you company as you weaved yourself through the trees.
You made sure to check any traps you came across, your heart pounding in your chest with each empty one you found. Whatever it was, it tripped the wire, didn't get trapped, and showed no signs of being around anymore.
(You knew someone like that.)
You had almost made a complete circle around the property when something blurred past in your periphery.
You whirled, muzzle aimed in the direction in question.
Ba-bump, ba-bump, went your heartbeat echoing in your ears. Ba-bump, ba-bump.
The bark of a tree dug into your arm as you held position for another minute, and then another.
Until finally, in the distance, you watched in thinly veiled horror as a shadow emerged from between the trees. It was a large, hulking silhouette, black as a winter's night.
You swore to god it took the shape of a massive wolf—until it moved a little. It might have been a wolf. And then it turned its head toward you, and your stomach dropped clear into your chest—definitely not a wolf.
It was gone as quickly as it came. One minute, its yellow eyes, a pair of glowing amber stones, pierced your soul in an all too familiar way; the next, it stepped out of sight, as if it had walked between the folds of the trees to disappear.
Your hands trembled as you brought the rifle down. The wolf—that thing—was certainly still out there. It was a feeling that wouldn't go away, the heavy, phantom weight of an unwanted gaze. You didn't believe you could kill it or hunt it down.
Your next best option was to head back and perhaps call the sheriff. There was a good chance he wouldn't take you seriously again, but you had to try.
Setting a fast pace, you slung the rifle across your body and made your way back to the cabin. Every so often, you would glance over your shoulder expecting to see even the phantom glow of those eyes.
When you let yourself in, you shucked the rifle off and went straight for the landline on the end table.
The rifle butt thudded as you set it down and replaced it in your hand with the phone.
Your finger stopped while going toward the dial.
Why was it so damn quiet?
Your eyes scanned the room first for Wooyoung. He was (arguably) the easiest to spot. He was nowhere to be found, but your makeshift nest of birds sat on the kitchen counter by an untouched pot of coffee.
You set the phone down and stepped over to the nest. Dread began to seep into your bloodstream, a ship with a leak in its hull, slowly filling with seawater.
Bile lurched up your throat at what you saw.
There was far too much blood everywhere for such small creatures. There was too much meat, tendon, and bone showing; too much for any of it to be considered remotely humane.
They were dead. Every last one of them.
Wooyoung was not in the house. He had left sometime during the night or early morning when you were locked up in your room, “sleeping.” He left without a sound, without a trace.
The only way you knew he'd left was because you looked.
Your heart thundered in your chest and you feared it was so loud, it might start echoing within the silent cabin. You grabbed a handful of clothing from the dresser to throw into your bag. There was little time to lose—you didn't know when or if Wooyoung would be back, where he had gone. For all you knew, he could have walked down the road and was on his way back now.
You buried the birds in the forest a few minutes’ walk from your back porch. Cleaning the blood from the basket and the wooden table had been misery-inducing. Your hands wouldn't stop shaking.
You’d cleaned animal remains before, but you had never seen it done like this—their tiny throats removed, like a pair of fingers had torn them out by the vocal cords. Their dark, beady eyes stared up at you as soulless glass.
He'd smiled at you when he walked into the main room. I thought you'd like some peace and quiet, was what he said. There had been something dark reddish-brown staining the bed beneath Wooyoung's fingernails. His disposition had grown even lighter in the absence of all the noise.
That was the moment you decided to run at the first opportunity.
There wasn't much for you to pack, despite the original intent to housesit for a month. Everything could be replaced in due time; nothing was worth lingering here any longer than you needed to.
You yanked the zipper closed and slung the strap over your shoulder.
In the living room, you found the hunting rifle leaning against the couch as it always did. You picked it up and checked the cartridge, scrambling onto the floor to find where you'd discarded that box of ammo all those nights ago.
With ammo, gun, and bag in your possession, you practically launched yourself toward the front door.
Your breath came out in sharp, white puffs in front of your face as the winter air snapped its cold fangs at you. You hobbled through the snow to your car in the driveway, praying to any being watching over you that this would be a smooth drive down the mountain. There hadn't been a terrible amount of snowfall lately; if anything, any powder on the ground was now old, sludgy ice.
But as you reached your car door, you patted down the pockets of your jacket, your pants, your bag—
“Shit,” you muttered, abandoning your bag on the hood and jogging yourself back into the cabin.
Your keys. How could you forget your fucking keys?
You cursed yourself all the way back up the porch steps and while shouldering into the cabin. The keys were not on the counter by the front door, nor were they on the kitchen island, or the end table by the couch, or on your desk in your bedroom.
The longer you went without finding these damn keys, the stronger your heart palpitations became. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
You could feel your extremities numb and quake as you strapped the gun across your back, so you could rifle through the kitchen drawers with both hands.
The entire drawer of silverware clanked together as your hands jerked with the rest of your body, head whipping up far too fast to be normal. Every fiber of your being stood on edge.
How had he opened the door without so much as a peep?
Wooyoung stood across the main room from you at the back door, one arm crossed over his chest while the other dangled your car keys from his fingers. You didn't notice any visible weapons on him, only the unsettling amount of blood smeared across his cheeks and hands and torso. There was a luxurious fur coat hanging from his shoulders, and while he wore a pair of pants, his chest was bare. Slashes of white scarred the toned lines of his chest—you didn't want to know what those were from.
“Yes, I was actually,” you said, somehow managing to keep the obvious shaking out of your voice. Your hand went straight to your rifle. “Can I please have them? I was going to go into town to—”
“You don't need to lie to me,” he said. A smile played upon his lips, but it wasn't the good kind. There was something amused about it, as if he found it entertaining that you would even try. “You can have them back.”
Relief was still out of reach. It couldn't be that easy. “Really?”
Wooyoung shrugged. “Sure, sweets. I'd give my mate anything she wanted.”
The terminology made your freeze as dread coiled itself around your ribcage and squeezed.
“As long as,” he added airily, lifting his other hand to give his bloodied nails a cursory glance over, “you can tell me you won't be leaving town. I'd really hate to take something as important away as your car, Yn.”
He raised his eyes to meet yours again. “Or any ability to leave at all, in fact.”
You swallowed. “I just want to go home,” you said quietly, hand tightening around the rifle body. You shifted the weapon in front of you, like doing so could shield you from him, could warn him from getting any closer.
“You are home though.” His lips pursed into a pout, eyebrows creasing together. “Well,” he paused, the innocent expression fading away, “not yet, at least. We've got a bit of a walk, but we're practically there. I'm ready to go whenever you are.”
What? “I'm not” —you bit your tongue before the words could slip out.
“You're not what?” Wooyoung's head tilted to the side, that predatory gleam returning to his eyes. “Didn't you want to stay here forever? Live out the rest of your life in this idyllic, secluded place? You said you liked it here.”
Those were your words to him when you first met. He had taken them literally.
“And you know, I did everything I could to prove I would be a perfect mate for you,” he continued on, pushing off the door and beginning to take slow, stalking steps forward. “When you came back for that deer we hunted together, I found you another to eat—and when that man and woman took the body from you, I punished them for stealing what was yours.”
Oh god. The Hawkins's…
“I apologize for not realizing you liked the smaller animals better, but I fixed it! I paid attention. I got you what you liked.” Wooyoung stood halfway across the living room now, arms spread wide in gesture to his generous actions.
Your lungs weren't working. Something horrid crawled up your throat, bitter and acrid and terrible. “Oh my god,” you croaked. A hand came up to cover your mouth. “Oh my god, that was you.”
“Yes, it was,” he said firmly. “You understand, don't you? I told you the other night. I even waited until there would be absolutely nothing obstructing our relationship.”
The other night? He meant the story about the werewolves and their supposed, fated soulmates, then. And as for any obstructions… Oh, god you were going to be sick.
When you could only continue to stare at him, his expression fell into that blank slate again. “Joong said this might be hard, but I always pegged you as smart, Yn.”
“Tell me you didn't do it.”
You knew the answer—it was as certain as if it had been clawed into the ice. If he had done all of that, then there was no question about it. Your voice shook as you said, “Tell me you didn't kill him.”
Wooyoung stared back at you for a long second. “The human boy?” he spat out like it tasted disgusting on his tongue. “I thought we were over this. Why does his death even matter? I did all of it for you—”
A sound expelled from your lungs, something on the verge of tears and a scream. “You killed him for me?”
“Yes! And I would do it again,” he snarled, lip curling over his gums to reveal the point of his canines. “He kept getting in the way—he deserved it, really. You should have heard how pathetic he sounded when I dragged him out onto the ice. I don't understand what you saw in him, Yn.”
“I didn't see him like that,” you exclaimed. Tears watered your vision, lungs seizing in your chest. “He was trying to protect me from you!”
“And some protector he was.” Wooyoung scowled. “If he couldn't even protect himself, he couldn't possibly protect you. But I can.”
Felix died because he lost. He lost in some sick and twisted game he didn't even know he was playing. That wave of grief from before returned tenfold.
“The wolf” eyed you. “Now, it's time for you to take your place where you belong.”
“With you?” you asked, scoffing at the absurdity still.
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed, dropping your keys against the floor. The clattering noise it made nearly had you flinching. He began making long, purposeful strides toward you. “Don't be stubborn—”
You raised the rifle, the cocking mechanism reverberating throughout the cabin. His footsteps faltered. “Stay away from me.”
“I really,” he murmured, movements slowing, “don't think you want to do that.”
“I think I do.” You wrapped your finger around the trigger. “Take one more step and I'll kill you, I swear to fucking god.”
“Yn.” His foot inched forward.
You didn't think, only squeezed the trigger. The shock from the shot vibrated through your entire body, energy traveling from finger, to arm, to chest.
His expression turned downward as if he was disappointed that you'd held true to your word.
BANG! You loaded another bullet and fired it. BANG! BANG! BANG—
He stumbled back from the force before his body collapsed backward onto the wood floor of your living room.
Smoke wafted from the end of the muzzle as you lowered it from your line of sight. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes glued to the body. Something dark, viscous, murky began to seep out from under him where the bullets had flown through: two through the heart, three through the lungs. You'd shot to kill.
You let the butt of the rifle hit the floor as you buried your face in your hands and sucked in about a dozen shuddering breaths.
He was dead.
He had to be dead.
And when you crept over, one small step at a time, his eyes were closed and the bullet holes were unmistakeable.
You pressed your fingers to your mouth and crouched down beside him to pick up your car keys. Don't feel bad, you thought to yourself. He killed Felix. He terrorized you for weeks. He was finally dead.
You stepped around the blood pooling on the ground.
The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, goosebumps raising over your skin. Why did your nerves still feel as taut as a bowstring?
The danger was over, was it not?
You clenched the car keys in your hand and shifted the rifle across your back.
A low growl resonated through the room.
“I told you not to do that.”
Fear had you turning around.
Instinct wasn't fast enough to load your gun again.
A scream tore out of your throat as the creature pounced at you, and the sight that filled your vision—teeth, jaw, fur, and eyes that glared like warning signs—was not a wolf.
It was cold, was the first thing you thought when your conscience came to. Your eyes couldn't open yet, and you could only feel the muffled friction of your body sliding over snow.
It was so cold, you were numb to it. The nerves attending to every junction and crevice of your body had been blocked. A ball of cotton had been shoved into your head; you couldn't breathe quite right. It smelled like a penny—metallic, heady.
One of your legs was dragging along the ground; the other was lifted up in the air, ankle clutched by an unwavering grip to the point that it was numb just like the rest of your body. But something throbbed, distantly. You couldn't pinpoint where it was, only that it pulsed with its own heartbeat.
When your eyes fluttered open, you squinted up at the blinding white sky above your head. The thin, wiry branches of winter trees passed through your frame of vision every so often; and the whistling… there was a soft, muddled whistling somewhere.
“Oh, you're awake.”
Your body couldn't even react to that voice. That voice was supposed to be dead.
You didn't have strength in your neck to lift your head and confirm your fears, but he spoke again anyway. “I really didn't want to hurt you, Yn, but you didn't give me much choice. Bullets hurt, y'know?”
He chuckled, a sound that might have been warm if you didn't know him. “I forgot to mention that you can't kill me like that,” he said pleasantly. “It was cute that you tried. Your aim was perfect.”
Where are you taking me? you wanted to ask, but couldn't. Your voice was trapped away inside your throat, body too numbed and in pain at the same time. The only thing you could do was let out a little whimper.
“It won't be too long now,” he reassured you. “I think… just a little further…”
His voice dragged out for a couple moments, then stopped when he physically halted.
Your leg was set down onto the snow with its partner, and your blurry view was captured by the face of a man whom you thought you killed. Your pulse began to race as fear and adrenaline were injected into your veins. He was wearing the coat still, but the bullet holes you were certain you saw were nowhere to be found on his torso.
“I killed a bear for this hide,” said Wooyoung while slipping the fur from his shoulders. He draped it over your body, wrapping you in its entirety—a glorified corpse. Your body left the ground as he scooped you into his arms, and was pressed to him, his face in your clear view. “I figured you might be cold where we're going. Joong said it would be a great mating gift.”
Where…? Your mouth moved, but no sound came out. What had he done to you?
“Where?” he repeated after reading your lips. “Home, sweet girl. And don't you worry—”
He turned around and showed you the path from which you came from. Another round of bile crept up your throat. The white snow was marred by a streak of crimson red, undoubtedly your blood. There were remnants of footsteps within the dark sludge, but not enough to truly identify them. The bloody river snaked a path through the forest; you couldn't even see the cabin from here.
He leaned down toward you, nose nudging at your cheek with affection. “—they’ll never find you.”
the end.
Sheriff Lang was at odds with the evidence before him. The evidence told a story—albeit, a vague one—but none of it made much sense.
According to what he was seeing, you were in the kitchen shooting at something or someone in the living room. You'd succeeded, in fact. The only issue was there was no body, and there were no indications that you or anybody else could have dragged it away. It was simply a puddle of blood.
Rifle shells were scattered over the floor where you had stood. He was slowly trying to piece everything together. None of this pointed to an animal attack; no wild animal was this neat.
(He didn't want to admit that it could've been the other way round: that somebody had been shooting you, and all of that was your life force, seeping into the wooden floors of your relatives’ home. With what you'd told him the other day… It wasn't that he didn't believe you or Felix; he just didn't want to risk it.)
A distraught sign fell from his mouth as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Damn it.”
What was he supposed to tell your aunt and uncle? You had already been missing for a couple days. Mr. Ly had been the one to find the pool of blood in your cabin when he came to check up on you. After the tragic death of your friend Felix Lee, he'd been concerned after you failed to answer your phone several times, only to be met with the smell of iron, death, and dread.
It was all just fucked up.
“Sheriff Lang!”
The sheriff's body reacted before his own brain could. It was prey instinct, recognizing the sound of a predator.
Except—Sheriff Lang raised his head and watched as a tall, young man stepped into the cabin. He was, by all definitions, normal; if a wolf in sheep's clothes could be normal. Outwardly, the man was not threatening. He had a smile that was infectious and a soft kind of laugh he employed to force an air of ease into rather uneasy situations.
He'd shown up in town eight months ago, and that was when all of Sheriff Lang's problems had begun.
He called himself Jeong. “Mr. Jeong,” Sheriff Lang greeted him slowly, eyes scanning the lanky body of his counterpart to clock anything that could be considered a threat. “This is an active crime scene, so I'm afraid you'll have to leave.”
How did he even know where to find him?
Mr. Jeong flashed him an easy smile. “No problem, I only came to say that I'll be leaving soon.”
The sheriff could hardly believe what he was hearing. He couldn't help the twist of disbelief in his eyebrows.
Mr. Jeong laughed. “My superior is very pleased with your cooperation, Sheriff Lang,” he said, that unnerving smile still plastered on his face. “And now that we have what we came for, we will be moving on.”
“Moving on, you say?” What in the world did any of this mean? Eight months ago, he didn't have a pack of rogue wolves terrorizing his town. Eight months ago, there weren't four people dead or missing. Eight months ago… What exactly had he and his party come here for?
A nod. “Yes. Not to worry—you won't be seeing me ever again. You and your family will have nothing to fear, as long as you adhere to our agreement. Your town and your life will return to the way it was before.”
“You mean,” Sheriff Lang deadpanned, “before bodies started dropping dead?”
“Well, yes.” Mr. Jeong smiled again and clapped his counterpart on the shoulder. The sheriff had to try hard not to flinch. “Goodbye, Sheriff Lang.”
“Sheriff!” A deputy poked his head in through the back door, eyes as wide as the moon. “You need to come see this.”
“You should probably follow him,” Mr. Jeong said. He turned on his heel, then walked out of the cabin without another word.
Sheriff Lang heeded the strange man's warnings and went after his deputy, but glanced over his shoulder to ensure Mr. Jeong had really gone away. When he was satisfied, he turned his focus to whatever his officer was calling him about.
They emerged onto the back porch, and the sheriff stopped cold in his tracks.
Well, that seemed to explain some things.
It could only be described as a river of blood. What was once likely pure crimson, was a trail of dark, murky brown-red winding deep into the forest. The path began at the foot of the back porch steps and disappeared between the trees.
Sheriff Lang let out a low swear, and he and his deputy could only follow the trail to find its end.
“There are partial footprints here,” said the deputy, pointing out divots where the snow hadn't been levelled out. There were other, smaller animal prints occasionally, but they were rare; no animal wanted any part of whatever this was.
He felt his stomach tank.
A body. Only something as large and heavy as a body could have made this trail. The body had been dragged for this long.
The two continued onward, carefully picking their way around each wide bend and narrow curve of this wicked path. Whoever this was had to have lost a lot of blood. There was simply no way they were alive now.
About two miles into the woods, the pair were brought to a halt.
Sheriff Lang bristled. “Where the hell is the rest of it?”
“I—I don't know,” stammered the deputy.
“Well, we have to find it! They couldn't have just disappeared into thin air.”
They set off in different directions in search of the conclusion they were missing. But as the minutes bled into hours bled into days, it was clear that there was no conclusion.
The bloody trail ended and there were no more footprints in the snow.
a/n: remember to comment + reblog if u enjoyed ! def not my typical fic genre but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless :)
No one saw it coming — not the quiet girl in the back of the lecture hall, not the loud boy with the bad reputation, and especially not the people watching from the sidelines. But when Wooyoung sits at her library desk one evening, curiosity blooms into something much deeper. What starts with flustered glances and slow conversations soon grows into a soft, genuine love neither of them expected.
Pairing: Wooyoung x Female Reader (Y/N)
Trope(s):Bad boy x shy girl, Unexpected romance, Campus gossip & found love, Friends-to-lovers energy (slow progression into couple), Mutual pining, Protective male lead, Emotional vulnerability, First love energy
Genre: University AU, Romance, Soft angst, Slice of life, Smut, Fluff with depth
Featuring: ATEEZ as side characters / Wooyoung’s friend group, OC Best Friend Jisoo (Reader’s childhood bestie)
Masterlist
Part 1 | Part 2
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Y/N preferred quiet things.
She liked her coffee lukewarm, her playlists instrumental, and her world structured in neat, manageable routines. She didn’t speak much in class unless directly called on, and even then, her voice barely lifted above a whisper. Most people overlooked her—and she preferred it that way.
Crowds made her stomach twist. Eye contact made her skin itch. And guys—especially loud ones—made her want to vanish altogether.
Her friends from high school used to joke that she had “goldfish anxiety.” She startled at everything. A dropped book, someone suddenly calling her name, a stranger brushing her arm by accident. She hated the way her body betrayed her—flinching, retreating, shrinking into herself like she’d trained for it.
But what she lacked in social boldness, she made up for in observation.
She noticed everything.
The way one of her classmates clenched his fist during critiques. The way another always picked at her cuticles when nervous. She read moods, caught subtle glances, and learned to sit in silence while the world revealed itself in body language.
It’s what made her a decent designer. She understood nuance. She caught what most people missed.
That’s probably why she noticed him so quickly.
Jung Wooyoung.
Everyone knew him. Not personally, maybe—but his presence was hard to miss. He always wore black. Chains, rings, heavy boots. Sometimes a beanie pulled low or a leather jacket even when it was warm out. He looked like he belonged in a gritty music video, not a college lecture hall.
People whispered about him constantly.
He’s wild. Unpredictable. Cocky as hell.
Rumor has it he almost got suspended.
Hot, but you’d regret it. That kind of hot.
Y/N never talked to him, never wanted to—but she noticed him anyway. The way he laughed too loudly with his group of equally dramatic friends. The way they moved in a pack, always dressed like they were going to a photoshoot in an alleyway.
Still, she couldn’t help noticing… he didn’t quite match the rumors.
He greeted the cafeteria aunties by name. He once offered his umbrella to a freshman who dropped their sketchpad in the rain. She’d seen him laugh until he bent over double when someone tripped him on accident and apologized like they were about to die.
He was a contradiction. And that unsettled her even more.
So she avoided him—like she avoided most people.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
It was late afternoon when she slipped into her favorite library spot.
Third floor. Back left corner. One large table, always empty. The campus library buzzed with mid-semester energy below, but up here, the silence was perfect. She unpacked her laptop and sketchbook, slid on her noise-canceling headphones (not even connected to anything), and opened her design software.
She had just started adjusting the header text on her zine layout when she heard the sound of boots.
Heavy, confident steps.
Someone was coming up the aisle.
Her breath stilled.
Please just pass by, she thought. Please don’t sit here.
The boots stopped.
Then the chair across from her scraped against the floor.
Y/N’s heart jumped. Her eyes flicked up—
Black hoodie. Black jeans. Silver rings.
Wooyoung.
Of course.
He dropped into the chair across from her like it was the most natural thing in the world and opened a spiral notebook covered in scribbles and highlighter. He didn’t even glance at her.
She immediately looked down again, trying to shrink herself into the glow of her laptop screen.
Of all the tables in the library…
Her fingers hovered uselessly over her trackpad. Every nerve in her body was on high alert. He hadn’t even done anything—but his presence was loud. Confident. Unapologetic.
She felt like a mouse sitting across from a jungle cat.
She peeked up again.
He was leaning back slightly, eyes scanning the page in front of him. His legs were stretched out, one ankle resting over his knee, pen twirling in his fingers. He looked completely at ease.
And nothing like someone dangerous.
Not in the way the rumors said, anyway.
Still, her shoulders stayed tense, heart racing as she tried to work like he wasn’t there—like she wasn’t sharing a table with the most chaotic presence on campus.
She didn’t know it yet, but this was the beginning of everything.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
Y/N didn’t move.
Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, unmoving, while her screen dimmed slightly from inactivity. But she didn’t dare touch the trackpad. Not while he was still sitting there. Right across from her. Like it was his table.
She tried not to glance up again. Tried to focus on the faded guidelines of her zine layout, on the muted color palette she’d been obsessing over all week. But the weight of his presence pressed in at the edges of her attention like static.
Her thumb rubbed nervously over the side of her stylus. Her knee bounced. She adjusted her hoodie sleeve. Twice.
He didn’t even look at her. Just flipped pages in his notebook with casual rhythm, tapping his pen against his boot now and then, humming under his breath.
Then, suddenly—snap!
He shut his notebook with a sharp, absentminded thud.
Y/N flinched. Hard.
She hadn’t meant to—but her whole body reacted before her brain could stop it. The sound echoed too loudly in the still library corner, bouncing off the shelves like a gunshot.
And that’s when it happened.
She looked up.
And he did too.
Their eyes met.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
Huh.
Wooyoung blinked.
He hadn’t realized someone was already sitting at the table.
He’d been too focused on the way his scene breakdown wasn’t flowing, on the caffeine buzz still crawling under his skin, and the quiet up here that made it easier to think.
But now—
There was a girl across from him. Tiny. Frozen. Eyes wide like a deer in headlights.
He didn’t know how long she’d been there, but clearly long enough to be startled by him. She was practically folded into herself, her hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, shoulders hunched up like she was bracing for impact.
Shit. He’d scared her.
Wooyoung leaned back slightly, pen still between his fingers, and looked at her properly.
She had ridiculously long hair—falling in soft waves over her shoulders and down past her ribs. Almost like she was hiding behind it. Her skin looked soft and pale under the dim library lighting. Minimal makeup. No visible piercings. No scent of perfume, just that faint paper-and-pencil smell that always clung to design students.
She looked like she’d disappear if he breathed too loud.
Cute.
He didn’t mean it in the flirty, overdone way. Just… softly cute. Quiet cute. Like watching a wild rabbit eat a leaf on a sidewalk.
“You okay?” he asked, keeping his voice lower this time. Gentler.
She gave a jerky nod. Didn’t say a word.
Wooyoung tilted his head, a little intrigued. He could be loud—was loud, especially around his friends—but he wasn’t a complete idiot. He could read the room.
This girl looked like she might bolt if he smirked the wrong way.
So naturally, he smirked.
“You’re, like, the human version of a whisper,” he said casually, tapping his pen against the table. “Have you always been this quiet, or do I just bring it out of people?”
That earned a reaction.
She blinked rapidly. Opened her mouth. Closed it. A flush began to creep up her neck, blooming fast.
And then—
She flinched again.
Just from his smile.
Wooyoung’s amusement flickered into something else.
Damn. She’s not just shy. She’s shy as hell.
He leaned back, gave her space. Slowed down.
And for once, dialed it back—not because he was afraid to be himself, but because… now he was genuinely curious.
What kind of girl tries that hard to be invisible?
And why does it make him want to look even harder?
Wooyoung had seen every reaction to his presence.
Wide eyes. Nervous laughter. A few blatant stares. Some people tried to flirt, others avoided him completely. He was used to the spectrum of responses that came with having a “reputation.”
But this girl—this silent, twitchy, invisible-as-possible girl—was something else entirely.
She didn’t look scared in the he thinks-he’s-so-cool-but-he’s-actually-annoying way.
She looked scared in the I-don’t-know-how-to-exist-right-now way.
And he wasn’t even doing anything.
He glanced at her again. She was still hunched over her laptop, pretending to work—but her hand was shaking slightly as it adjusted her stylus. She looked like she wanted to melt into the table.
Most people would take the hint and leave her alone.
Wooyoung wasn’t most people.
“You always sit up here?” he asked casually, voice soft but teasing.
Her eyes flicked up. Just for a second. Then back down.
So, yes.
“You’re very territorial,” he added. “You’ve got a whole silent aura thing going on. I felt like I was invading a shrine.”
That got the tiniest twitch of her mouth.
He smirked. Progress.
“I bet your zine designs are all moody and painfully aesthetic,” he continued, gesturing to her laptop. “Muted tones. Serif fonts. Meaningful whitespace.”
Still nothing. But her fingers had stopped shaking.
“You know,” he said after a moment, leaning back in his chair, “you’re kinda hard to read.”
That wasn’t true. Not really. She was easy to read—scared, quiet, unsure—but hard to understand. He was good at reading people. It came with the territory of being the kind of guy people assumed things about.
Her silence wasn’t indifference. It was self-preservation. Like she thought if she breathed wrong, he’d pounce.
And maybe that’s what kept him talking.
He was about to say something else—light, non-threatening, probably a little stupid—when the library door creaked open.
Voices drifted in.
Three students—two guys and a girl—walked in laughing too loudly for the third floor. They didn’t notice him at first.
Until one of them glanced over.
“Shit,” one of the guys muttered, elbowing his friend. “That’s Jung Wooyoung.”
Wooyoung’s ears pricked. He didn’t move.
“Dude, I heard he punched a guy for touching his camera.”
“No, it was for cheating with his ex or something.”
“Nah, you’re thinking of Seonghwa. Wooyoung’s the one who broke a window. Or a nose? One of those.”
They kept walking, their voices fading behind a bookshelf. The girl giggled. “He’s hot, though. Like, dangerous hot.”
The group disappeared, their laughter trailing behind.
Wooyoung exhaled slowly through his nose.
Right. That again.
He glanced at the girl across from him.
She was staring at her screen, but he could tell she’d heard everything.
“They’re full of shit,” he said, voice quiet now. No teasing. “None of that’s true.”
He expected her usual silence. Maybe a nod. A twitch of acknowledgment at best.
Instead, she spoke.
Just one sentence. Barely louder than the rustle of paper.
But her voice was soft. Clear.
“You don’t seem like that kind of guy.”
Wooyoung blinked.
His head tilted slowly toward her. Her eyes were still on her screen, but her fingers had stilled. Her shoulders hadn’t curled in this time.
He let the words hang there for a second longer than necessary.
Then he smiled.
It wasn’t his usual smirk.
It was slower. Quieter.
“…You’re the first person who’s ever said that,” he said quietly.
And something about the way she didn’t look up—but also didn’t take it back—made him want to keep sitting right there.
Just a little longer.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
He kept seeing her.
Not just in the library anymore, but everywhere—always alone, always moving like she was trying not to be noticed. Sometimes walking across the quad with her sketchbook clutched to her chest. Sometimes slipping into the café just before the rush, eyes down and hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Other times she was in the design building, sitting on the floor beside a wall outlet with her laptop open and that hyper-focused look on her face like the whole world was made of pixels and code.
She moved like a ghost. But he couldn’t stop noticing her.
And the weirdest part? She never noticed him back.
Not really.
Not when he passed her in the hall. Not when they stood in line at the same café. Not when he waved—just to see what she’d do—and got nothing but the faintest glance and a nervous blink.
The human whisper, he’d called her.
But maybe that wasn’t fair.
Because her silence wasn’t empty. It said things. Said more than most people’s small talk ever did.
And now that he’d heard her voice—once, just once—he wanted to hear it again.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
“You ever notice this girl?” Wooyoung asked casually, slumping into the bench at their usual campus hangout spot with half a kimbap roll hanging out of his mouth. “Long-ass hair. Walks like a shadow. Hoodie’s always like three sizes too big.”
San blinked at him. “That describes half the student body.”
“She’s got this whole silent genius energy,” Wooyoung added, waving a chopstick. “I saw her in the library a few days ago. She flinched when I breathed too loud. But her design stuff looked clean.”
Hongjoong gave him a look. “Since when do you notice anyone else’s design work?”
“Since she looked like she was coding the Matrix in Adobe Illustrator,” Wooyoung shot back.
Yeosang snorted. “Sounds fake.”
“I’m telling you, she’s like… mystically quiet. Like she’ll either build the next Apple or vanish into a cloud of fog.”
“I think I know who you mean,” Mingi said suddenly, pointing his chopsticks in the air like a lightbulb had gone off. “She’s in my interface theory class. Name’s Y/N. Graphic design major. She’s scary good.”
Wooyoung’s eyes lit up. “Y/N, huh.”
“Yeah,” Mingi went on. “She never talks, though. Not even in group projects. I partnered with her once and she just sent everything over Google Drive with no message. But her stuff? Crazy. Like… UX god-tier.”
“That tracks,” Wooyoung muttered, leaning back with a thoughtful smirk.
The others stared at him.
“What?” San asked suspiciously. “Why are you asking about her?”
Wooyoung just shrugged and stood, stretching lazily. “No reason.”
Mingi raised a brow. “Woo.”
He was already walking away, eyes locked on a figure across the grass.
There she was again. Y/N. Heading toward the design building with her backpack low on her shoulders and a thermos tucked under one arm. Her long hair flowed down her back like a curtain, hiding most of her profile.
Wooyoung jogged a few steps to catch up.
The guys watched from a distance.
Yeosang shook his head. “This is either going to be a disaster or his next favorite obsession.”
San grinned. “Oh, definitely both.”
She hadn’t expected the sun to be this warm today.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
Y/N hugged her thermos closer as she crossed the lawn toward the design building, her hair sticking slightly to the back of her neck where it met her hoodie. Her backpack straps bit into her shoulders, but she didn’t adjust them. She was too busy trying to get from point A to point B without bumping into anyone or making accidental eye contact.
So when someone jogged up behind her, fast and loud, her heart practically leapt out of her chest.
She flinched hard and turned mid-step, nearly tripping on her own feet.
“Whoa—careful!” a voice said, laughing. “Didn’t mean to scare you again, Whisper.”
Y/N blinked.
And there he was.
Jung Wooyoung.
In full black, again. Ripped jeans. Silver chain. A mischievous glint in his eye like he knew exactly how much space he took up in a person’s brain. His hoodie was slung low over his head, but it didn’t hide the way his smile hit like lightning.
He’d… run after her?
“What are you—?” she started, then immediately regretted opening her mouth.
Wooyoung grinned. “You do talk outside the library.”
She shut her mouth again. Heat rushed to her cheeks.
“I was starting to think that place had, like, magical soundproofing for introverts.”
Y/N glanced away, unsure what to say. It wasn’t that she minded his attention—it was just… overwhelming. Loud. Bright. Too much to look at without feeling exposed.
But he wasn’t unkind.
And that made it worse somehow.
“I saw you walking,” he continued, matching her pace without asking. “Figured I’d say hi before you disappeared into the walls again.”
“I… wasn’t disappearing,” she said quietly.
He glanced sideways at her, lips twitching. “Sure you weren’t.”
She pressed her lips together and stared straight ahead. Her heart was still racing, but not entirely from panic this time.
There was something about the way he moved beside her. Confident but unhurried. Like he belonged in motion. Like he didn’t mind walking at her awkward, uneven pace.
“You always this jumpy?” he asked suddenly.
Y/N hesitated. “…Kind of.”
“Cute,” he said.
She blinked at him.
He didn’t elaborate. Just shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and kept walking.
Y/N stared at the ground and tried to figure out how breathing worked again.
He was flirting.
Right?
Maybe?
Oh god.
She didn’t say anything for the rest of the walk.
But when they reached the design building and she glanced back—
He was still looking at her.
Smiling.
Like he’d just found a new favorite thing.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
You talked to Jung Wooyoung?!”
Y/N winced at the pitch of her best friend’s voice as they sat cross-legged on the dorm room floor, surrounded by snacks and half-done sketchbooks.
“I mean… technically, he talked to me,” Y/N mumbled, poking at the edge of a granola bar wrapper. “I mostly just stood there. And blinked.”
Her best friend—Jisoo, bright-eyed and perpetually bouncing—clutched a pillow to her chest like it was keeping her heart inside her body.
“Y/N, that boy has a reputation. Like, capital-R Rumor Mill level. The man literally oozes misunderstood bad boy energy.”
Y/N gave her a sideways look. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”
“I mean… is it not?” Jisoo said with a grin.
Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips.
They’d known each other since kindergarten—since juice boxes and glitter glue. Jisoo was the only person she felt fully safe around. The only one who never pushed her to be louder or more “normal.”
“You know people talk about him all the time,” Jisoo continued. “Fights. Suspensions. The window thing—did you hear about the window thing?”
“I don’t think he actually broke it,” Y/N said quietly.
Jisoo blinked. “You don’t?”
Y/N shook her head. “He doesn’t… feel like those rumors. I don’t know. He sat with me in the library. Spoke to me like I was a person, not a weird project. He teases, but it’s not mean. It’s more like…”
She trailed off, looking at her own hands.
“Gentle?” Jisoo offered, tilting her head.
“…Yeah.”
Jisoo stared at her for a long moment. Then she smiled.
“Well, I trust you,” she said. “Your people radar is freakishly accurate. Remember when I almost dated that guy from the photography club and you told me he gave ‘damp sock energy’? And then he cheated on his girlfriend?”
Y/N snorted. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Not when it saved me from heartbreak and an embarrassing Instagram soft launch.”
They both laughed.
Y/N hugged her knees to her chest and stared out the window.
Jisoo’s voice was soft this time. “So… what are you gonna do?”
Y/N hesitated.
“…Nothing. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who talks to quiet girls twice.”
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
“What’s with you and Quiet Girl?”
Wooyoung didn’t even get a chance to sit down before San asked the question, eyes sparkling like he’d been waiting all day for it.
They were gathered on the quad again, lounging in a loose circle with snacks and unfinished readings scattered between them.
“Who?” Wooyoung asked, even though he knew exactly who.
“You know who,” Seonghwa said, sipping from his iced americano like it was tea. “The one with the hair that goes down to her hips and the energy of a studio cat.”
Wooyoung leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the sky.
“She flinches when I breathe, but she still listens. She never talks, but when she did? She didn’t sound scared. Just honest. I don’t know. She’s… different.”
There was a beat of silence. Then:
“Awwww,” Jongho cooed dramatically. “Wooyoung has a cru-ush.”
“I will throw you into the fountain.”
The group dissolved into laughter.
Wooyoung didn’t join in right away.
Because even with all the teasing, all the noise—
His mind was still on her.
Still wondering if he’d get to hear her voice again.
The teasing was loud and obnoxious, just how he liked it.
San was in full dramatic mode, Jongho was cackling, and someone—probably Mingi—had just dubbed him “Loverboy of the Library.”
Wooyoung rolled his eyes so hard it hurt
“I swear to god—” he started.
But then he saw her.
Y/N.
Across the courtyard. Her long hair catching in the breeze, sleeves pulled over her hands as always, a sketchbook hugged tightly to her chest. At first, his brain lit up the same way it always did when he spotted her—an automatic tug of curiosity, an ache to go say something dumb just to see if she’d twitch or smile.
But something was different.
Her walk was off. Slower. Her shoulders were higher than usual, tense and pulled inward like she was trying to fold herself smaller than her already small frame. Her eyes kept flicking sideways.
Then he saw him.
Some guy walking beside her. Laughing. Talking with his body angled too close. He matched her step for step, like they were walking together—but Wooyoung knew her well enough by now to know they weren’t.
Y/N wasn’t with him.
She was just trying to get away from him.
The guy stopped her. Reached out. Said something with an overconfident grin.
And then—
He touched her hair.
Not casually. Not kindly. Just grabbed a strand and twirled it between his fingers like it was a joke.
Wooyoung didn’t even hear the conversation around him anymore.
He saw her flinch.
Saw her try to step back but not fast enough.
He stood without thinking.
Didn’t say a word.
Didn’t hear anyone else call after him.
All he could see was that look on her face.
And the way she didn’t know how to get out of the moment.
But he did.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
She should’ve taken a different path.
She knew better. But she was already halfway across the courtyard when she heard her name and turned out of reflex.
“Y/N! Wait up!”
She recognized him immediately—Jae, from her visual branding class. Always loud, always confident, always taking up more space than necessary.
She offered a polite nod, barely slowing down. “Hi.”
He fell into step beside her. “So I was thinking,” he said, way too casually. “We should get coffee. Talk fonts. Or like, not talk. I just wanna see that cute little mouth say my name.”
Y/N swallowed. Hard.
“I’m busy,” she said softly.
“You said that last week.”
“Because it’s true.”
“But you’re always busy,” he said, laughing like it was charming. “You can’t spare one hour for me?”
“I don’t really—”
“Hey,” he interrupted, stepping in front of her.
She stopped short, pulse racing. Her grip on her sketchbook tightened.
“I’m not a bad guy,” he said. “Just trying to get to know you. You’re always so quiet—it’s hot.”
Then, before she could step away, his hand reached out.
He touched her hair.
Just grabbed it. Twirled it in his fingers like she was a prop.
She flinched so hard she nearly dropped her book.
And that’s when she heard the voice behind her.
“Step. Back.”
Jae looked up—confused, a little annoyed.
Y/N turned—and blinked in surprise.
Wooyoung.
He stood there, dark hoodie and all, his expression cold in a way she’d never seen before. He didn’t look amused. Didn’t look smug. He looked dangerous.
Without a word, he stepped in front of her.
One hand reached behind him and curled around her wrist—gently—but pulled her behind him like it was second nature.
Jae frowned. “Who the hell are you?”
“The guy who’s going to break your fingers if you touch her again.”
The words weren’t loud. But they were enough.
Jae scoffed. “Relax, dude. It’s not like—”
Wooyoung stepped forward. A single step.
And somehow, that was enough.
Jae backed off. Muttered something. Turned. Left.
The moment he was gone, the tension dropped out of the air like a cut wire.
Y/N stood frozen behind Wooyoung, breath shallow.
He turned slowly.
“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now. Gentle.
She nodded.
But inside, her chest was still spinning.
Because this was the second time he’d shown up.
And this time… he’d pulled her close.
Like she wasn’t supposed to protect herself alone.
Thank you,” Y/N said softly, bowing slightly.
She hadn’t meant to bow. It was automatic—years of awkward habits wrapped in one small, grateful motion. But when she straightened, she saw something unexpected:
Wooyoung looked flustered.
Only for a second. But she caught it.
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, ears just a bit pink. “You don’t have to bow,” he muttered, trying to play it off with a grin. “Not unless I start collecting badges for heroic rescues.”
That made her smile. A little. Just enough to ease the pounding in her chest.
He glanced toward the quad. His friends were still sitting there, sprawled on the grass, laughing like nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Hey,” he said, tone suddenly more casual. “Wanna come sit with us?”
Y/N blinked. “Us?”
He nodded. “You know. Me. The guys. They’re kind of idiots, but tolerable in small doses. And since we’re friends now…”
Her stomach twisted in the most confusing way.
Friends.
She wasn’t sure what that meant with someone like Wooyoung, but… she nodded.
“Okay.”
The moment they got close, she regretted everything.
“Is this her?!” San shouted, nearly knocking Jongho over to get a better look. “This is the quiet girl?!”
“She’s adorable,” Seonghwa said with a warm smile. “Like a little ghost with great hair.”
“Y/N, right?” Mingi asked, grinning. “We’re in interface theory together!”
Y/N barely managed a tiny wave. “Hi.”
It was too much.
They were all talking at once—so loud, so fast, so bright. She could barely keep up with the questions flying at her: What year are you? What’s your focus? Did Wooyoung really run after you across campus?
She nodded. Smiled weakly. But her throat was tightening, her fingers digging into the sleeves of her hoodie like lifelines. She tried not to look panicked.
And then—
“Guys,” Wooyoung said, suddenly serious.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
He noticed it immediately.
The way Y/N had started shrinking into herself again, like someone had turned down her volume and dimmed her brightness all at once. Her smile was too tight, her shoulders too high, and her hands had vanished into the hoodie sleeves like she wanted to crawl inside them.
Crap.
He’d done it again—brought her into his chaos without thinking.
“Guys,” he repeated, sharper this time. “Stop circling her like a bunch of curious pigeons. You’re gonna scare her off.”
They all blinked at him.
“She’s not a museum exhibit,” he added, standing up slightly straighter.
To ease the tension, he threw a casual arm around Y/N’s shoulder and tugged her gently toward him—half-hug, half-shelter.
“See?” he said with a grin. “You freak her out and poof—Whisper disappears.”
The group laughed. The attention shifted. Someone threw a chip at San. Jongho started arguing with Mingi over who was louder.
Crisis averted.
But Wooyoung didn’t immediately let go.
She was standing close—closer than ever. He could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric of her hoodie, the way her small frame barely reached his shoulder. And then—
He caught her scent.
Soft. Clean. Something floral.
Daisies.
His heart did an odd little hiccup in his chest.
Oh.
He’d only meant to make her feel safe.
But now he was acutely aware of the fact that her hair brushed his jaw when she shifted. That she hadn’t pulled away. That she smelled like spring and quiet mornings and something that had no business wrapping itself around his ribs like this.
He cleared his throat.
Maybe he needed to disappear for a second.
This was fine.
Totally fine.
Y/N was standing beside him. Right beside him. Close enough that her shoulder occasionally bumped his when she shifted or adjusted her sleeves. Close enough that he could still smell that soft floral scent that had short-circuited his brain five minutes ago.
But he was fine. Totally normal. Not flustered at all.
Except he absolutely was.
He pulled his arm back from around her shoulders as casually as possible and scratched the back of his neck, laughing a little too loud at something San said. His foot started bouncing. Then he caught himself doing it and stopped.
Be cool, he told himself. You’re Wooyoung. Be normal. Be fun. Be–
“Bro,” Jongho said under his breath, leaning in just enough for only the group to hear. “Are you sweating?”
“I’m not sweating,” Wooyoung muttered back.
“You’re blinking like you forgot how,” Yeosang added, biting into a rice cracker without looking up.
Seonghwa smirked from the other side of the circle. “I’ve never seen you struggle this hard to flirt.”
“I’m not struggling,” Wooyoung hissed.
“I mean, you just trailed off mid-sentence and smiled at the air,” Mingi said, barely holding in his laugh.
“Okay, now I’m going to kill you,” Wooyoung replied, glancing around to make sure Y/N hadn’t heard.
She hadn’t. She was sitting cross-legged, a few inches away, nibbling on a cookie someone had offered her earlier. Quiet as ever. But her eyes were watching—taking everything in, like always.
And for some reason, that made his heart stutter even more.
He leaned back on his hands and forced himself to breathe.
He had to get a grip.
Because this whole thing—the teasing, the closeness, the way she didn’t shrink away from him like she used to—felt like something that could unravel him if he let it.
And he wasn’t sure if he minded.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
Y/N wasn’t sure what she was doing here.
She sat in a loose circle of boys who looked like they belonged in a biker gang or a fashion editorial—or both. And every single one of them had a reputation on campus.
Too loud. Too wild. Too much.
And yet…
The longer she sat there, the more those labels started to feel paper-thin.
They weren’t scary. They were just guys. Arguing over snacks. Teasing each other relentlessly. Mingi kept trying to stack chips on San’s head while Jongho pretended not to notice. Yeosang was reading something off his phone with a completely blank expression, even as Seonghwa gently swatted his arm to get his attention.
And Wooyoung…
He was still himself. Playful. Sharp. But his energy felt… quieter around her. Not muted, but softened. Like he was trying to keep her from feeling overwhelmed.
Which didn’t really work, because she was overwhelmed.
But not in the bad way.
Just in the I-don’t-know-how-I-ended-up-here-and-they-keep-remembering-my-name kind of way.
She nibbled at her cookie and tried to make herself small. She didn’t want to ruin the dynamic. Didn’t want to attract attention.
And then—
“Y/N-AHHHH!!”
She jumped, heart launching into her throat.
A pair of arms wrapped tightly around her from behind. Warm, familiar, and completely uninvited.
Jisoo.
Her best friend leaned over her shoulder and beamed at the group.
“Hey! Sorry—couldn’t resist. She looked too adorable just sitting here like a lost kitten.”
Y/N was frozen in place, pulse pounding in her ears.
Jisoo turned to the boys. “Hi, I’m Jisoo. I’ve known her since kindergarten. She doesn’t usually hang out with boys—especially not the campus rumors.”
There was a pause.
And then, chaos.
San practically choked on a chip. Jongho gave a loud, dramatic gasp. Mingi fell backward laughing. Seonghwa just smiled like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.
And Y/N?
She wished the grass would open up and swallow her whole.
Y/N was still trying to calm her heartbeat when the chaos started to settle.
Jisoo’s sudden hug had triggered a chain reaction: gasps, laughter, wide-eyed stares. She hadn’t expected the boys to be so… loud about it. San nearly rolled off the grass in shock, and Wooyoung looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or throw himself into a bush.
“Wait,” Mingi said dramatically, propping himself up on his elbows. “She has a friend?”
Seonghwa gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs, but Yeosang leaned forward curiously. “Like, a real friend? Not a group project partner?”
Jongho squinted. “Are we sure this isn’t just a hologram created by Illustrator?”
Y/N blinked, startled again—but this time not from fear.
From frustration.
“I’m shy,” she said quietly, but clearly. “Not antisocial.”
The entire circle fell silent.
Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot up. He turned his head slightly, almost like he needed to confirm that the words had actually come from her.
Y/N stared at the cookie in her hand. She hadn’t meant to say that. It just… slipped out.
But no one laughed. No one mocked her.
San grinned and raised both hands. “Respectfully noted.”
“Sorry,” Mingi said quickly. “We’re just not used to quiet people being around Wooyoung. Usually, they run.”
“I don’t run,” Y/N said. Then paused. “Much.”
That earned a few chuckles.
Jisoo plopped down beside her, completely unfazed by the group’s presence. “Okay, but now I’m curious. What is with your reputations, anyway? Like, how bad are we talking? Because I keep hearing things about fights and parties and… something about a broken window?”
“See?!” San shouted, pointing at Yeosang. “I told you the window story wouldn’t die!”
“It was a misunderstanding,” Yeosang said with a deadpan expression.
“I tripped. There was a soccer ball. It was raining,” Jongho added helpfully.
“And someone slipped into the window,” Seonghwa finished, sipping his drink like it was a fine wine. “Not punched. Slipped.”
Jisoo raised an eyebrow. “So none of you are criminal masterminds, then?”
“Not unless you count Mingi’s snack theft record,” Wooyoung said, finally speaking again. “He once stole my gimbap and tried to blame it on Jongho’s protein bar.”
Y/N glanced at him.
He was smiling again—normal, teasing, relaxed. But his eyes met hers for just a second longer than the joke required. As if checking in. Making sure she was okay.
She didn’t look away this time.
Instead, she offered a quiet, barely-there smile.
Jisoo nudged her. “You’ve been holding out on me. These guys are kind of fun.”
Y/N took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Yeah.
They kind of were.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
They were mid-laugh about something stupid Mingi had said when Wooyoung saw her.
Y/N. Sitting under the big maple tree near the design building, laptop on her knees, surrounded by a colorful mess of post-ist and highlighters. Her hair fell over her shoulder like a curtain. She was focused—so focused that she didn’t notice anything else around her.
But someone else had.
Voices drifted from the other side of the walkway. Loud. Careless.
“Yo, that quiet girl?” one guy said, leaning on the railing nearby. “The one in graphic design with the long-ass hair?”
Wooyoung slowed his steps.
Mingi raised an eyebrow. “Wait, are they talking about—?”
“Yeah,” San said under his breath. “They are.”
Then the second guy chimed in, grinning. “Yeah man. She’s got that soft-spoken freak energy. I’d hit that from behind—bet she wouldn’t even say anything. Might even thank me for it.”
Wooyoung stopped walking entirely.
So did San.
Mingi’s face twisted. “The fuck did he just say?”
Wooyoung didn’t answer. He was already half a step forward, fists curling, fury rising like static behind his eyes.
Then—like a spark before a forest fire—
“You absolute scum-stains.”
All three of them turned.
Jisoo.
She marched up to the two guys like a one-woman army, fury radiating off her in waves.
“Is your skull so empty that the only thing rattling around in there is sexist trash and your tragic little dignity?”
“Whoa, relax—” one of them started, but she wasn’t done.
“No, I won’t relax,” Jisoo snapped. “You want to act like pathetic little roaches in the sun? Fine. But do it far away from actual decent people. That girl you’re talking about? She has more class in her pinky than you’ve ever had in your whole puberty-choked life.”
One guy opened his mouth.
She shut it down instantly. “Speak again and I will report you. With audio. And names. Try me.”
The two guys scrambled to back off, muttering curses as they walked away.
Wooyoung exhaled slowly through his nose.
San looked murderous.
Mingi muttered, “I swear if she hadn’t gotten there first…”
Wooyoung didn’t answer.
Because now Jisoo was headed toward them.
She stopped in front of their trio, hands on her hips.
“Well,” she said, letting out a breath. “Didn’t expect to handle two rodents before noon, but here we are.”
San was still glaring after the guys. “You went full avenging angel.”
“No,” Jisoo said. “She had her music in. Completely zoned. Thank god.”
He nodded once.
“Don’t tell her,” Jisoo added. “Let her keep thinking the world’s decent a little longer.”
“…I won’t,” Wooyoung said.
But he was still looking in Y/N’s direction.
Still thinking about what he would’ve done if Jisoo hadn’t gotten there first.
Still feeling that quiet, steady burn in his chest.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
Their study sessions had become a thing.
They never officially planned it—just exchanged a couple texts, agreed on a time, and somehow always found their way to the same table on the quiet third floor of the library. No chaos. No crowds. Just whispered conversation, occasional sarcastic remarks, and the rhythm of keyboards and pens between them.
Wooyoung liked it more than he expected.
But nothing had prepared him for today.
She walked in while he was scrolling through film references on his tablet, hair pulled back loosely, earbuds in, sketchbook under her arm. Same calm entrance. Same soft steps.
But then—
His eyes drifted lower.
She wasn’t wearing her usual oversized hoodie.
Today it was a fitted black top. Simple. Long-sleeved. Nothing flashy—but it hugged her frame just enough to show the curve of her waist, the gentle slope of her chest, the soft dip just above her hips.
And Wooyoung’s brain stalled.
She still looked like herself—comfortable, minimal, quiet—but the difference hit him like static.
She sat down without looking at him, unpacking her things like she always did. Calm. Focused. Completely unaware of the way his pulse had suddenly jumped.
He swallowed hard and looked back at his screen. Tried to focus. Failed.
His eyes flicked to her again—her fingers, her neck, the slight way she bit her lip while scrolling.
What would she look like if that lip trembled while whispering his name?
He blinked. Hard.
If she looked up at him from beneath, voice breathy and sweet, telling him she liked him—
Wooyoung dragged a hand over his face and sat back.
Where the hell did that come from?
He’d thought about her before—sure. She was beautiful, in that quiet, unsuspecting kind of way. And yeah, he’d flirted. Teased. Wondered what it might feel like to kiss the thoughts right out of her head.
But now…
Now his chest felt tight. Warm.
Because when that image flashed through his mind—her soft voice, flushed cheeks, whispering I like you with his name on her lips—it didn’t feel like lust.
It felt like something aching.
He didn’t just want her to say she liked him.
He wanted her to mean it.
And that realization hit him harder than any fantasy ever could.
Shit.
He liked her.
Wooyoung had always thought realizations would be cooler.
That there’d be a flash of lightning, a dramatic soundtrack, maybe some slow-motion moment where the world paused while everything clicked into place.
Instead?
He almost walked into a mop bucket in the dorm hallway because he was too busy replaying her voice in his head saying “I like you” in his imagination.
He didn’t even hear her say it—he’d just pictured it during their study session, and now he was unraveling like a romantic disaster.
He sprinted up the dorm stairs, hair a mess, hoodie falling off one shoulder.
“GUYS!” he yelled, bursting into the shared living space like he was on fire.
Yeosang didn’t even flinch. “Living room’s full,” he said, eyes still on his laptop.
San, lying across the entire couch like a Victorian fainting widow, lazily lifted his head. “Unless you’re dying or in love, shut up.”
“I AM BOTH!” Wooyoung shouted, pacing in a tight, frantic circle.
“Jesus,” Mingi muttered from the floor. “He figured it out.”
Jongho peeked out of the kitchen, holding a banana. “Took longer than I thought.”
“Wait—what did he figure out?” Seonghwa asked, walking in with a towel around his neck.
“That he likes Whisper Girl,” San deadpanned, sitting up. “Took him long enough.”
Wooyoung stopped mid-step and threw both hands in the air. “SHE WORE A FITTED TOP, OKAY?!”
Everyone blinked.
Mingi coughed. “Is that a euphemism or…”
“No!” Wooyoung gestured wildly. “She walked in—same quiet steps, same messy hair, same face that makes my brain short-circuit—and then BAM. Fitted shirt. No hoodie. Just—curves. Shadows. And then I thought about her saying my name and calling me oppa and—”
“Okay,” Seonghwa interrupted, holding up a hand. “Let’s not get arrested.”
“I mean,” San added, fanning himself dramatically. “But also, bro, tone it down.”
Wooyoung groaned and dropped to the floor. “I thought it was just physical! Like ‘she’s cute, she’s mysterious, she startles like a bunny’—you know. Normal fascination. But no.”
Jongho tilted his head. “So what changed?”
“I liked the idea of her liking me back,” Wooyoung mumbled, clutching a couch pillow to his face. “Like, actually saying it. Like, meaning it.”
“Wow,” Yeosang said flatly. “Romantic epiphany. So brave.”
Wooyoung sat up again, hair a mess, eyes wide. “Why aren’t any of you surprised?!”
San just blinked. “Because we have eyes?”
“Bro, we watched you try to act chill while she sat beside you and accidentally brushed your knee,” Mingi added. “You looked like you were being electrocuted in slow motion.”
“You’ve been whipped for weeks,” Jongho muttered around a mouthful of banana.
Seonghwa gave him a pat on the shoulder. “We’re proud of you. For finally catching up with the plot.”
Wooyoung covered his face with both hands and flopped backward on the floor. “I hate all of you.”
summary: in which yunho is a cloud of smoke and emotions and everything you need
warning: hard dom/possessive yunho, he’s also a drug dealer, sub reader, yunho is big, throat fucking, masturbation, fingering, tongue fucking, spanking, choking, squirting, multiple orgasm, edging, overstimulation, creampie, mentions of smoking and use of drugs
genre: smut
pairing: dealer yunho x afab reader
word count: 11.2k
note: I have had multiple requests for a smoking yunho one shot since his movie dropped so here yall go 😭
masterlist
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The sun was low enough to blind you, slicing between buildings as you trudged the final block to your apartment, heels in one hand, bag slung over your shoulder like a weight you’d gladly yeet into traffic. Your blouse was sticking to your back, your jaw hurt from clenching through meetings, and your boss, who you were convinced had a personal vendetta against happiness, had made a passive aggressive comment about your “attitude” before you even had a chance to clock out.
You were so close to going full office menace and flipping her desk. Instead, you’d smiled. Nodded. Internalized the rage like a professional. And now your feet were burning, your head was pounding, and all you wanted was a shower hot enough to peel your skin off.
That was before you saw him. Yunho. Leaning against the brick wall just outside the building’s front steps, one foot kicked back behind him, the other planted solid like he was the only thing keeping the sidewalk from cracking open. Cigarette perched between his lips, blunt tucked behind his ear like an afterthought, a slow curl of smoke escaping with every exhale.
He was mid deal, low murmurs exchanged with a guy slouched in a black Altima idling at the curb. The window was rolled halfway down, and the customer’s face was mostly obscured, but you could see cash flash between fingers. Quick, efficient, clean. Yunho’s hand slipped into his hoodie pocket, traded something unmarked in a small bag, and pulled the cigarette from his mouth as he leaned forward to say something you couldn’t hear.
Your chest clenched, not from fear, not even from judgment. Just from the sheer… existence of him. God, he looked good in the dying light. Hood up, casting part of his face in shadow. Gray sweats low on his hips. A plain black hoodie unzipped just enough to show a sliver of skin at his collarbone. That stupid necklace he always wore, black braided chord with a chipped shark tooth that glinted when he moved.
You didn’t stop. You were exhausted, sticky, annoyed, and pretending you didn’t notice him was easier than dealing with the way your stomach flipped every time he looked at you. But you should’ve known better.
“Y/N!”
His voice came as you passed, rough around the edges from the smoke. Lazy and deep, making you pause, turning, already knowing what you’d see. Yunho was watching you. His deal was done, car door shut, engine pulling away into traffic. He stood up straighter, still holding the cigarette, watching you with those dark, unreadable eyes. “You look like you just murdered someone.”
“Not yet,” you muttered, stepping closer without meaning to. “Give me five minutes and a blunt.” That made him smile. Barely. Just the corner of his mouth tilting up like he knew something you didn’t. He held up a hand, tapping the back of his ear where the blunt was tucked. “Shower first,” you added, pointing a warning finger at him as you trudged toward the front door. “Or I’ll actually cry.”
“Couch’ll be ready,” he said casually, taking another drag. “You want food?” You stopped in your tracks, turning back with a squint. “What kind?” He shrugged, exhaled smoke. “Whatever keeps you from catching a felony charge tomorrow.”
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
You knocked once, then let yourself in. Yunho’s apartment was dim and warm, the way it always was, lights low, one candle burning on the coffee table, the scent of sandalwood and weed wrapping around you like a blanket. You knew he wouldn’t mind. You’d showered back in your own place, dressed down into soft pajama pants and a tshirt, hair damp and tied up loosely on your head. Comfort mode activated.
Ghost, Yunho’s spoiled rotten grey persian cat, sat perched on the back of the couch, her yellow eyes narrowing as you walked in like she hadn’t spent the last week curled against your side any time you stayed too long. Ungrateful little princess.
Yunho was already on the couch, blunt between his fingers, hoodie unzipped over a black tank top and gray sweats low on his hips. One leg stretched out, the other bent casually beneath him like he had no idea how good he looked. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care. “You want first hit?” he asked, nodding to the blunt.
You flopped down beside him with a sigh, legs folding under you as you leaned into the cushions. “Please. If I don’t, I’ll scream. I was one per my last email away from catching a case today.” He chuckled and passed it over, watching you take a long, grateful drag. It hit smooth, warm, a little sweet, your favorite mix. Of course he remembered.
You let the smoke curl from your lips, then handed it back. “You spoil me.”
“I like when you’re not homicidal,” he said, taking it between his fingers again. “Less paperwork.”
You were both mid laugh when the knock came. Three sharp raps. You froze. Your smile slipped as Yunho looked toward the door, jaw tightening. “Fuck,” you muttered, already standing. There was only one person you knew who knocked like that.
Yunho didn’t move. He just leaned back, arm on the couch, still holding the blunt as he watched you walk across the room and opened his door. Chris, your boyfriend for the last year, stood there, looking like Wall Street’s worst export in a wrinkle free shirt and overpriced cologne. His expression twisted the second he saw you, casual, comfortable, relaxed, like you’d committed some betrayal by being cozy without him. “What are you doing here?”
You rolled your eyes. You would ask him the same thing but that’s how you met. Yunho was his dealer. “I’ve been calling you,” he said, stepping into the apartment like he owned it. You backed up automatically, shoulders stiff. “Phone’s charging. I was decompressing.”
Chris’s eyes shifted past you, to the couch, to Yunho, still lounging like a storm waiting to happen. “You were decompressing with him?” he asked, voice sharp. “I live across the hall, remember,” you snapped. “It’s not like I flew to Cabo with the guy.”
Chris’s jaw worked. “You’re high?” Yunho finally moved. Just a slight shift of posture, sitting up straighter, ash flicked into the tray, blunt balanced between his knuckles. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous. “She came over after a long day,” Yunho said evenly. “I’m her friend, remember?”
Chris ignored him. “You got off work and came straight here?”
“Chris,” you warned, “I’m not in the mood.” He turned on Yunho instead. “You really think it’s okay to get high with someone else’s girlfriend?” That was it. Yunho stood. Not fast. Not loud. Just stood, all six feet plus of calm fury in a black hoodie and sweats, smoke curling past his lips like a warning sign. “I think it’s not okay,” he said lowly, stepping forward, “for you to walk into my apartment like you own her.”
Chris took a step back and Yunho didn’t stop. “You came to buy pills, right? Or just flex?” Chris flinched. “I… whatever, man. I’ll get what I came for.” Yunho pulled a small bottle from his hoodie pocket and tossed it toward Chris without a word.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You didn’t even look back just followed Chris across the hall to your own apartment, Chris stood there, arms crossed like he had something important to say, but when he looked at you, really looked at you, it wasn’t with concern.
It was accusation. “You gonna tell me what the fuck that was?” You blinked, stunned. “Are you serious?”
“Don’t act like that didn’t look bad,” he said, brushing past you into the apartment like it was his. You turned to follow, eyes already burning. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You were in his apartment,” he snapped. “Getting high, in your pajamas, laughing with him…”
“I went over for food and a blunt because I had a shitty day,” you shot back, louder now. “And you showed up like a fucking warden…”
“I am your boyfriend,” he said, stepping closer. “You think I’m just gonna be cool with you spending the night over there?”
Your heart slammed once, hard. “First of all,” you said through clenched teeth, “I wasn’t spending the night. And second, maybe you should focus less on me being around Yunho and more on why you need to pop two percs just to get through a Monday.”
That one landed. Chris’s face went still. His voice, when it came, was colder. “So now you’re judging me?”
“I’m exhausted,” you hissed. “I had one fucking hour to myself and you ruined it. Again.”
“Oh, I ruined it?” he scoffed, throwing his hands up. “You’re acting like I caught you cheating!”
“Cheating?” you repeated, laughing once without humor. “You think I’m the problem? You…. you buy drugs from my neighbor, barge into his apartment, embarrass me, and then act like I’m the one sneaking around?”
He stared at you. Then shrugged. “I don’t trust him,” Chris said simply, like that settled it. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.” You stared at him for a long, stunned second. Then shook your head and walked toward the door. “Get out.”
“What?”
You grabbed the handle, opened it wide. “I said get out.”
“You’re kicking me out? Over this?”
“Over everything,” you said, voice shaking. “I’m tired, Chris. I’m tired of explaining basic respect to a grown man.” He hesitated, just for a moment. But your face said you weren’t bluffing. He muttered something under his breath, grabbed his keys, and stormed out.
You shut the door before the sound of his footsteps disappeared down the hall. And for a long time… you just stood there. Not angry. Not sad.
Just empty.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
You should’ve seen it coming. The way your boss called you into her office without a real reason. The way she wouldn’t meet your eyes. The way your badge was deactivated before you even made it back to your desk. “We’re downsizing,” she’d said.
You didn’t buy it. But what could you do? You packed your things, rode the subway in silence, and walked the final three blocks home through rain so heavy it felt personal. No umbrella. No coat. Just your hoodie soaked through, hair plastered to your face, bag clutched to your chest like it could protect you from anything other than everything.
You hit the building’s steps at the same time Yunho did. He was dressed for the weather in his own way, hood up, cigarette tucked between his lips, hands deep in his hoodie pockets. His sweatpants were soaked halfway up the leg. He looked at you, blinked once, and immediately flicked the cigarette into the street. “Hey,” he said, voice calm like thunder wasn’t rattling the city behind you. “You good?”
You didn’t answer. Just shook your head once and kept walking, Yunho following you silently. The two of you made it to the front door at the same time, and as soon as Yunho keyed in the code and swung it open, the building groaned. The lights above fizzled once and went black.
You both paused. “Shit,” he muttered as you let out a breath and took the first step up the stairs. “Come on. Ghost’ll panic if the power stays out.” He huffed a small laugh and followed because of course you remember his cat hates thunderstorms.
It was dark, humid, the air thick with storm and silence. His footfalls matched yours as you climbed, heavy and unhurried. You were halfway up the second floor when lightning lit up the windows for half a second and then came the sound. A zipper. You turned the corner and froze.
He didn’t see you right away. Chris. Standing just outside an apartment door, not yours, not even close. His back was to you, shirt half untucked, zipper just sliding up as a familiar voice giggled from inside. Donna. A girl Yunho has turned down multiple times. Same girl who flirted with Chris right in front of you once.
Your stomach dropped so fast it felt like falling through the floor as Chris turned. His eyes met yours and he froze, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Yunho was two steps behind you, and he came up short the moment he registered what you were staring at.
Chris opened his mouth. Closed it. His face drained of color. “Baby…. I…”
You blinked as Donna called lazily from inside, voice echoing down the stairwell. “Hey, you left your belt…” She stopped short when she saw you.
“You fucking asshole,” Yunho muttered, stepping forward. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. You were shaking. Wet. Fired. And now humiliated.
Chris finally tried to speak again. “It’s not what it…”
“Shut the fuck up,” Yunho snapped, loud now. “Don’t say one more word to her.” Chris squared up, but it was weak, defensive and guilty. “This isn’t your business.” Yunho laughed. But it wasn’t funny. It was the kind of laugh people give when they’re one wrong word from swinging.
“She is my business,” Yunho said, stepping closer. “She always fucking has been.” That made Chris stop cold as Yunho looked at you. “Come on,” he said softly, holding his hand out. “Let’s go.” You didn’t take it. But you did turn away. One step. Two. Yunho followed, silent again, letting you feel it. Letting you hold it. Because he knew if he touched you right now, you’d fall apart, and he wouldn’t be able to stop it.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Your apartment was pitch black, the air thick with humidity and silence. You didn’t bother turning on your flashlight. Just leaned back against the closed door and exhaled for the first time since you saw Chris outside Donna’s. Zipping up his pants like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. Your breath came out shaky, but no tears followed. Not this time. You didn’t feel sadness. You didn’t even feel rage. What washed over you, slow and warm and terrifying, was something simpler.
Relief. He made it easy. After all the gaslighting. After all the guilt tripping. After making you question yourself for months… He made it so easy.
You pushed off the door, stripped as you walked, clothes wet and clinging. The rain had seeped through everything, down to your skin, into your bones. In the bathroom, the darkness was nearly complete. You lit a candle on the edge of the sink, then stepped into the shower, letting the warm water hit your neck, your shoulders, the back of your skull.
You didn’t cry. You didn’t speak. You just stood there, steam rising into the black, hands braced against the tile as the rain from outside continued to pound against the building. But it couldn’t reach you here. You were done. Done being made to feel small. Done being someone’s accessory. Done hiding in other people’s shadows.
Chris made it easy. And Yunho… Yunho never asked you to be anything but yourself.
You toweled off slowly, letting your hair stay damp and wild. Pulled on a pair of pajama shorts, soft and worn. A tank top, no bra. Bare feet. Clean skin.
The apartment was still dark. The hallway was darker as you opened the door without thinking and padded across the hall, body warm from the shower but still buzzing with something else. Need, maybe. Or clarity. Yunho’s door wasn’t locked. It never was. Not for you. You pushed it open gently, and found the apartment lit by nothing but the flicker of the same candle he’d always had burning, low, honey toned, barely lighting his living room.
He was on the couch, hoodie off, hair damp too now like he’d also showered. A second blunt was burning in the ashtray. Ghost was curled on the far cushion, tail flicking slowly. He looked up the second you stepped in. And didn’t say a word. He just… waited.
You stopped in front of him, looked down. And without a word, you reached up and pulled the blunt from behind his ear. His eyes followed your fingers the entire way. You didn’t light it. You sat down next to him, sinking into the couch like your bones had finally given out, like this was the only place your body trusted.
Ghost purred at you before jumping down and padding her way into the kitchen. The silence stretched as you exhaled, one short breath. Dry. Bitter. “So,” you said, eyes on the unlit blunt. “I got fired today.” Yunho blinked slowly, posture still, unreadable.
“And I found out I’ve been getting cheated on,” you continued, a hollow laugh catching in your throat. “So now I’m single. Unemployed. And apparently Donna’s sloppy seconds.”
Yunho’s head turned toward you, sharp and fast. But you weren’t done as you finally looked at him. “That’s a pretty solid Friday, right?” His jaw clenched. You saw it, just barely, in the flicker of the candle. But his hands stayed relaxed, resting on his thighs, like he was keeping himself still on purpose. Like one wrong move might make you bolt.
He didn’t speak.
You didn’t either.
You just looked at him, really looked, for the first time in a long time. At the way his throat moved when he swallowed. At the way he looked at you like this, you, broken, barefoot, smelling like sandalwood and stormwater, was the most important thing he’d ever seen. And you wondered why the hell it took this long.
You lit the blunt with Yunho’s silver lighter, your thumb finding the groove worn into it from years of use, and took the first hit. It was smoother than you expected. Warm in your chest. Calming in a way nothing else had been all week. You handed it back to him without a word.
He didn’t speak still, just took it between his lips, leaned back, eyes half lidded, and exhaled like it was a release he’d been holding in for days.
One hit turned into two. Then a second blunt. He rolled it in silence, hands skilled and calm, and you watched him, watched his fingers, the press of his thumb, the flick of his lighter. Like a ritual. Like therapy. He passed it to you as you curled your legs underneath you, leaning into the arm of the couch, letting the high settle low in your belly, fog your brain just enough to let your shoulders drop.
The candle burned lower. The storm outside got louder. By the third blunt, you were gone enough to let the words tumble out. You turned to him slowly, eyes heavy, mouth soft, “You’re quiet.”
Yunho didn’t look at you at first. Just took another slow pull and let the smoke curl from his lips, rising into the dim air like a question. “I’ve been trying not to say the wrong thing,” he said finally, voice low and rough, laced with that edge you’d only ever heard when he was defending you. “Because if I do… I won’t be able to stop.”
You blinked, the high sharpening the sound of his voice like it had teeth as he passed the blunt back, but didn’t move closer. “Chris never deserved you,” he continued, eyes locked on the floor. “Not for one second. Not the first time he showed up here pretending he owned you. Not the first time I heard you crying through the wall. Not the night you fell asleep on my couch holding my hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you together.”
Your breath caught.
“I should’ve told you,” he said. “But I didn’t want to be that guy. The one waiting for his moment. I didn’t want to use your pain as an excuse to say what I’ve wanted to say for almost two years.”
You swallowed. “Which is?”
He looked at you then. Really looked. “That I’ve been in love with you since the night you knocked on my door barefoot and furious and didn’t apologize for either.”
Your chest cracked open. There were no fireworks. No music swell. Just the silence between you stretching thinner and thinner until it couldn’t hold anymore.
You moved slowly. Not rushed. Not unsure. You crawled into his lap like you’d always belonged there, one leg over his thigh, hands finding his jaw. He froze, like he didn’t believe it. Like this was another one of his dreams as you took the blunt from his mouth. Took a hit. Held it. And then leaned in, close enough to brush your nose against his, and exhaled into his mouth just before your lips touched his.
The kiss was soft at first. Careful. Like a question neither of you had dared to ask until now. But when his hand slid up your back, slow and firm, and your fingers fisted in the front of his tank,
that question became a promise. The kiss deepened faster than either of you expected. What started soft, your lips ghosting his, that lazy exhale of smoke between you, became a slide, a grip, a need.
Yunho’s hands found your thighs first, fingers pressing into bare skin just beneath the hem of your pajama shorts like he couldn’t help himself. You moved instinctively, rolling your hips forward just enough to make him groan into your mouth. “Fuck,” he breathed against your lips. “You’re high. We should stop…”
You kissed him again before he could finish. “So are you.” Your tongue dragged against his as your fingers threaded through his hair and tugged, just enough to make him tilt his head back, exposing the curve of his throat. You mouthed along it, lips brushing the skin just beneath his jaw.
His hands slid up your sides, tank top bunching beneath his palms, and he pulled you flush against him, the bulge in his sweats pressing hard between your thighs. Your bodies slotted together like a secret neither of you could keep anymore. You felt his hand reach blindly toward the ashtray, grabbing the blunt, burnt nearly to the end now. He brought it to his lips, lit it again, and took one last pull, eyes still on you. Then he handed it back.
You took it between your lips, hit it slow, watching his mouth as he watched yours. You didn’t blow the smoke away this time. You kissed it into him. Your mouth open over his, smoke curling between tongues, lips sliding messy and perfect and greedy. His hands were everywhere now, your waist, your thighs, your back, like he couldn’t choose, like he was starving.
You dropped the blunt into the tray without looking. And then you started rocking. Slow at first, just a tease of friction between your bodies. Yunho’s head dropped against the couch cushion, eyes half lidded as he hissed through his teeth. “Jesus,” he whispered. But you didn’t stop. You kissed him again, harder this time, lips dragging, teeth nipping, hips grinding down like you’d been waiting for this exact moment since the day you met him.
He growled low in his chest, hands gripping your thighs tighter. “You’re torturing me.” You smirked, breath hot against his cheek. “You like it.” He pulled back just far enough to look at you. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough and reverent. “I really fucking do.”
You finished the blunt together in slow, stolen breaths, legs still straddling him, fingers lazily tangled in the hem of his shirt, mouths brushing in between every pull. By the time it burned down to ash, the air around you was thick with heat and smoke and everything unsaid. You felt weightless. Feral. Like you could crawl inside him and still not be close enough.
Your hand moved to his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth where your kiss had already smudged the remnants of ash and affection. And Yunho just… watched you. His eyes darker now. Hooded. Lips slightly parted, breath shallow, chest rising a little too fast for someone trying to keep control.
Then he moved. Quick and quiet and sudden, he flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion, your body sinking into the cushions beneath you before you had a chance to gasp. But you did gasp. Because now he was over you. One hand beside your head, the other firm on your thigh, keeping you spread beneath him. His hips pressed down just enough to make you feel how hard he’d been, how hard he still was. But he didn’t grind. He didn’t rut.
He held back. Barely. His mouth found your neck like it belonged there, lips warm and open, tongue dragging slow along your pulse before he kissed like it was his only way of staying in control. You moaned before you could stop yourself, hips twitching up into him. That’s when you felt it. The shift. Yunho groaned, a low sound buried against your skin, and his hand on your thigh tightened. He breathed you in like he was trying to memorize you. And when he pulled back just enough to look at you, it wasn’t soft anymore.
Not fully. His voice dropped, deeper, slower, like he was trying not to say something. Like he was biting down on instinct. “If you knew the shit I think about when you sit on my couch like that…” His hand slid under your tank top, fingers rough against your bare skin, but he still didn’t touch where you wanted.
Not yet.
“I’m not soft, baby,” he murmured, dragging his lips back to your throat. “Not like this.” Your breath caught. Your hands grabbed at his shirt, at his back, trying to pull him closer as he kissed you again, harder this time, tongue sweeping against yours as his body pressed down into yours, making you feel the full weight of what he was holding back.
His tongue slid against yours, heat crashing between your bodies like it had been waiting years to finally break free. His hands were on your thighs, your hips, under your tank, gripping like he didn’t know where to start because he wanted all of you. And then he stilled. Just for a second. Just long enough to pull back, eyes locked on yours, voice low and rough and dangerous as it dropped into the space between your lips. “Tell me what you want.”
Not needy. Not desperate. A command disguised as a question as you stared up at him, breath catching, heat pooling low in your stomach like lava. And you didn’t flinch when you reached for his face, thumb brushing his jaw. “I want you to ruin me.”
The sound Yunho made wasn’t human. It came from somewhere deeper, darker, pulled straight from the part of him he’d buried since the day you moved in across the hall. His mouth crashed back into yours like he’d been starved, tongue claiming, hands no longer hesitant, gripping your hips like handles, grinding down into you now, letting you feel every inch of how hard he was through the thin barrier of sweats and your shorts.
He kissed you like he meant to wreck you. And this time? He wasn’t holding back. Kissed you hard, deep, almost desperate, and then he pulled back just enough to grip your waist and drag you up with him. You moved together like gravity didn’t matter anymore, like the air had shifted in your lungs and the only thing keeping you grounded was him.
Your body pressed to his, chest to chest, your breath hot against his jaw. He didn’t speak. Just reached for the hem of your tank top and pulled it up slowly, his fingers dragging along your sides like he was learning you by touch. He didn’t rush, didn’t tear it away, he wanted this moment. Wanted to see you. All of you.
The second it was over your head, his eyes dropped. His hands followed. And you watched his mouth part, just slightly, like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him even though he’d imagined it a thousand times. Then he reached for the waistband of your shorts. Still no words. Just the slide of his knuckles against your skin as he dragged them down, slow, his palms brushing the sides of your thighs until you were in front of him in nothing but your panties, flushed and high and buzzing.
Your hands shook just a little when you reached for his shirt. But you didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the hem, tugged it upward, and he let you. His arms lifted, slow and controlled, and you pulled it off over his head revealing sweat slick skin, lean muscle, the soft trail of hair beneath his navel that made your mouth go dry.
His chest rose and fell with each breath, and god, he was beautiful. But it was the way he looked at you that wrecked you. Like he wanted to devour.
Like he wanted to worship. Like he wanted to do both and never stop.
He leaned back in close, lips brushing your jaw, your ear, his voice low and thick with hunger. “Still want this?”
You didn’t answer his question. Didn’t whisper yes.
Didn’t give him permission. You just looked up at him, his flushed chest rising fast, lips parted, pupils blown wide, and reached down. Your fingers found the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled. He didn’t stop you. Didn’t speak. He just stood there, watching you with a hunger so sharp it cut right through the haze of weed and heat. His hands flexed at his sides, knuckles twitching like it physically hurt not to touch you while you undressed him.
You dragged the sweats down his hips slow, savoring it, teasing him without even meaning to. And when they dropped, you froze. Fuck. Your breath hitched just enough for him to catch it.
Because there was no ignoring it. Yunho wasn’t just big. He was thick, long, heavy against his thigh, already hard and twitching slightly like he’d been barely keeping it together this whole time. You blinked. And maybe, for a second, he thought you’d hesitate. But all it did was make your thighs press together.
You looked up at him again, and he was smirking now. Not cocky. Not smug. Hungry. Like he just saw something crack in you and couldn’t wait to slip into the space it left behind. “Not what you’re used to?” he asked, voice rough with restraint, lips brushing your temple as he leaned in, one hand finallyfinding your hip again.
You didn’t answer that either. You didn’t need to. Because when your hand reached out and wrapped around him, testing the weight, the thickness, the way his breath stuttered in his throat… You both knew. This was about to ruin you. Exactly like you asked for.
Your head was spinning in the best way, hazy from the blunt, skin buzzing, mouth dry and aching to be filled. You could feel everything. Every inch of him against your palm, the heat radiating off his body, the tension humming under his skin like a coil about to snap. And you didn’t want sweet. You didn’t want slow.
You wanted him to fuck your mouth until your knees gave out.
You dropped to the floor without a word, the carpet soft beneath your knees as your hand trailed down his thigh. Yunho froze, one hand still hovering like he wasn’t sure this was really happening. “Y/N,” he breathed, voice wrecked already, like just the sight of you on your knees had short circuited his brain. “You sure?”
You looked up at him through your lashes, lips parted, pupils blown wide. Then you leaned forward and licked a slow stripe up the length of his dick, heavy, hot, already leaking for you, before you wrapped your lips around the tip and sucked, hard, making Yunho groan, his hand flying into your hair, fingers curling tight like he couldn’t stop himself. “Fuck…”
You smiled around him. Because that’s what you wanted. You bobbed your head slow at first, letting yourself adjust, feeling the stretch, the weight, the heat and god, he filled your mouth so deep it made your eyes sting. But it wasn’t enough. Not for either of you. You pulled off with a wet pop, spit clinging to your chin, and looked up at him. “Don’t hold back.”
His jaw clenched. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, then grabbed your hair tighter and said, “Open for me.” You did. Wide. Tongue out. Eyes locked on his like a challenge. And Yunho? He snapped as he slid his dick back into your mouth in one smooth thrust, deeper this time, his grip tightening in your hair as he began to move, slow at first, testing your limits. But when you moaned around him, when you hollowed your cheeks and sucked like you wanted it rough, he growled low in his throat and picked up the pace.
“Fuck… look at you,” he hissed, hips rolling into your mouth now, each thrust more desperate. “Been thinking about this for so long. You on your knees, lips stretched around me…. mine.” You moaned, nails digging into his thighs as he used your mouth just how you wanted, deep, controlled, filthy. The drag of his dick against your tongue, the way your throat tightened with every thrust, it was dizzying, addictive, perfect.
You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t care. You needed this. Needed him. Yunho’s rhythm faltered just slightly as your hands slipped up, nails scraping his hips, pulling him deeper, begging without words. “Fucking… baby,” he gasped, voice wrecked. “Gonna cum down your throat if you keep doing that.”
The second you moaned around him, Yunho’s whole body shuddered. He wasn’t breathing steady anymore. He wasn’t thinking anymore. He tightened his grip in your hair, hard, and his hips snapped forward on instinct, his dick pushing deeper into your throat with a strangled groan.
And you fucking whimpered around him. It vibrated up his dick like lightning. “Shit… don’t…. fuck, baby,” he panted, voice wrecked, body shaking. “You want it like this?” You blinked up at him with watery eyes, cheeks flushed, and let your tongue flatten beneath him as he fucked your mouth harder, deeper, now with rhythm, now with purpose. He wasn’t holding back anymore.
Every thrust of his hips made your throat tighten, your jaw ache, your body clench around the tension growing deep in your core. Your eyes stung, spit running down your chin, but you didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch. You welcomed it. And then you reached down. Still kneeling. Still being used. Still so full of him you could barely breathe. Your fingers slipped under your shorts, panties soaked through. One press and you gasped around his dick, lips stretched, throat full, and now two fingers sliding inside yourself like you needed it to survive.
The way Yunho choked on his moan when he saw that?
It was primal. “Holy fuck,” he growled, looking down at you, wrecked, wet, high out of your mind, fucking yourself while he used your throat like it was his. “You’re getting off to this?” You couldn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Your whimpers around him said it all, needy and high pitched, every thrust of your fingers syncing with the thrusts of his dick in your mouth.
Yunho couldn’t take it. He snapped. He gripped the sides of your face, holding you still, and started thrusting in earnest, deep, hard, fast, your throat stretching around him as your fingers moved faster, wetter, your hips rocking forward against your hand like you were chasing it and you were gone. High, fucked, full, and right there on the edge as Yunho looked down at you, chest heaving, watching your body tremble.
“Come,” he growled. “Fucking come for me, baby…. come with my dick down your throat.” His words made you moan so hard around him it nearly made you choke, fingers plunging deeper as your orgasm hit like a goddamn wave, your body jerking, thighs clenching, your whole world going white hot as you came with his dick still buried in your throat.
Yunho’s head dropped back with a groan so low it sounded like it tore out of his chest. “Fuckfuckfuck…. fuck…” he gasped, thrusting deeper one more time as his dick pulsed hard in your mouth and he came down your throat, your name ripped from his mouth like a prayer and a promise in one.
You swallowed every drop and didn’t stop until his grip loosened, his hips stilled, his body trembling over yours. When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, your chin slick, your eyes glassy and wet. And you smiled. Wrecked. Glowing. Completely, perfectly ruined already, still kneeling, breath shallow, legs trembling from how hard you’d come, lips shiny and swollen, spit and cum still clinging to your chin.
And Yunho? He looked at you like a man absolutely fucking ruined. But instead of stepping back, instead of cooling off, he reached down, slid his fingers beneath your chin, and pulled you up to him with a slow, firm grip. Your body followed on instinct, weak in the knees, chest rising fast as he dragged your face to his, his eyes locked on your mouth like it had just destroyed him.
Because it had.
He kissed you. Tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting himself on you, and moaning into it like he couldn’t get enough. The low, broken sound that left his chest was pure filth, like the taste of his own cum on your tongue had just snapped whatever thread of self control he had left. His hand moved down, caught your wrist. The one you’d had buried between your legs. And without hesitation, Yunho brought it to his mouth.
You gasped, lips still slick from the kiss as he stared into your eyes and sucked your fingers into his mouth, deep, slow, messy. His tongue slid between them, tasting the cum you’d pulled from yourself, the proof of what he’d done to you, and he moaned again, louder this time. His eyes rolled back for a second like it was too much. Then they snapped back to yours, wild. “Fuck,” he breathed, still sucking. “You taste so fucking good.”
You whimpered as he pulled your fingers out with a wet pop, held your hand against his cheek, then leaned in and kissed you again, deeper, slower, like now that he’d had you once, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. “You’re mine now,” he murmured against your lips. “You know that, right?”
You didn’t get a chance to reply as he kissed you like he meant it. Like he owned it. Like claiming your mouth wasn’t enough, he needed more. Needed all of you. And you? You were barely standing. Your legs still shaky, breath short, your body oversensitized and aching again. But Yunho caught you. His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you like nothing, and he guided you back down onto the couch.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at you for a second, lips swollen, jaw tight, pupils blown wide, and then he dropped to his knees. Slow. Purposeful. Predatory. You watched as he grabbed your thighs and dragged you down the cushions, your hips meeting the edge, legs spread for him like it was instinct.
He didn’t tease. Didn’t kiss around it. He grabbed your legs, strong hands curling behind your knees, and threw them over his shoulders, hooked them there, holding you open for him as he pressed his mouth to your pussy like he’d done it in dreams for years. His tongue thrusted into you. Deep. Unrelenting. Filthy, making you gasp, back arching as the wet slick sound of him fucking you with his mouth filled the room. He moaned into you like your taste was drowning him and he wanted to go under.
His tongue dragged out and pushed back in, over and over, fucking you, hard and rhythmic, lips locked to your soaked core like he was staking a claim. Your fingers flew into his hair. You pulled hard and Yunho groaned, the vibration of it tearing through your cunt like lightning. You ground your hips down against his mouth, chasing it, chasing more, your voice cracking on a moan as he gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place while he fucked you with his tongue like his life depended on it.
“Yunho…. fuck… oh my god,” you gasped, grinding against his face, his tongue still pumping, his nose bumping your clit, his moans getting louder the messier you got. He never slowed. Didn’t stop. He was growling now, his whole face wet with you, tongue thrusting deep like he was going to make you come on nothing but his mouth. And you were close. So fucking close.
Your thighs trembled around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, and you couldn’t stop it, you didn’t want to. You rode his tongue like it was his dick, grinding down with reckless desperation as his grip bruised your skin and his tongue dove even deeper. “Don’t stop,” you whimpered, high and broken, “Don’t fucking stop…. Yunho…”
And that’s when he growled into you again, loud, his mouth now sliding up, tongue flattening against your clit, lips sucking as his fingers replaced where his tongue had been, two of them sinking deep, thrusting fast and hard, curling, making you scream as you came, shaking under him, sobbing out his name as he held you there, fingers still moving, tongue lapping every drop of your orgasm like he was starved.
Your legs were still shaking when he finally pulled his mouth back from you. His lips were wet. His chin slick with you. But his eyes? Ravenous. He didn’t move far. Just leaned up, slow, controlled, dangerous, and slid two fingers into you without warning. Deep, making you gasp, head falling back, but he caught you, pressed his forehead to yours, eyes locked onto your dazed, fucked out expression as he began to thrust his fingers.
Hard. Rhythmic. Perfect. And he watched. Like it was art. His lips brushed yours, voice raw and deep and filthy. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” You moaned, breath hitched as he curled his fingers just right, pressing into that spot like he owned it. “How many nights I laid in my bed across the hall, hearing your laugh, wondering what you’d taste like when you’re moaning my name?”
You whined, grinding down into his hand, his thumb just barely brushing your clit now, teasing, like he knew how close you were again already. “I thought about this pussy every time I heard your front door open. Thought about your thighs wrapped around my head every time that fucker made you cry.”
Your eyes rolled back. His forehead stayed pressed to yours, lips barely brushing, your breaths tangled, wet and shaking. “I’d jerk off with the lights off, eyes closed, imagining your mouth, your voice, the way you’d beg when I finally got my hands on you.”
His thumb pressed harder. His fingers moved faster making your hips jerk beneath him. “I knew I’d wreck you. Knew you’d fall apart for me,” he growled, kissing the corner of your mouth, breath hot against your cheek. “But nothing…. prepared me for how fucking perfect you feel.”
You sobbed out his name, eyes glassy, hands fisting the cushions as his fingers plunged into you harder now, wet slick sounds filling the room, your body clenched tight around him. “You gonna come again?” he whispered, filthy and reverent and all you could do was nod.
“Good,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your jaw, voice velvet filth. “I want you to come so hard you forget that asshole’s name. I want you to soak my fucking hand, baby.” You shattered. With a broken cry and your body seizing, you came harder than you ever have, squirting all over his hand, your thighs twitching uncontrollably as his fingers kept moving, pushing you through it, over it, deeper into it.
Yunho, fingers still deep inside you, dripping with your release, smiled, his mouth right at your ear. “Atta girl.”
Your whole body was still trembling, nerves raw, inner thighs soaked from your orgasm and his mouth, his fingers, his fucking words. You were gasping for breath, flushed, barely able to think. But you knew what you wanted. You always had.
You reached for him, fingers curling at his shoulders, dragging him closer and climbed into his lap, one knee at a time, legs shaking as you straddled his thighs. His dick was hard beneath you, angry and twitching, soaked in precum from how long he’d been watching you come undone.
He looked up at you like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming as you settled into his lap, body hot, aching, needing him inside you now. And you reached between you, wrapped your fingers around the base of his dick, guiding him to your entrance, slick and open and ready. But before you could sink down…
“Wait,” Yunho breathed, eyes wide, voice wrecked and tight as his hand caught your waist. “Let me… fuck…. let me grab a condom…”
And that’s when you shocked him as you leaned forward, kissed him once, slow, messy, claiming, and then you wrapped your hand around his throat. Not hard. Not choking. Just enough pressure to make him freeze. To make his eyes go wide and dark and wild when you leaned in until your lips brushed his ear, voice soft but firm as your hips pressed down just enough for him to feel how wet you still were.
“I’m on the pill.” A beat of silence. Then your voice, softer. Deadlier. “I just never let Chris have me like this…” Your fingers tightened just slightly against his throat.
“but I want you to.” You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, panting, pupils blown, sweat at your hairline. “I want it raw.” Another pause. “I want you.”
Yunho snapped. His hands gripped your hips so tight you gasped, and his head dropped back against the couch like he was trying not to come from just those words alone. “Fucking hell, baby,” he groaned, voice guttural, grip on your hips tightening, his breathing ragged as he looked up at you, completely stunned, completely wrecked.
“Fuck,” he whispered, almost in disbelief. “You really want it raw?” You just nodded, still holding him, still hovering over him, soaked and aching and so full of need. That was all he needed. He grabbed the base of his dick for you, lined himself up, and whispered, “Come here, baby. Let me feel you.”
You lowered yourself slowly, and the second his head pushed into your soaked entrance, you gasped, sharp, your body jolting as your thighs trembled on either side of his. He was big. You knew it. You’d seen it. You had it in your mouth. You choked on it.
But now?
Now you were feeling it. Stretching you, spreading you open so slow you felt everything, every ridge, every vein, the pressure mounting inch by inch. You bit your lip hard, trying to stay quiet, but a moan broke through anyway as you sank lower. “Shit… Yunho,” you whined, voice shaking, body clenching around him. “You’re… f… fuck, you’re big….”
His hands slid up your waist, grounding you, soothing you. But his voice? His voice was filthy. “Yeah?” he breathed, eyes locked on where you were taking him. “You feel that? That stretch, baby? That’s me.” You whimpered, barely able to breathe as you sank down further, halfway now, and your hips jerked instinctively at how deep he already was making Yunho groan loud, head falling back.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growled. “So tight, so wet…. fuck, baby, you were made for this. Made for me.” You were shaking now, hands on his shoulders, nails digging in as you finally took him all the way, your body settling onto his, dick fully sheathed inside you, walls fluttering around him. You couldn’t hold it in. Your moan was raw, deep and aching, tears burning behind your eyes.
Yunho’s hands were all over you now. One at your waist, the other sliding up your back as he pulled you forward, pressing your chest against his as he started kissing your neck, your jaw, your temple. “Look at how good you take me,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect, baby. You fit me so good…. so deep.”
You clenched around him and he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into you. “God, I’ve wanted this,” he confessed once again, voice rough and low in your ear. “I’ve wanted to feel you like this. Nothing between us. Just you.” You nodded, whimpering as his mouth moved to your ear. “Go ahead,” he rasped. “Move, baby. Ride me.”
You started to move slow. Testing the feel of him inside you, deep, thick, the drag of every inch making your walls flutter, your jaw slack, your thighs already burning. Yunho was panting under you, eyes blown wide as he watched you lift your hips and sink back down again, a broken curse falling from his lips. “Fuck… fuck, baby…. you ride me so good…”
You rolled your hips just right and his head dropped back against the couch, a full bodied moan tearing from his chest as you braced your hands on his shoulders harder, found your rhythm, your pace, the way he filled you perfectly with every slow thrust down. But it wasn’t enough. Not for either of you.
You saw it in the way his hands gripped your waist too tight. The way his hips twitched, trying to thrust up but holding back. The way his lips parted like he wanted to beg. So you leaned forward again, hand sliding up his chest. To his throat. You wrapped your fingers around it, lightly at first, just enough pressure to make him freeze.
His breath hitched. His eyes opened wide. And then he growled. His hips slammed up into you suddenly, so hard it knocked the air out of your lungs. “Harder,” he snarled, voice deep and wrecked. “Don’t be soft now… fuck me harder.” You gasped, moaned, eyes locked as you gripped his throat tighter and started slamming down on his dick, rhythm shifting from sensual to savage.
Your thighs slapped against his, your ass bouncing as you rode him hard, grinding down with every thrust until his hands flew to your hips to steady himself. “Just like that,” he growled. “Just like that, baby…. fuck, you feel so good…. I’m gonna lose my mind.” You tightened your hand around his throat again, just enough to make his breath catch, and his eyes rolled back as his hips thrust up to meet yours.
“Use me,” he groaned. “Ride me like I belong to you. Choke me, baby.” And you did. With your hand around his throat, your body slamming down onto his dick, your soaked pussy clenching every time he bucked up into you, you ruined him. And Yunho? Yunho let you.
Your grip tightened. Just a little more. Just enough to make his breath catch again, that beautiful throat flexing under your fingers as you rode him even harder, slammed down onto him again and again, hips snapping, thighs shaking. And then you clenched. Right as he hit that perfect spot.
Your pussy gripped his dick like a vice, and Yunho choked, hips jerking up into you, one large hand flying back and cracking down on your ass.
Smack.
You moaned. Loud. Eyes fluttering, your body jolting forward from the impact as your walls pulsed hard around him again.
Smack.
Another slap. This time rougher. The sting bloomed hot across your skin, and you clenched again, harder. “
“Fucking…. fuck, baby… don’t do that,” Yunho groaned, eyes screwed shut, chest heaving like he was trying to hold back a storm. “You’re gonna make me come…”
But you didn’t let up. You were too far gone now as you rode him like you were trying to tear the orgasm out of yourself, like it was buried deep inside where only he could reach. And he did making you scream. His name, a prayer and a curse all in one as your body locked up, back arching, thighs trembling around his waist.
“Yunho!”
The sound of it shattered through the room as you came, violently, gushing all over him, soaking his thighs, your walls clenching and pulsing around his dick like you were trying to milk him dry. But he didn’t come. He couldn’t. His muscles were tight, jaw clenched, breath ragged as he held you through it, eyes locked on the mess you’d made of both of you, still inside you.
Throbbing. Rock hard. Twitching every time your walls fluttered around him in the aftershocks of your orgasm. Sweat slicked your skin, your body limp in his lap as you breathed against his shoulder. You had just screamed his name, shattered all over him, and he still hadn’t come.
He growled. Low. Dangerous. Possessive. And then he stood up. His arms slid under your thighs and back, lifting you with zero warning, your legs wrapping around him out of instinct. You gasped when he shifted, still inside you, the thick stretch making your legs jerk around him. Every muscle in his body tensed as he adjusted his grip, holding you tighter, your cunt still hot and soaked and wrapped around his dick like it belonged there.
Every step down the hallway had you trembling. Every slight sway of his hips sent a jolt of overstimulated heat through your core. You could feel him, feel everything.
He kicked the door to his bedroom open. The room was dark, lit only by the hazy orange glow of a streetlamp outside the window, and it smelled like him, woodsy cologne, weed smoke, clean laundry, and something deeper. Like sweat and sex and barely leashed want.
He laid you down in the middle of his bed, your back hitting cool sheets, his hips never pulling back, never even thinking about pulling out. He hovered over you, muscles tight as cables, his hands braced beside your head, dick still buried deep. And then he growled again, low and breathless. “You said you wanted me to ruin you?”
You barely had time to breathe as Yunho shifted above you, his hands gripping your hips before he pulled out and flipped you over. “Face down,” he muttered, voice thick with heat as his palm splayed between your shoulder blades, gently pressing until your chest melted into the mattress.
Your breath hitched. Your ass was up, arched and exposed, while his dick buried itself back inside you, deep, stretching you so perfectly it almost hurt. Yunho cursed under his breath, hips twitching as he stared down at the sight of you. “Fuck,” he breathed, dragging his hand down the slope of your spine. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”
You felt the press of his lips next, soft, kissing down your back. Starting at the nape of your neck, he worked his way lower. Each press of his mouth against your skin was hot, wet, deliberate. “You’ve been driving me crazy for two fucking years,” he whispered between kisses. “Coming home in those tight skirts, those little heels… that laugh… that fucking laugh…”
You moaned, fingers curling into his sheets. “And he had you?” Yunho’s voice dropped, dark and lethal. “Chris got to touch you? Sleep next to you? He didn’t even know what the fuck he had.” His hand smoothed down over your ass, then smacked it, hard. The slap echoed through the room.
You gasped, eyes wide, your body jolting from the impact. The sting bloomed instantly, delicious and sharp. Your hips twitched against the sheets, cunt clenching around him, needy for more. Yunho groaned. “Fuck…. say something, baby.” You whined, voice muffled against the pillow, “Do it again.”
Another smack, harder and your mouth fell open, a broken moan tearing from your throat as he rubbed the tender skin after, soothing you with one hand while the other held your hips in place.
You tried to move. Your hips shifted, just slightly, just enough to try and pull back, just enough to feel something. But Yunho didn’t let you. He gripped your waist tight, fingers digging in as he slammed back into you with one deep, brutal thrust, all of him, buried to the hilt. You gasped, your mouth dropping open, arms trembling from the force of it.
He didn’t move. He just stayed there. Deep. Heavy. Pressed inside you like he lived there. You whined, grinding down, chasing friction, chasing anything, but Yunho’s hands locked you in place. “Ah ah,” he said, voice low, gravel rough. “You don’t move unless I say.” Your walls clenched around him out of instinct, and the groan that tore from his throat sounded almost pained.
“Fuck… that’s it.” He leaned down, his chest flush with your back, mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “Clench, baby. Come on…” You whimpered, biting your lip, your body twitching under his command. “Clench for me so tight I don’t ever wanna leave. So tight I forget my own name and all I know is you.”
He rolled his hips the tiniest bit, not thrusting, not yet, but pressing even deeper somehow, like he wanted to ruin every inch of you from the inside out. “I’ll fill you up so good, baby. So deep you’ll be tasting me for days. So full you’ll forget you ever fucking dated that asshole.”
You moaned, wrecked and breathless, and Yunho growled against your neck. “Don’t you dare run from me now. Not when you finally let me in. Not when you feel this fucking good.” Your whole body was trembling, your nails clawing into the sheets, your walls fluttering around his dick. And he still didn’t move. “Now be a good girl,” he said darkly, lips brushing your cheek, “and beg me to make you forget him.”
You were shaking. Writhing. Your breath hitched in your throat as your walls kept clenching, fluttering around him in desperate waves, but Yunho still didn’t move. Still buried deep. Still holding you there, stretched and aching and starving for more. “Yunho…” It came out broken, your voice cracking like you’d been sobbing for hours. And maybe you had. Maybe your body was crying for him even if your eyes hadn’t caught up yet.
“I know, baby…” he whispered behind you, brushing his mouth over your shoulder blade. “I know it’s too much… but it’s not enough yet, is it?” You whined, almost sobbing now, a choked noise bubbling up from your throat as your hips twitched again.
You were so full you could barely think, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fast or hard or filthy enough to match the hurricane inside your head. “Please,” you whispered. That one word, cracked and breathless, did something to him. Yunho exhaled hard through his nose… and then his hand slid between your thighs.
Two fingers, rough, a little shaky, found your clit and rubbed slow. “Fuck,” you gasped, forehead hitting the bed as your back arched involuntarily. He rubbed circles, lazy ones at first, then faster, and every time you clenched around him, he grunted like he was hanging on by a thread. “That’s it… good girl,” he growled, pressing harder against your clit, voice thick. “That’s what I wanted. Cry for it.”
Your thighs trembled, your fingers clawing the sheets as your whole body locked up, heat exploding outward in a wave of unbearable release. You came clenching him so tightly he groaned through gritted teeth, and that’s when he snapped. His hand left your clit. And he started moving. No build up. No teasing. No warning. Just brutal, deep, punishing thrusts that knocked the air right out of your lungs.
Your cries turned into shattered gasps, little screams, each one punched from your chest with every thick, devastating snap of his hips. Your whole body jolted with every movement, slick, hot, soaked from your orgasm and already building again. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
All you could do was take it. Take all of him as his hand tangled in your hair, fist tightening as he yanked you up against his chest, your back arching with a gasp. “Don’t fucking run from it,” he growled into your ear, breath hot and ragged as he thrust into you, hard, fast, punishing. “Take it.”
And you did, God, you tried. your cries bouncing off the walls as his hips slapped into the backs of your thighs, each thrust deeper than the last. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only feel, the stretch of him inside you relentless, addictive, cruel in the best way.
“You feel that?” he groaned, lips brushing your jaw as he fucked you through it. “Feel how fucking tight you get when I’m this deep, when you know you’re mine?” You were crying again. From the pressure, the pleasure, the way your body was unraveling, falling apart in his grip. You clenched around him, your core fluttering uncontrollably as your orgasm ripped through you, violent and perfect, shaking your entire body.
And then, just as you were crashing, he pulled out. You barely had time to whimper before he shoved you forward, your face pressed to the mattress, ass in the air, thighs trembling. You could feel his cum dripping out of you, your body still twitching, still clenching as he groaned behind you. “Fucking look at you,” Yunho muttered, voice rough with wrecked arousal. “Still milking me. Still not satisfied.”
Before you could catch your breath, his hands gripped your ass and spread you open and his tongue dove back in. You screamed. It was filthy, the slick sound of him eating you out from behind, tongue thrusting into your overstimulated hole like he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion. His moans were obscene, vibrating into you, his grip bruising on your thighs as he kept you open for him, devouring you like a man starved.
And you were gone, sobbing his name, grinding back on his face, hands fisting the sheets as your entire body convulsed. You didn’t know if you were going to survive this. And maybe you didn’t want to.
Yunho pulled back from between your legs, your body limp, spent, and shaking. But he wasn’t done with you. Not even close. His hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you as you whimpered, already sensitive, as he flipped you onto your back, the room spinning for a heartbeat before you landed against the sheets.
He kissed you. Not your lips, not yet. No, he started at your ankle, trailing slow, reverent kisses up your calf, the inside of your knee, the dip of your thigh. His lips were soft, warm, careful… worshipping. Like he was tracing a map he already knew by heart. By the time he reached your breast, your chest was rising fast again, your breath catching as his mouth closed around your nipple, tongue flicking, sucking, his hand massaging the other.
You moaned, head thrown back, hips rising, needing him again. And when you wrapped your legs around his waist, he didn’t tease. He let you pull him back in with a low groan and a look in his eyes like he’d die for this as he sank back inside you. Slowly. Stretching you all over again, dragging a broken cry from your throat as your nails clawed at his arms. You were too sensitive, too full, and yet it felt so right, like your body would never forget the shape of him again.
He took your hands, intertwining your fingers with his, and pressed them into the mattress above your head, his forehead resting against yours. His thrusts were deep, slow, almost unbearable in how intimate they were. “Mine,” he whispered between shallow breaths, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re mine.” You nodded, eyes glassy, heart pounding. “And I’m yours,” he added. “If you’ll have me, baby… I’m already yours.”
That broke something inside you. Your body locked around him, a desperate whimper escaping your lips as you clenched tight, your final orgasm crashing over you like a wave, sharp and emotional, shaking you to your very soul. “Yunho…” you gasped, voice catching on his name like it meant everything.
He groaned, hips stilling as he buried himself to the hilt, holding your hands tighter as he came, deep inside you, his body trembling as he filled you, staying right there, his weight settling on you as your legs stayed locked around his waist, your fingers still tangled with his.
No thrusts. No words.
Just his heartbeat against yours.
And the soft sound of rain against the window.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
It was Sunday. The kind of lazy, hazy Sunday that bled into afternoon without either of you noticing. You’d barely left the bed all weekend, except for food, water, and the handful of times Yunho had carried you to the shower only to ruin you against the wall instead of actually letting you get clean.
And right now was no exception. Your palms slammed against the tile as Yunho’s hips snapped into yours from behind, water cascading down both your bodies, steam curling around you like it couldn’t even escape the heat between you.
“Fuck, Yunho…” you choked out, head pressed to the slick wall, your body bouncing with every thrust. He was relentless. One arm around your waist, the other braced against the wall, his mouth dragging filthy praise across your shoulder blade between gasps.
“You’re still so fucking tight,” he growled. “I could fuck you all day…”
“You have been,” you whimpered, and he only laughed, deep and cocky, before shoving in even deeper until you were crying out, legs shaking, the world going white as you clenched and came around him.
He followed seconds later, groaning against your skin, burying himself to the hilt, his fingers bruising on your hips as he stilled. You stayed like that for a second, both panting, dripping wet, blissed out and exhausted.
Then, you shoved at his hip with a breathless, “Get out. I actually need to shower this time.” Yunho chuckled, pulling out and slapping your ass on his way out of the steam. “Yes, ma’am.”
He grabbed a towel, lazily wrapping it low around his hips, water still running down his chest as he padded barefoot into your apartment. Hair wet and messy, smile half lazy, he walked straight to the coffee table, grabbing his pack of cigarettes. He was heading for your balcony when…
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Firmer than it needed to be. Angry. Yunho’s hand was already inside the pack, pulling out a cigarette as he walked to the door. No rush. No panic. Just calm, dominant confidence as he lit the end with a flick of the lighter, that first inhale curling out of his mouth as he swung the door open.
And there he was.
Chris.
Standing in the hallway, red faced, chest heaving, the kind of man who clearly hadn’t been fucked or loved properly in years. Yunho tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face as he exhaled smoke through his nose straight past him. Didn’t even flinch.
Chris sneered, his voice low and bitter. “You fucking my girlfriend now?”
Yunho’s grin widened, tongue flicking across his teeth as he leaned against the doorframe, towel low, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. “No,” he said smoothly, eyes sharp and unbothered.
synopsis ; who would have thought getting high with your best friend on a late saturday night would lead to things that friend normally wouldn't do.
pairing(s) ; seonghwax f!reader
☆ ── wc. ; 2.3k
☆ ── genre ; smut, bsf!seonghwa
☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, smoking, hot boxing, high sex, car sex, dubcon(mostly bc they're both under the influence), shotgunning, kissing, sloppy makeout, usage of weed (obvi.), cussing, petnames (bunny, love, baby, sweetheart...), teasing, clit play, fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, biting/marking, creampie, edging, orgasm denial, praising, dom!seonghwa x sub!reader, dirty talk, begging, a tad bit of cockwarming at the end, lmk if I missed anything!!
⏤͟͟͞͞ JOIN THE TAGLIST ── MASTERLIST NAVI ── MAIN NAVI
It was maybe a quarter after midnight, the moon shining brightly in the cloudless sky as you sat in the passenger seat of Seonghwa's car. The air around the two of you was foggy and filled with wisps of smoke as you shared a blunt you had just rolled.
It didn't take too long before the effects of the weed started to take effect, your whole body feeling light and your head far more clear than it normally was.
“So you think you passed that test?” You breathed out slowly, letting the smoke cascade from your lips. Your eyes were half-lidded as you looked down at the half-smoked blunt that sat between your middle and forefinger.
Seonghwa chuckled deeply as he reached over the center console to pull the blunt from your fingers. "The chem test? Yeah, I don't think anyone is going to pass that one.”
He wasn't wrong; this semester's chemistry teacher was a total dictator. You were sure that she gave the class that test just for her own entertainment because none of what was written on that paper was anything you had gone over. Hell, some of it wasn't even in the damn textbook.
“Yeah, you're probably right.” You hummed softly to the soft music playing through the car speakers, completely unaware of the fact that the dark-haired male was staring at you.
Your face was illuminated by the purple lights from the led strips he had installed a few weeks back, and damn is he glad he did so. The purple, whispy air around you left you looking enchanting and out of this world. Your plump lips wrapped around the blunt once more, and the action alone left a burning warmth swarming through his body. He shifted in his seat as his pants started to grow tighter.
Noticing his gaze, you couldn't help but giggle internally, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. Pulling the blunt from your lips you leaned over the console, your chest merely inches away from his arm that he had propped on top.
“Hey Hwa,” you called out to the male, catching his attention. However, his breath caught in his throat when he realized how close you were.
Swallowing thickly, he tried his best to keep eyes away from your parted lips. “What's up?”
“I wanna try something.” Your voice was low as you reached forward, tracing your finger down his throat, a smirk forming on your lips when you felt him swallow. His eyes locked with your hooded ones before nodding slowly, completely unaware of what he was getting himself into. “Move your seat back.”
Seonghwa did as told, and as soon as the seat was far enough back, you climbed over the center console, careful not to drop the blunt or burn Seonghwa. His breath hitched as you settled down in his lap, your thighs on either side of his hips.
“What are you–”
“Shhh…” You pressed your finger against his lips, followed by a small giggle. "Don’t be so uptight; I don’t bite,” you cooed, moving closer to his face until he was merely inches away. "Unless you want me to.”
Seonghwa swallowed thickly again, his hands finding a spot on your bare thighs. When did you become so bold when smoking? Not that he was gonna complain besides the fact that with every movement of your hips, you brushed against his half-hard dick.
“Have you ever shotgunned before?” You asked him, shifting your hips a bit but quickly bit back a moan when you felt his bulge against your clothed core.
“Yeah…” Seonghwa nodded, watching you intently as you brought the blunt back to your lips, getting the idea of what you were wanting to do. His hands rubbed up your thighs as he shifted a bit as you reached for his face.
Your eyes fluttered together as you held the smoke in your lungs, moving closer to the dark-haired male. He watched you through half-lidded eyes as you exhaled the smoke into his mouth, inhaling it until your lips were on his. His body filled with warmth as he got a taste of your lips, but they were gone just as soon as they were there, making him groan.
“Fuckkk.” His head fell back against his car seat, leaving you to watch his eyes flutter close. It was the hottest thing you’ve seen, and the heat that pooled in your lower gut was almost too much to bear, and you unintentionally rolled your hips against his. “Shit, don’t do that.” He hissed through gritted teeth, his hands gripping onto your hips.
“S-Sorry.” You stumbled over your words as his heated gaze fell on you, almost as if he were devouring you with just his eyes.
Seeing the pout on your plump lips, Seonghwa could feel all of his sanity fly out the window. “Fuck it.” He growled before taking the blunt from your hand and putting it out in the ashtray that sat in his cup holder.
Then, in the next moment, his lips were on yours; the kiss was full of lust and need as he leaned against you. He pulled your hips flush against his, making sure you felt everything, swallowing all of the sweet noises that you made.
“Hwa.” You whined, head spinning as his lips left yours to find your neck. Your body felt like it was on fire, and with every roll of your hips against his, it felt like you were going to combust.
You blamed it on the weed for why you were so sensitive, but god, did it feel amazing. Seonghwa’s teeth grazed over your jugular, making you shiver, eyes fluttering for a second. He released his grip on your hips, but much to his amusement, you continued to rock against him.
“Does that feel good bunny?” He cooed against your ear and all you could do was whimper, chasing your high that was on the horizon. “Just wait until I stuff you full.”
His words made your head spin, your hips falter, and stars start to litter your vision. Seeing your reaction, he couldn’t help but chuckle, his hands going back to your hips. Just before you tipped over the edge, he halted your movements, causing you to whine loudly.
“Why?” You cried but were quickly silenced when his lips found yours again; he kissed you with so much fever that it was almost impossible to keep up with him.
He moved his hand down your thigh, dragging his finger across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Your breath hitched in your throat when he pressed against your clothed cunt, easily finding your clit.
“Were you planning for this baby? Wearing such a pretty skirt and my hoodie?” He teased you, gently rubbing your clit, eliciting a breathy moan from your swollen lips. The purple lights were reflecting off of the thin sheen of sweat on your skin, making you glow as your head fell back.
“I need you, Hwa.” You whined, your hands balled into fists around his shirt, and the male just smirked at you, loving how easy he got you to fold for him.
He then hooked his finger around the hem of your panties, pulling them to the side before running his finger through your slick folds. His eyes nearly rolled back at the feeling of how soaked you were, drenching his digits in seconds.
“Fuck bunny, you’re soaking wet.” He groaned, and you moaned right in his ear as your body slumped forward. “Sensitive, aren’t you, love?” Your hips bucked against his hand when he dipped a finger into your tight hole.
“Hwa– shit, please.” You begged, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, the need becoming almost unbearable.
Chuckling, he watched your face contort as he curled his finger in your wet heat, relishing in the way your walls clenched around him. All of the little sounds that you made were like music to his ears, you didn’t care about your volume, and fuck did it turn him on even more.
“Please, what bunny? I wanna hear you say it.” He smirked, pressing a chaste kiss against your temple as your jaw went slack after he brushed over your sweet spot. He wanted to play with you until you were begging, but the way his dick was straining against his sweats, begging to be released, told him otherwise.
“Fuck!” You cried out, face buried in his neck, and his scent was dizzying, and you could have sworn that you could cum from the scent alone.
Seonghwa gritted his teeth when he didn’t get an answer from you, so he reached up, running his fingers through your hair before grabbing a handful and tugging your face out of his neck. A strangled cry fell from your lips as you looked at him, tears dripping from your eyelashes. The fucked out look on your pretty face made his dick twitch, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.
“You gotta tell me what you want, baby, or you won’t get anything.” He told you, and you whined, your body feeling like it was on fire, and the way his fingers brushed against your velvet walls made your thighs quiver.
Not getting any response from you, he let out a faux disappointed sigh, removing his fingers from your needy cunt. You whined loudly at the sudden emptiness, eyes pleading with him, but he wasn’t going to give in that easily. So you swallowed thickly before pressing your hips down on his as much as you could with his hand still holding your head.
“I want your cock Hwa, please. I need it so bad.” You begged, teary eyes pleading with him and Seonghwa felt like his pants got even tighter at the sight of the tears that dripped down your flushed cheeks.
He released your hair, letting your body relax before leaning back in his seat, eyes staring you down. “See, it wasn’t that hard, bunny; go ahead.” He motioned down to his pants. You were quick to raise your hips to wrap your fingers around the waistband of his sweats.
Pulling them down just far enough for his cock to spring free, causing you to gasp as it slapped against his abdomen. It was by far the prettiest cock that you had ever seen, the flush tip a pretty shade of pink, beads of translucent precum adorning the slit. Your mouth watered as you wrapped your fingers around the base, jerking him off.
“Fuck.” He hissed, hips bucking up at your touch, his body felt like it was on fire, and your slow movements along his swollen cock only made it worse, “shit, don’t tease, sweetheart.” His tone held a warning and you glanced up at him, your walls clenching around nothing as his hungry eyes stared down at you.
Jerking him off a few more times, you rose to your knees before reaching down to move your panties to the side, far too impatient to take them off. A loud mewl fell from your lips when you lined his tip with your entrance, the feeling already addicting.
Seonghwa watched you with a clenched jaw as you slowly sunk yourself down on his length, watching as your eyes rolled back when you fully bottomed out. The way your walls were squeezing around him made his brain melt, his hands landing on your thighs as you wasted no time grinding against him.
“Fuck you’re so tight, baby.” He groaned, head falling back as your pace picked up until you were bouncing on his cock.
“‘S so good, Hwa!” You cried out, hands clutching onto his shoulders for support. The feeling of his dick dragging against your walls made your mind turn to putty.
“Yeah?” Seonghwa chuckled before being cut off by a groan as you clenched around him, “You look so pretty bouncing on my dick bunny.” He leaned forward, latching his lips onto your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin until you were trembling in his hold, “so fucking pretty.”
“Hwa!” You screamed his name when he grabbed your hips and shifted you until your clit would brush against his pelvis bone every time you bottomed out.
“Shit, I’m not gonna last much longer.” He groaned, burying his face in your neck; his hold on you was almost bruising as he guided your movements.
“Hwa– fuck ‘m cumming! Oh my god!” You screamed as your vision turned white when your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, your nails digging into his shoulders as he helped you ride out your high. Your whole body trembled in his hold as your walls fluttered around his cock nearly sending him into orbit when he suddenly came.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He chanted, teeth biting down on the junction of your neck as he pulled you flush against him.
The both of you sat there in silence for a few moments as you caught your breath, the high slowly wearing off. Seonghwa was the first to move, detaching himself from your neck and looking at the bite mark he had left. He felt pride swell in his chest, knowing that you would have a hell of a time trying to hide it the next day.
“We should do that more often.” He teased, squeezing your hips making you laugh softly.
“What? Shotgunning or fuckng?” You asked, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he just smirked at you, hands moving under your skirt to squeeze your ass.
“Both.”
You laughed only to be cut off by a small whine, your hips rocking softly against Seonghwa’s. The sensitivity made a shiver run down your spine as you collapsed onto his chest, your warm breath fanning his neck as you spoke. “I’m sure we can make that happen.”
.✦ ex-husband!wooyo x ex-wife!reader
݁.✦ porn w a little plot, they have a kid together and it's kyungmin lol, smut minors dni 18+, p in v unprotected, hella dirty talk, wooyo is dominant but kinda just a little shit, oral f!receiving, degradation, hella teasing, big ole breeding kink, n creampie, they call each other daddy/mommy, omfg i used the word jagi pls lmk if u fw jagi im nervous, they argue a little, they're deffo still in love lowk i could have made this a story but i had brainworms. uhhh lmk if i missed anything i don't feel like rereading it
.✦ wc ~9k | straight up copying @chimivx's layouts lately shoutout plum
.✦ wooyoung brainworms 🧘♀️
“When will Daddy be here?”
Suitcase packed, carry-on zipped, as soon as the words left your eight year old son’s mouth, the doorbell rang. A grin breaking out across his face, he cheered, jumping up from his spot on your bed to race down the steps.
“I’m coming– I’m coming– Daddy!”
You hear the front door rip open and the laugh rolling off your ex-husband’s lips, you could bet money on the fact that he just picked Kyungmin up in his arms and spun him around. Throwing your carry-on over your shoulder, your purse on the other, you rolled your suitcase out of your bedroom and into the hallway, stopping at the platform at the top of your stairs.
You should have bet the money. Hoodie on his upper half, baggy jeans on his lower and tucked into the boots on his feet, Wooyoung has Kyungmin tucked into his chest, one arm around his back, the other cradling the back of his head. He stops twirling, smile staying as he catches your eye at the top of the steps, taking a second before softly placing Kyungmin back on the floor.
“You’re late,” your voice comes out clipped, one hand still wrapped around the handle of your suitcase.
He runs a hand through his long, black hair, “There was traffic.”
“I have a flight to catch,” you bite back.
His head tilts, smile deepening to a smirk, “And who’s driving you to the airport?”
“An asshole,” you mumble under your breath, hiking your bags higher over your shoulders, free hand reaching for the railing to keep you balanced before you start for the stairs.
“Here,” he springs into action, taking it two stairs at a time, taking your luggage from your hand before you can get a word out. “I got it.”
“I had it,” you argue, looking down at him, he just smiles.
“I know very well how capable you are, wifey.”
You smack your teeth, huffing down the rest of the stairs, “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”
“Come on,” he sings, “it’s funny. Wanna open the trunk for me, Kyungminnie?”
“Yes!” Your eight year old shouts, hauling ass out of your front door and sprinting down the lawn to your driveway. Looking at Wooyoung again, it dawns on you like it always does how much the two look alike, especially as your son gets older.
“You’re seriously not going?” You ask Wooyoung as you close your front door behind you, locking it with the silver key on your split ring.
He calls over his shoulder as he rolls your suitcase down your driveway, “Unless they call me in, no.”
A conference for your job, two states over. You and Wooyoung have always been employed in the same line of work, opposing companies, but essentially the same job. It’s how you met in the first place, fifteen years ago, when you were both fresh out of college and ready to enter the workforce. The conference was held annually, usually you and Wooyoung would travel together, before you divorced him.
You hum, storing the information. You whole-heartedly think he was asked to go already, especially since all of your coworkers have already told you the higher-ups in his company were attending, the higher-ups included his name on the list. He must not be going to spare you, and in a way, you’re grateful for it.
Opening the backseat of his SUV, you throw your carry-on inside, brow quirking at the sight of his bare backseat. “Where’s Kyungie’s booster seat?” You ask over the seats to Wooyoung who’s throwing your suitcase in the trunk.
“Let me press the button!” Kyungmin shouts, and Wooyoung gruffs a strangled noise as he picks your son up by his waist, lifting him high enough so he can press the button to close the trunk.
“He’s big as shit, he doesn’t need one anymore,” Wooyoung says casually after putting him back on the ground.
“Bullshit.” Kyungmin is tall as shit for his age. “He’s only eight!”
Wooyoung opens the door on the other side of the backseat, leaning over Kyungmin after he crawls inside to click his seatbelt into place. “Have you read up on it?”
Not recently.
“He can sit all the way back, bend his knees over the edge, the lap belt is across his hips, the shoulder belt is on his shoulder,” he eyes you from the other side of the car, hand on the car door. “He’s fine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me daddy lets you ride without a booster seat?” You ask Kyungmin, ignoring how Wooyoung clearly did his research.
Kyungmin smiles and it’s the exact fucking replica of Wooyoung’s sly grin, “You would be mad and then I can’t be big anymore.”
You sigh, tucking your carry-on in once more before closing the car door. Climbing into the passenger seat, your voice is laced with irritation, “There are some things you should discuss with me, y’know.”
“You research everything,” Wooyoung pushes the button beside the steering wheel and the engine roars to life, “my bad for assuming you’d research car safety, too.”
Cheeks hot, you cross your arms, settling into the comfortable seat of his SUV. He had you there.
It’s a thirty minute drive to the airport, spent listening to soft rock through the speakers, Kyungmin humming along in the backseat to songs you had no idea he knew. So much changes in a year, your son growing like a weed, building a different relationship with his father you weren’t there to supervise. You didn’t need to, you knew that, their time together was theirs, but it’s been a minute since the three of you were together for an extended period of time, outside of pick-ups and drop-offs.
Pulling up outside the airport, while Wooyoung unpacks your luggage and your carry-on, you’re halfway into the backseat saying your goodbyes to your son. Tears prickling your lashes, it’s always hard to leave him, even if the conference was only for the weekend.
You close the door and meet Wooyoung on the other side of the SUV, wiping the tears from your eyes, “Call me if anything happens.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen,” he takes the carry-on from his own shoulder and slips it onto yours with care. “Text me when you land, I’ll call you after he showers so you can say goodnight.”
“Thanks again for driving me,” you give him a tight-lipped smile, “I’m sorry, my dad was busy–”
Wooyoung cuts you off by shaking his head, his smile warm, “Go have a drink before your flight, sleep on the plane. Don’t apologize for something I was happy to do.”
“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his eye, “Thanks, Woo.”
“Have fun for me, wifey. Tell Mingi and Seonghwa I say hello.”
Rolling your eyes, you snort as you turn on your heel, “Tell them yourself!”
You always forget how big this conference is until you’re here again.
Mingi and Seonghwa on either side of you like pillars, you enter the foyer space, the hotel decked out in red and gold detailing, fancy. Men in suits, women in pantsuits, everyone looked about the same, in different fonts. All here for networking until the schedule begins, splitting off into the theater rooms for speakers, boardrooms for workshops, or sneaking off to the hotel bar to ease the chip of performance off their shoulders.
“Wooyoung’s really not coming?” Mingi asks, gray two-piece suit clinging to his body, buff and broad but slim.
Seonghwa, Mingi’s smaller, shorter half, adds, “I thought he was guest speaking this year.”
Your brows raise, news to you. Mingi shakes his head, blonde hair gelled back not moving an inch, “I heard he gave it to Choi San.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” you argue, approaching closer to the check-in table. “That would give San the upper hand, he wouldn’t let him have it even if it killed him.”
Greeting the red-haired woman at the table, you tell her the three of your names, and she hands you all lanyards with a tri-fold paper schedule. You thank her, and as you split off towards the theater room, Seonghwa continues, “What if he gave it to San because you’re here? Maybe he just wanted to have Kyungmin for the weekend.”
Black hair, short and cropped, faded along his temples, his deep onyx suit makes his skin appear even more golden than usual. He stands out, beautiful and chiseled, like he should be on a runway instead of in an office. You scoff, “He has Kyungie every other weekend, Hwa. This job is like his second baby, his first baby, he wouldn’t just let San have what’s rightfully his.”
Mingi chuckles, stealing your attention, shoulders shaking with each laugh. Rings on his fingers, tie dark and patterned with streaks of silver, Mingi adds his own style into strict, corporate fashion, you have to respect him for it. You can’t be bothered, half of your closet is from a department store.
“I seriously think he’s not here because you’re here,” Mingi shrugs, “just my opinion, though.”
“I’m here every year!” You argue, “We’re divorced, not archnemeses.”
Seonghwa shrugs, “I agree with Mingi.”
“He said hi to you guys, by the way,” you look between the two, taking three open seats at the edge of a row in the middle of the audience, “when he dropped me off at the airport.”
“Wow, he dropped you off,” Mingi feigns surprise, brows pushed up, “intimate.”
You smack your teeth, “Don’t be stupid.”
The crowd gets quiet, the projected screens on either side of the stage lighting up, you cross a leg over your knee and settle into your seat, waiting for the speaker to walk onstage. You should have called Wooyoung this morning, you think, you wonder what Kyungmin’s doing today, if he misses you.
Reaching into your purse with the intention of texting him, checking the pocket you always keep your phone in, you realize it isn't there. Furrowing your brows, panic in your blood, you pull your purse onto your lap, sorting through it, pushing past the old ziploc bags of snacks, lip balm, hand sanitizer, wipes, tissues, a small bottle of sunscreen. No phone. Eyes blowing wide, you whisper to Mingi, “I don’t have my phone. What if Wooyoung calls me?”
Seonghwa nudges your side, eyes on the stage, “I don’t think he’ll call.”
Looking at Seonghwa confused, you hear his voice blow through the room. Speaking into the mic, voice smooth and velvety yet strict and powerful, your jaw drops to the fucking floor. Wooyoung is onstage, long hair pinned back, in the dark gray business-casual outfit he used to keep in the back of your closet instead of a suit.
“Where the fuck is my kid if he’s here?” You’re rigid with terror, ass at the edge of your seat like you were ready to get up and walk onstage, fists squeezing the absolute shit out of the straps of your purse. “He’s supposed to be at home, with my kid.”
Mingi’s hand lands on your flexed bicep, “Kyung’s probably with Woo’s parents, right? He probably got called here last minute, breathe. He wouldn’t leave him stranded or home alone.”
The reminder etches a semblance of relief in your stone bones, but you don’t let yourself feel it. Why didn’t he tell you? You talked to him just last night before he put Kyungmin to bed, he spoke nothing of hopping on a flight and overnighting himself here.
You could kill him. You hear nothing of his speech, not a single word, too consumed by rage and confusion to even hear the topic. You sat with a rigid spine and bouncing knees for the entire hour, jaw clenched, fists tucked into your purse to hide how they didn’t uncurl once. The moment it was over you were up on your feet, barreling through the side of the theater room up to the side of the stage, face bent down in anger.
He sees you before you see him.
“Where the fuck is your phone?” He asks, pulling you by your arm behind one of the screens, standing facing one another, parallel to the back wall of the room.
“Why the fuck are you here?” You whisper-yell, “Where is my son?”
“Our son is with my parents,” he whisper-yells back, “which you would know if you picked up your goddamn phone, I’ve been calling you since last night.”
Your brows furrow, head shaking in utter confusion, “I-I I left it in the room, maybe it’s dead? I–”
“What, did you get laid as soon as I got off the phone last night?” He looks dead serious, “Too important to answer my call about getting put on a red-eye here in the middle of the night?”
You’re replaying the events of last night in your head, did you not plug in your phone after you ended the call? You ate your room service, watched a movie, you wish you would have gotten laid, but a hotel room means you’re free to be alone with your right hand, watching– Oh.
Your cheeks flush, “No, Wooyoung, it must have died, I didn’t even think this morning, I was rushing here after the alarm clock went off.”
“You didn’t think to call me?”
“No!” You shake your head, voice a little louder now, “I didn’t. I think you’re more than capable of taking care of our son without me breathing down your fucking neck, Wooyoung.”
He straightens, face calming, a brow popping in question. “Really?”
“Yes,” you heave a breath, running a hand through your hair, “Jesus Christ. Kyungie’s with your mom?”
Wooyoung nods, “I dropped him off around midnight, I told her we’ll pick him up when we get back, she wants us to stay for dinner. Parked my car at the airport, I got a seat on your flight back.”
Your top lip lifts, “She wants us to stay for dinner?”
“Definitely gonna convince you to take me back,” Wooyoung’s lips flatten in a line.
You fake a cough into your first, “I think I’m coming down with something.”
He rolls his eyes, “I already told her no, don’t worry. Do you want to call her from my phone?”
“No,” you shake your head, “he’s probably having the time of his life. I’ll leave them alone.”
“Are we all free from the shackles of your velcro- parenting?” He grins, eyebrows wiggling.
“Fuck off,” you grumble, “I’m going back to my seat. Nice presentation, by the way.”
“Thanks, wifey,” you can hear humor in his voice, the sly grin on his lips. You shoot him the middle finger behind your back before you’re in front of any eyes.
The rest of the conference is boring. Networking is the only fun part of it, but only when the person you’re talking to hates their job as much as you do. Other than that, it’s small talk of shareholding and statistics, each word off your lips makes you thirsty for liquor.
“Ah, Wooyoungie’s wifey.”
Eyes pointed, you turn your head to find the perpetrator who approaches your back, you were now seated at the bar to avoid this exact thing happening. Choi San, senior executive of his company, a ray of fucking sunshine if he isn’t talking about the direction of your company or trying to fully recruit you for your skills.
You force a smile on your cheeks, “Not Wooyoung’s wife anymore, you know this.”
“Is that why you’re drinking alone at the bar?” He raises his brows, coming up beside you, forgoing the bar stool to stand with his elbows planted on marble.
Your brows slant inward, more annoyed than anything, “Come on, San.”
He chuckles, head dipping low between his shoulders, his dimples visible even engulfed in shadow. He picks his head up, voice teasing, “Are we on a first-name basis now?”
“Mr. Choi,” you correct yourself, voice playful, a grin clawing onto your own cheeks. “Apologies, sir.”
“I like that better,” he eyes your drink, a margarita half watered-down, “now can I ask why you’re drinking alone at the bar?”
“Boredom,” you say through a breath, “nothing better to do than drink tequila. Maybe then I can convince myself I enjoy talking numbers when I’m not being paid to do it.”
His lips purse, smile evident even with the scrunch, “Usually you’re on top of this event.” Humming, he pulls the barstool under him, sitting facing you with his knees spread. “Not interested this year?”
“I miss my kid,” you sigh, cheek landing in your closed fist.
He frowns, “Most single mothers would be enjoying a weekend of freedom.”
“Then I guess I’m not most mothers,” you bring your drink to your lips, eyeing him with low lids over the rim. You can feel it radiating off him, the attraction, the want. You make a show of batting your lashes.
A rivalry he and Wooyoung have, ever since San started at the company, a constant petty, childish fight of who will come out on top. Who makes more money, who’s more successful, Wooyoung has used your marriage and your son for years in spiteful arguments, something Wooyoung has but San does not. You don’t know if he’ll ever marry or have kids, you don’t know if he has any interest in it at all.
“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Jung?” San cracks a smirk, it makes a shiver run down your spine. You’re most certainly not, but maybe the tequila and utter boredom has pulled something frisky in your tone, especially sitting beside a man like him. You don’t answer, placing your glass back down on the bar carefully, and San’s smirk grows. “Dangerous, I can see why Wooyoungie tied you down.”
You pop a brow, “Yeah? Please, do tell.”
There’s no harm in not denying it. Or allowing him to continue, at the very least. You haven’t gotten laid in awhile, haven’t been flirted with, haven’t felt desired in too long. You don’t really care about attention from him, of all people, but it’s kind of nice, in a way– even if you know very well how off-limits Choi San is, and that you won’t let it go any farther.
San’s voice is hushed, eyes low, drinking up your figure like he’d been waiting for this day to come, “You’re intelligent, successful, you don’t let your kindness make you vulnerable.”
You can’t help the giddiness that begins to form, “So you’re the type that likes brains and not beauty?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know I’d fuck you brainless,” he chuckles a little, settling into the barstool, pulling his suit jacket tighter. “You’ve known that for a long, long time.”
And you’ve ignored it for even longer. It still makes your feet shift on the barstool, deepening the ache in your gut you didn’t have before he sat down, he’s never been so bold before. Over the years, in your marriage, you always blamed his flirty tone, wandering eyes on his and Wooyoung’s rivalry. Which is probably exactly what this is, something to hold over Woo’s head, or at least he’d plan to if you went through with it. Which you won’t, but it’s fun to hear what could be if the circumstances were different.
“I have,” you nod, picking up your glass again, “is that what you want, Mr. Choi?”
“I’d make you forget Wooyoung exists,” he leans in, voice low, eyes piercing, “I’d fuck you better than he ever did.”
You hum, swirling the watered-down drink in your glass, “Good to know.”
His lips pursed, eyes dancing with thought before he says, “We’re staying in the same hotel, meet me at the bar tonight if you want it, too.”
You give him nothing but a short, small nod before bringing your drink up to your lips again. You watch him as he walks away, his tailored suit painted onto his ass, his thighs, he exuded money. Poise. He’s never gone as far as this, never been so blunt, never fed you a real option. But you suppose he never could, you’ve been married every time he’s talked to you, up until now.
You laugh a little to yourself before throwing the rest of your drink back.
Exhausted was an understatement for how you felt after the first day of the conference. Tomorrow would be filled with more guest speakers, more workshops, your body dragged as you hitched a ride with Mingi back to the hotel. Your phone was right where you left it, plugged into the charger, but your charger wasn’t plugged into the fucking wall.
Undressing yourself, you called Wooyoung’s mom upon your screen lighting up again, having a quick chat with her before she put Kyungmin on the phone. After he ditched you for ice cream, Wooyoung’s mom was back on the phone, asking you how the conference is, then diving into how crazy it is that they put Wooyoung on a red-eye, how important and successful he is, how you’re so lucky to have him.
“I know mom, thanks, I know,” you mumble between every sentence, face twitching in annoyance, your back pressed to the perfectly made bed, body sprawled out with exhaustion. It’s like she doesn’t even care that you aren’t together anymore.
“You two are coming to dinner on Sunday, yes?” She asks, and you kick your feet out, face scrunching together in a silent whine. “I already bought food at the grocery store today.”
After a silent, agonizing sigh, you answer, “Yup, we’ll be there.”
How could you say no after Woo dropped your son off in the middle of the night?
Her voice raises ten octaves in excitement, “Oh, thank god, we miss you, sweetie. I’m so excited to see you!”
“Can’t wait to see you, too,” your lips fold into a tight, flat smile. “Tell Kyung I said goodnight.”
“I will, we’ll call you in the morning,” you can hear her nod, her voice shaky from sheer joy, “sleep well, sweetheart.”
“You too,” you hang up the phone, then groan, long and low, a sigh following it. Fuck. The most pure-hearted woman, you think you broke her heart worse than Wooyoung’s when you divorced him. Fuck. You can’t believe you agreed to dinner. It’s the least you could do.
You need a fucking drink. The hotel room only has airplane bottles of wine, all white, nothing red, even in the overpriced fridge selection. Sighing, you drag yourself into the bathroom, taking a quick shower before throwing on comfortable clothes and heading to the elevators at the end of the hall.
The bar was empty save for one, probably the only person on the entire earth who you didn’t care if they saw you with wet hair and baggy sweats on. “I just got off the phone with your mom,” you say, pulling out the barstool beside him.
He picks his head up, still dressed in business-casual, “Yeah? I called her when I left the conference, Kyungmin’s having fun.”
“I told her we’d stay for dinner on Sunday,” you reluctantly admit, flagging down the bartender.
“Put it on my tab,” Wooyoung adds after you gave him your drink order, making you scowl.
“I can pay for my own drinks,” you mutter.
Wooyoung smiles, “Consider it my pre-paid thanks for dinner on Sunday, wifey. It'll make her whole year.”
“I’m only coming because she’s watching Kyungie,” you shoot daggers at him, ignoring the nickname, “even exchange. No need for you to pay my tab.”
Wooyoung groans, leaning back in the chair, “Can you go one day without arguing with me?”
Shaking your head, you simply respond, “No, that’s why I divorced you.”
Wooyoung stares at you for a second before snorting, “Ouch.”
“Thanks,” you mumble, both to Wooyoung and the bartender as he places your drink on top of a cocktail napkin. “You didn’t even go up yet? You’re still dressed.”
“Needed to think,” he shrugs, fingers playing with the label on his beer bottle. “They want me to speak again tomorrow, someone didn’t show.”
“Oh, shit,” your face scrunches up as you take a sip, “you gotta make up a new presentation tonight?”
He nods, lips bent, staring at his beer bottle. You lean onto the bar, “Why don’t you let San present?”
He looks up at you, eyes pointed, “Fuck no.”
“Why not?” You make a face like that was the only clear, viable option. “He has one ready to go, does he not?”
“I was asked to present,” his voice grows harsher, “me. Not him.”
“I know, but–”
“You know what, let me ask you something.” He sits up straighter in his stool, eyebrows bent above a look so sharp it could kill. “Are you sleeping with him? Is that why you didn’t answer me last night?”
You blink at him, thrice, “What–?”
“I saw you at the bar today,” he continues, voice utterly venomous, “then he said something to me, insinuating that you fuck. Or fucked. Or are fucking.”
“Do you think that low of me?” Your laugh is out of sheer disbelief. “That I’d fuck him, of all people? He flirts with me, and I don’t exactly stop him, but–”
His laugh mirrors yours, “Exactly. That’s exactly why he said that shit to me.”
“Why should I stop him?” You argue back, “It’s nice to hear that someone fucking wants me, my life is nothing but work and Kyungmin. Even when we were still married my life was nothing but work and Kyungmin, you had no interest in–”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” his voice is steady but bruising, “I’m not starting this argument with you again.”
“What, did you forget why I divorced you or something?” Your hands fly, eyes wide and piercing, “That I was sick of being married to a fucking machine?”
Wooyoung turns to face the bar again, shaking his head, “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m unbelievable,” your laugh has no warmth in it, “you just started being a father and I’m unbelievable.”
“I just started being a father?” He turns his head again, eyes wider than yours now, baffled. “Did you hit your fucking head or something?”
“We split up over a year ago,” your voice is nothing short of theatrical, “drop the fake-surprise, Wooyoung. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”
“And it’s all the same bullshit you’ve been spewing for years,” he takes a long sip of his beer, “maybe you should fuck San, he might be a better fit for you, you’re both liars.”
Slowly nodding, you sink into your seat, voice taunting, “He did say he’d make me forget you ever existed. That he’d fuck me better than you ever did. Should I find out? He’s coming down here tonight to get me, to bring me back up to his room…”
Wooyoung’s grip tightens around his beer bottle, eyes laser-focused onto the bar like the swirls in marble was the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. You grin.
“…He seems big, real strong, too. Bet he’d throw me around the room, maybe even get me pregnant again. Kyungmin would like a sibling, don’t you think?”
“What are you doing?” He finally looks at you again, voice ragged, angry and blunt.
You shrug, “Since you think me and Sannie would be so great together, I’m exploring options.”
As if it were a movie, something straight out of fucking Netflix, Choi San walks through the deep oak double-doors, still in his tailored suit, a cocky smirk spreading when he sees you. It widens, dimples showing when he spots Wooyoung beside you.
Wooyoung lets out a nasty chuckle, “You’re not kidding.”
“Why would I joke about it?” You lift a brow, “I told you, it was nice to feel wanted.”
“You wanna give Kyungmin a sibling?” He’s looking at you again, and his mismatched eyes are asking more than one question. Heat curls low, it’s been a long, long time since he’s looked at you that way, since he’s said anything more than a passive joke.
You swallow, words caught in your throat.
“Answer me, jagi,” he leans in closer, voice still laced with anger, but it’s morphed into something deeper, rooted in jealousy, in possession. He hasn’t called you that since before you brought up separating, it makes your lips part, eyebrows folding in just enough to crease at the center. “If you’re gonna give him a sibling, it’ll be with his father.”
Licking your lips, seeing nothing but truth and determination in his eyes, you find yourself nodding, whispering a short, “Okay.”
“Charge it to my room, 1117,” he tells the bartender, slamming a bill on the marble before grabbing you by the wrist, dragging you right past San without as much as a glance. You don’t even look at him, you don’t need to, clearly you’ve lost your fucking mind following Wooyoung to the elevators.
The moment the doors open he’s pushing you inside roughly, caging you in against the wall, forehead pressed to yours. “You wanna get fucked?”
You arch into him, whispering, “Yeah.”
“You want me to fuck you full? Get you pregnant again?”
“Fuck,” you whimper, fingers finding his jacket, “yes.”
You tug him closer by his jacket, tilting your head up to find his lips with your own. Your head is fuzzy, body charged with electricity from your argument, being in a goddamn elevator with him pressed to you, your leg lifts to clamp over his back, tugging him impossibly closer.
Nostalgic isn’t the word, it’s like muscle memory, how your lips messily tangle, tongues slotting into each other’s mouths how you’ve always done, two people who know each other better than anyone else. He groans, hips rutting into yours, making you moan into his mouth, hands flying up to his hair, tugging at his roots.
“You don’t want San,” he mutters into your mouth, breath heavy, voice rough. “You want me.”
“Shut up,” you mumble back, chasing his lips, he doesn’t let you have them.
“Say it,” he urges, fingers digging into your sides, pushing you harder against the wall. “Say you want me.”
“I want to be fucked,” your voice is clipped, annoyed, “do it, before I go back to the bar.”
His chuckle isn’t amused nor entertained, it’s harsh and unforgiving and makes a chill down up your fucking spine. The elevator dings and he pulls away from you, turning around, leaving the elevator as if he’s completely unaffected. You follow after him, on his heel as he makes for his room, he doesn’t say anything as he places his card up against the sensor, pushing the door open when it rings green.
“Oh, you’re coming in?” He asks, face unreadable.
You pause with one foot through the doorway, “Does it look like I’m coming in?”
He lets go of the door as you walk inside his room, light walls, bare, it mirrors yours. He takes off his jacket, hanging it in the closet, “Thought you were gonna go get fucked by San, you want him to throw you around, don’t you?”
You whine, “Wooyoung.”
He pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his bronzy skin, his sculpted abdomen, his hipbones that poke out from above his waistband. You’re salivating taking in the sight of him, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him, touched him.
He starts unbuttoning his slacks, staring at you like he’s bored, “You want me or him?”
You don’t know why you’re putting up a fight. You agreed to this already, your lips still feel swollen, your fingertips are buzzing with need– but admission is letting him win, and you can’t let him win.
“I want,” you mumble as he pulls his zipper down, purposely flexing his body, staring at you through lowered brows. Your breath grows shallow, licking your lips as he pushes them down his thighs, “I want–”
“What?” He tilts his head, voice taunting as he kicks them off his feet, taking a step toward you. His length is prominent through his briefs, a wet spot clear on onyx nylon, “Tell me, jagi.”
“I want,” your fingertips tug at the hem of the zip-up on your upper half, eyes locked into how his veiny hand curls over his length, voice small from how deep into the daze you’ve sank already, “you.”
Approaching you, his height engulfing you, making you feel small, your head tilts upward to see him. His smirk grows, two fingers landing on your zipper, “You want who?”
He slides it down before you answer, jacket falling off your shoulders, revealing the black, lacy bralette you wore underneath. It’s comfortable, and you wore it for that sole reason, despite how it looks, but his jaw ticks when he sees it, chocolate eyes going deep, melted, burnt.
You watch as his fingers find the center, tugging on the elastic band, letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp, a small sound, looking back up at him with glassy eyes, “Stop toying with me and do something.”
“I’m not touching you until you do as I say.” Fingers sinking into the waistband of your sweats, he bends to tug them down your hips, leaving you nearly bare, slowly standing up straight again, his nose so close to your skin he nearly touches you. “Tell me who you want to fuck you.”
“You, you fucking prick,” your back arches as he reaches his full height again, “I want you to fuck me.”
An amused smirk spreads across his cheeks before he feigns a pout, “That was mean, mommy.” Taking his hands to your shoulders, his fingertips trail down your sides, dancing against your skin, his touch, that word, his tone making you shiver. “Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you.”
“Why are you teasing me?” You huff, each touch feeling like zaps of electricity, it’s clear he wants to take his time, wants to get you worked up. You want him to fuck you, to ruin you, to put a baby in you, you don’t want him nice. “Fuck me already, Wooyoung.”
“We have time,” his hand hinds your hair, scratching into your scalp before running his fingers through it, cupping your cheek afterward. “No kid, no interruptions, just us. When’s the last time we had that?”
“Way before we split up,” you melt into his palm, soft against your skin, comforting. Home. Your voice comes out airy, almost a whisper, “Fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this.”
Guilt– already sneaking up your spine, he catches it before it has the chance to spread. “Why not?” His hand that was on your cheek slides down to your jaw, smiling down at you viciously before his grip tightens, “You want a baby, don’t you? Wanted to get fucked so badly you planned to fuck my coworker.”
You whimper as he moves you backward, eyes wide, skin sizzling. He pushes you down onto the bed with nothing but his palm on your face, “You wanted this, and you know there’s no one else who fucks you like I do. Say it.”
“No one else,” you whisper, back already arching as he crawls on top of you, “just you, Woo, no one else fucks me like you do.”
He sucks in a breath, almost a hiss, brows furrowing as his fingers hook into your panties, knees pressed to the mattress on either side of your legs. “You want my mouth? Or my cock? When’s the last time this pussy was stretched out, huh?”
“Mouth,” you lift your hips easy for him as he tugs your black panties down your thighs, “long time.”
“Long time?” He smirks, back to taunting, “Was the last person me?”
“Fuck you,” you grumble out, “do something.”
He sits up straighter and you can feel the cool air of the room on your already-wet core, knees pinning together. “Hiding from me now?” His voice makes you want to rip your fucking hair out. “When I’m the only person who can make this pussy cum? Be nice to me, mommy.”
“Stop calling me that,” your fingers tighten in the comforter below you, “it’s fucked up.”
“I used to call you that all the time,” his brows furrow, “you remember what you used to call me?”
You shake your head, whining, “Stop playing games, Wooyoung.”
“Just give in,” he smacks the side of your thigh, “I’m here, right in front of you, waiting for you to hump my nose like a bitch in heat like you always fuckin’ do. Just say the words, jagi.”
His words, the sting makes you moan, thighs tightening just to get some friction. Resistance is a band pulled taut, you finally feel something vital in you crack, the band snapping, your lips move before you can think about the defeated words leaving them. “Yes, the last person was you, daddy. Need your mouth, your cock, need you to do something– fuck me, please.”
His smile is feline, “There she is.”
Two hands on your knees spread you wide, he dives down to press his tongue flat to your core, eyes flying back into his head when he tastes you. You moan at the same time, your fingers flying down to tangle in his slick roots as he starts lapping at your folds, drinking up every drop you’ve accumulated.
“So sweet,” he moans into you, “missed this pussy.”
Your breath is leaving you in short, shallow puffs, but a cocky, hazy smirk forms on your lips despite the pleasure, “Who’s pussy?”
“Mommy’s,” he says with a smile, eyeing you from between your legs, so shameless it makes you giggle, cut off by a sharp, strangled moan when his nose runs over your clit. “Forget I know you? Like the back of my hand?”
“Been a long time,” you lift yourself up on one elbow, your other hand in his hair, feet hooked over his back as you grind your hips up against his mouth, his nose. “Fuck, feels good.”
His eyes flutter closed, letting your hips grind against him, tongue pushed out pointed, catching on your entrance with each grind of your hips. Your clit ghosts his nose and you gasp, you’re sensitive, you haven’t gotten head in years, you think. “Sh– it,” you stutter, “so good, Woo, ohmygod.”
He groans into you, arms wrapping around your thighs, fingers digging into your hips. Keeping you in rhythm, not letting you falter, he fucks your hips onto his face with perfect pace, each movement strategic, practiced like he did this regularly. It has you weak, toes curling, head dipping back, hips moving recklessly, quicker with each drag over his hot, wet mouth.
He’s loving it, face knitted up in bliss, his hips rutting into the mattress like he needed the relief. The noises you make are loud, lewd, a hymn of pleasure only he could give you, in harmony with the squelching sounds of his mouth against your core, so dirty and nasty it edges you further, brings the pit in your stomach forward like his mouth was a toy.
“Close,” you gasp and his fingers tighten on your hips, head nodding faster, in tune with your rocking hips. Your breath catches as his nose flicks over your clit, the same pace, same pressure, same rhythm, you stutter babbles as the pressure in your gut builds, sounds growing in pitch, muddling closer together, “Fuck, daddy, I’m g’na fucking cum.”
He moans into you like he knew the vibration of his voice would push you over the edge and it fucking does, the sound that leaves you is strained, loud, vulnerably shrill. Joints locking up, face scrunching, head tucked into your chest, you spasm beneath his hold and he rocks you through it, keeping you steady, his rhythm never once faltering as your pleasure hits his peak, rushing through you like a tidal wave, the strongest orgasm you’ve had in a long time.
He slows down with your shaking limbs that lose their speed, breath finally returning to you, heavy and desperate and relieving all at once. “Holy shit,” you breathe through the words, fingers loosening in his hair, tucking your arm beneath you, leaning on both elbows to look down at him. “Intense.”
His smirk returns tenfold, “Of course it was, I made you cum.”
You flatten out on the bed, a soft giggle escaping you as you roll your eyes, “Cocky.”
He presses one more soft kiss to your clit that makes you gasp, body jerking, “For good reason, did you hear yourself?”
You smack your lips, voice amused, “I have half a mind to leave now, asshole. Thanks for the big O, baby daddy, I’ll go back to my room now.”
He crawls on top of you, pulling your thighs down, flush to his own, leaning down so your foreheads are mere centimeters apart, “Baby daddy? Ex-husband is a better title than baby daddy.”
You tilt your chin up, smiling, “How about sperm donor?”
He presses his lips to yours, rough, soul-sucking, you arch into him, hips bucking up to gain friction again. He smiles into your lips, “So mean for someone who just came on her ex-husband’s face like a dirty fuckin’ slut.”
Something small, pitched and shaky leaves you from the tip of your throat, you throw your arms around his shoulders, pressing your lips to his again like you needed him. Tucking him into you, his hips dig against yours, his bare chest pressed flat, elbows landing on either side of your head. You kiss for a while, sloppy and messy and nostalgic, swapping spit like it was candy, tongues gliding into each other’s mouths like you were making up for lost time.
His hand slips between your bodies, two fingers adding pressure onto your clit, he groans at the wetness, the heat that bleeds into him. “So wet, she missed me, huh?”
“S-shit, inside,” you gasp, grinding your hips against his fingers, “please.”
He presses his lips to yours, kissing you once, twice before pulling away, keeping your chins touching, both of your lips parted and touching as he slips two fingers inside, moaning into each other’s mouths.
He curls them immediately, making you cry out, hands finding his hair again, fingertips clawing into his scalp. He hisses, “So tight, fuck, how am I gonna fit, huh?”
“You’ll– shi– ah, y-you’ll fit,” sensitivity looms, body twitching underneath him, clenching around his fingers that sink so deliciously deep. You kiss him again, grinding against his fingers that scissor you open, “You’ll make it fit.”
He smiles against you, fingers making quick work of your leaking core, “Missed this pussy, can’t believe you haven’t given it up to anyone else.”
“No time,” you whisper and he crooks his fingers angrily, making you squeal out a cry, “fuck!”
“Try again,” he slows, bottom lip ghosting yours, “get it right this time, or I’ll stop.”
“It’s yours,” you whimper, “I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours.”
He’s chuckling as he kisses you again, smiling into your mouth as his fingers massage the front of your walls, calculated and angled, like he was trained to make only your body sing. He stops only to tug his briefs down his legs and the chill that engulfs you is conscious, it reminds you who’s on top of you, who’s pulling these noises from the deepest part of your gut.
Tattoos on display, minus the one at the tip of his spine, skin littered with droplets of mocha, spots you’ve kissed enough times to be burned into your memory. Body lean, strong, angular and unforgiving, all you can do is stare at his beauty, let it calm you, excite you, resurrect you from the loneliness you’ve endured.
His cock springs up between his hipbones, leaking, red, it begged for you even if Wooyoung didn’t, you wonder if this is how he’s felt this whole time. “Missed you,” it slips out of your mouth, two involuntary words pulled straight from the back of your mind, an area gone untouched for over a year.
“Yeah?” He crawls back on top of you, “Missed me or fucking me?”
“Both,” your hands come up to cradle his cheeks, hooking your ankles over his back, “come over more.”
He laughs as he rests a hand on the back of your thigh, unhooking your legs as he pushes it backward, lining himself up with your entrance, “You haven’t invited me over since I moved out.”
“It’s not like you’ve asked to come over either.”
You gasp as he starts pushing inside, hands falling, back arching as he sinks into you inch by inch. His cock is heavy, the stretch is tight, it renders you silent, face scrunched up, a streak of searing heat with each new inch.
“Take it,” he sounds rough himself, voice edged with restraint. “Open up, jagi. This pussy’s mine, it wants me, it’s made f’me.”
Your fingers find his forearm, other hand clawing into the sheets as a broken cry leaves your lips, “Fuck.”
When he sheathes himself fully he leans down, planting a kiss to your slacked jaw, a soft press of his lips that makes you twitch, breath shaky. He plans another one on your lips, voice low, “I haven’t asked to come over because I know you don’t want me there.”
“I want you there.”
“You divorced me.”
“Then let’s get married again,” your whine is loud, core clenching, grinding your hips against his cock.
He laughs again before pulling out, a slow drag of his veiny cock against your walls, mushroom tip dragging against the spot against your inner walls, “You’re cockdrunk.”
He slams in all the way and your body locks up so hard you can’t breathe, his smile is condescending, pushing himself up until his back is straight, grip iron on your calf as he holds it over your chest. His abdomen flexes with each roll of his hips, fucking into you so deep you can feel it in your throat, you hold his gaze, eyes watering, brows furrowed, lips pried open.
“Look at you,” he cooes, “like the day I fuckin’ met you, so hungry for it. So desperate for my cock you wanna marry me again.”
“Shut up,” you whisper, bending your other knee just to feel him deeper, “just fuck me.”
“I am fucking you,” he argues, exuding something vile, “and you’re acting like you can’t get enough, it’s pathetic.”
You moan, back arching, holding your other leg back by tucking your hand under your knee, “I can’t.”
“I know, jagi,” he nods, eyes sliding down to where you meet, watching his own cock split you open, how your folds pulse around him, clit twitching. “No one fucks you like I do, right?”
You shake your head, body burning at the sound of him bullying into you, so wet and loud it’s obscene. Your voice comes out raw, shaky, “No one else, just you, daddy– shit, just you.”
He grunts, reaching for your other leg, bending down to throw them over his shoulders, hands planted down on the mattress on either side of your head. “You want me to fuck you full? Give you another baby?”
You reach for him, pulling him down to kiss you, all teeth and broken noises, “Y–es, daddy, please.”
The noise of wet skin slapping skin dances with your cries of pleasure in the air, Wooyoung’s muddled grunts mixing into the symphony, your hips raised to meet his thrusts and his cock dragging against that spot inside you that has you seeing stars, you wail. It’s too good, it’s overwhelming, you’ve never felt like this before, so consumed by pleasure and passion you don’t notice the tears spilling down your cheeks.
“Cryin’ for me?” He leans down to lick the tear that runs down your cheek, his tongue heavy, warm. He kisses you after, sloppy and slow, so unlike the brutal pace of his cock. “Gonna take care of you, mommy. Gonna give you another baby.”
You’re clenching around him nonstop, the pleasure sharp, his words making it so much worse. He frees one leg from his shoulder to tuck his hand between your legs again, pressing his fingers to your clit, “Cum around my cock, jagi. Let me feel it, wanna feel you cum.”
Your hips are bucking with no rhythm, an animalistic, pathetic need to obey him, you need him to reward you, to fill you up. His fingers work in precise circles, tight and harsh, it doesn’t take long for the pressure to build with his cock moving in the same flow. You go silent, breath caught, and he smiles.
“Gonna cum on daddy’s cock? Gonna give it to me?”
All you can do is nod, fingers curling into his hair, all you can do is lay there and fucking take it.
“Cum for me, mommy, c’mon.”
It pushes you over, pressure blowing just as intense as the first time, he fucks you through it, moaning, head turning to sink his teeth into your calf. You seize beneath him, nerve endings fried, mind-blowing pleasure the only thing you can feel, you don’t know what sounds are leaving you, what you’re saying, it’s all too much. He chokes on another moan, cock pulsing inside you, hips stuttering, you watch with glassy eyes as he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, tilting his head to watch himself fuck into you.
“Please,” a small, broken word, it’s the only word you can manage, body still locked tight.
“Did so good,” he shakes his head, “fuck– gonna fill you up so full.”
“Look at me,” you whisper and he picks his head up, face contorted in pleasure, hips bucking. “Look at me while you fill me up, please.”
It makes his face twist, hips stuttering, a loud, extended moan pushing from the base of his gut before his hips move out of rhythm, fucking into you like you’re a toy, relentlessly chasing his own high.
“Gonna,” he stutters, you nod with each word, “gonna fill you up.”
“Uh-huh, please.”
His hips finally still, body falling forward, down to his elbows as he gives you the last few thrusts, deep enough for his release to hit its mark, to do as he promised. Warmth spreads through you, heavy, full, it racks a shiver through you, swallowing down a moan.
He tucks his face into your neck, breath heavy, he plants a soft kiss against your sweaty skin. With nothing to hold him back, he whispers, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you answer, too earnest for what just transpired, arms wrapping around his back, nails trailing against his soft skin. “We haven’t said that in a long time.”
Face still buried, his words are muffled against your skin, “I think I’ll always love you.”
“So will I,” you say it like it’s obvious, voice heavy with exhaustion, “we have a kid together, Wooyoung.”
His cock twitches inside you, soft and spent, you can feel him smile. “Maybe two.”
“I’m not ovulating,” your hands come up to his hair, pulling his face away from your neck to look at you, “chances are low. You really want another one?”
“I thought you did, too,” his brows furrow, “what did we just say all that shit for?”
You shrug, “It was hot.”
He snorts, lowering his head to press his lips to yours, softer than the rest, slower. Filled with all the time you’ve gone untouched, spent separated, each one tearing down the tall, thick wall of resentment between you, brick by brick.
“Does this mean anything, then?” He finally pulls away to ask, and you’re becoming uncomfortably aware of him still inside you.
“Depends,” you whisper, shifting beneath him. Cocking your head, you ask, “Are you still a selfish, narcissistic asshole that only cares about his job?”
He shakes his head, mumbling, “No.”
“Okay,” you lift your chin, “prove it, then. Let San speak tomorrow.”
He snarls, “What the fuck does this have to do with San?”
You smack your teeth, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his pretty face, “It’s a step forward. Do it and I’ll let you take me out on a date.”
He sits back on his calves, careful in his movements, he slips out of you slowly, intentionally. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your overly sensitive clit and it makes you gasp, hips twitching once. You smile through the stimulation, the feeling is nostalgic, something he used to do every time you had sex. You look up at him through heavy lids as he runs his hands up and down your thighs like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.
He finally huffs, “Okay, but I have to make a few calls and get it cleared first.” Leaning down to press a kiss to the side of your knee, he asks, “Do you wanna stay here tonight?”
“Can we shower and order room service and watch a movie?” The question comes quick, as if you knew he’d ask, you lift yourself up on your elbows as he starts crawling off the bed.
“Duh,” he grins, “c’mon, shower time and then we’ll call Kyungminnie.”
You gasp, a smile breaking out across your cheeks, “My baby.”
“Our baby,” he corrects, grabbing you by the ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed, “Up.”
synopsis ; watching your boyfriend play pool with his friends you can't help but want him to bend you over the very table and fuck you until you're seeing stars.
pairing(s) ; bf!wooyoung x f!reader
☆ ── wc. ; 1.3k
☆ ── genre ; smut
☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, unprotected sex, kissing, dom!wooyoung x sub!reader, petnames (princess, baby, pretty...), creampie, slight choking, slight marking, begging, teasing, praising, lmk if I missed anything!!
☆ ── notes ; WAIT!!! if you have read this before, that would be because this is a revamped vers of another fic (pool tables) from my old blog (@/wwooyology); I am the same writer!!!
⏤͟͟͞͞ JOIN THE TAGLIST ── MASTERLIST NAVI ── MAIN NAVI
It started out as an innocent trip to Wooyoung’s friend's game room so the boys could play pool while you sat to the side and looked pretty. However, you got bored, and watching your boyfriend bending over the edge of the pool table was causing you to rub your thighs together. You started imagining what it would be like if he had you bent over the edge, plunging his cock deeper and deeper with each stroke.
This then turned into you standing and making your way towards your unsuspecting boyfriend, wrapping your arms around his waist and laying your head on his back, right in between his shoulder blades.
“What’s wrong, princess?” Wooyoung glanced back at you while San was taking his turn. You just hummed, saying you were fine, but your hands said otherwise as they traveled down his abdomen before stopping right above his pant line.
Wooyoung was quick to stop your movements, telling you that you could have him to yourself as soon as the two of you got home. You, though, had other plans, continuing to tease him with light touches or asking if you could try just to give him a glimpse of your black lace panties that lay under your miniskirt.
So it wasn’t that much of a surprise when Wooyoung took the chance to bend you over the table as soon as his friends left the room to go find something else to do. His hand tightly grabbed the back of your neck as his other hand trailed down the length of your body until he got to the hem of your skirt.
“This is what you wanted, huh?” His voice had dropped an octave as his fingers slipped past the band of your underwear, feeling your slick coat his digits. You let out a sigh at the feeling of his touch, but it was soon followed by a loud whine when he landed a harsh smack on your ass cheek, leaving a red handprint behind. “You’ve gotta use your words, baby; you know only good girls get what they want.”
Your hands curled into fists underneath you as you wiggled your hips, trying to gain some kind of friction to ease the growing need in your cunt. Wooyoung rolled his eyes before grabbing a hold of your hip, stilling your movements, and pressing his growing bulge right against your core. Your soft whimper fell from your parted lips as your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, even more so when he leaned over your body, letting go of your neck to whisper in your ear.
“What did I say?” His warm breath fanned over your cheek, sending a chill down your spine; his hand that was on your neck now sat by your head. You bit your tongue as you looked back at him, but a simple push of his hips against you had you falling apart.
“Please, Woo, please.” You moaned out, pressing your hips further back into his, “fuck me, please.”
A smirk spread across Wooyoung’s lips before he leaned down, pressing a series of kisses against your jaw.
“Such a good girl, begging me to fuck her on San's pool table.” His hand traveled down to his zipper, quickly undoing it and pushing his pants and boxers down far enough to let his dick spring free.
You started to grow impatient the moment he pulled your panties off your hips, allowing them to pool around your ankles. Wooyoung grabbed his cock, rubbing the tip along your slit, collecting all of your juices.
“Wooyoung, please.” You whined out trying to push back into him to get him to finally put it in.
Chuckling, he lined his tip with your entrance but did not quite push in as he leaned over your body once more, “You’re gonna have to be quite pretty. You wouldn’t want the others to know how much of a slut you are now, would you?”
Then, without much of a warning, he pushed into you sharply, your slick, making it easier for him to slide in. The stretch had your eyes rolling back as a moan slipped past your parted lips. Wooyoung groaned at the way you were clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him in.
“Fuck princess, you’re so tight.” Wooyoung groaned once more, causing you to whine, covering your mouth to muffle your sounds as he started to move.
His pace started out slow and deep but quickly turned quick and rough as he felt you fully adjust. The sound of skin slapping filled the room, followed by the wet noises that your pussy made every time Wooyoung thrusts into you.
Unable to contain your moans and whines for much longer, you started to bite your hand right under your thumb. However, Wooyoung took notice. Leaning forward, he pulled your hand from your lips before replacing it with his fingers. Your eyes rolled back as he pulled you up until your back was flush with his chest, fingers pressing down on your tongue.
“You’re so close already, baby,” he let out a breathy groan, knowing he wasn’t too far behind you. "Did I really make you this needy playing pool?” Wooyoung teased, causing you to whine around his fingers, drool spilling from the corner of your lips.
Your fingers wrapped around his wrist as you felt your orgasm on the horizon, fingers digging into his skin. Wooyoung could tell you were close, that you just needed one final push. So he moved his hand that was on your hip to your pulsing bundle of nerves, a peculiar loud squeak leaving your muffled lips as he harshly circled the button.
Your whole body started to shake as you were finally pushed over the edge, a loud moan erupting from your lungs, only to be muffled by his fingers pressing down on your tongue once more. Eyes rolling back, you were sure that you had lost your vision for a split second as waves of white-hot pleasure crashed over your body.
However, Wooyoung didn’t stop or slow his movements, causing you to whine against him, but he just started kissing and sucking on your neck. The feeling of his lips on your skin made your head spin, eyes fluttering close.
“I’m almost there, pretty; just wait for me.” He sighed, feeling his orgasm right on the tip of his tongue.
You pulled his hand from your mouth, moving it to your neck, and Wooyoung quickly got what you were trying to say. His larger palm wraps around your soft flesh, encasing your pretty throat easily. Your head then fell back on his shoulder as quiet whines and whimpers fell from your swollen lips.
“Cum for me, Woo, please. I want your cum so bad.” It wasn’t until then that Wooyoung finally came, painting your velvet walls white with his seed.
He thrusts a few more times, riding out his high before stopping fully inside of your dripping cunt. Wrapping his arms around your midsection, holding you close to his body. His lips pressed against the side of your head as you relished in his warmth, eyes closed softly.
“Hmm, maybe we should get a pool table for the house.” He thought out loud, letting his lips latch to your neck once more, “because you sure seem to like being fucked on one.”
Your face flushed red, and you smacked his arm before telling him that you probably didn’t have the room for it anyway, to which he just chuckled and nodded, but not before getting one last say in. “I’m sure I could just fuck you against this one anyway; we’re over here all the time anyway.”
Your mind then started swirling at the thought of Wooyoung fucking you all over the pool table, knowing that it belonged to San. Though you were sure, you wanted to find out just how many ways Wooyoung could take you on the table.
i can feel it, my eggs just dropped, imagine an aphrodisiac strain…
plug!wooyoung x f!reader
thinking about wooyoung...
you always said no when he asked you to smoke with him. what you two had was strictly transactional and nothing more. smoking with your source would only blur lines and make a perfect, “professional” relationship become complicated.
it didn’t mean he stopped asking. his strains always made you muddy-brained, incapable of rational thinking. you preferred to smoke alone, in the secluded quiet of your bedroom, where you could melt into your sheets without a care in the world.
another thing you wouldn’t tell him, his weed makes you extremely horny. and you have no idea why. god forbid you smoke with him and then try to jump his bones before the blunt touches your lips.
he’s too pretty for his own good, and he knows it. he loves to tease you, giving you watery looks that made your bones go a little weak.
when he’d hand you things and his fingertips would brush your knuckles, entirely too intimately.
he was the best plug you’d ever had, and you didn’t want to fuck it up over some hormones. always on time, well, mostly. insanely good product, that satisfying feeling of consistency he always provided you with.
one wrong move and something could change, then you won’t be able to cling to that familiarity you found yourself tethered to, which wasn’t a good thing either way.
and after months of his trademark wooyoung nagging, you finally agreed. you had a shitty week, and you honestly did not want to smoke alone. the smile on his face when you finally agreed to share a sesh with him should have raised alarms. he was too happy about it. he sat on your bed with you, a blunt pinched between his fingertips, unable to hide the pure, unadulterated joy in his face.
“i knew you loved me.” he said cheerily, whilst passing the blunt to you. you crossed your legs and took a hit, rolling your eyes.
“i can just tell i’m going to regret this.” you groan around an exhale, and wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows as he takes it back from you.
“not if you don’t want to.”
funny thing is, wooyoung wasn’t being entirely truthful with you. i mean, you didn’t expect him to be open and honest with you on everything. he was a distributor after all. but he failed to disclose a couple of things to you, things that might be important to know.
you would find these facts out eventually, but only while he’s fucking you so slowly it was like with every stroke he was gradually becoming one with your body.
he had your legs pressed up to your chest, his hands pressing down on the backs of your thighs to keep you folded beneath his body. his smile made your gut twist, a very heavy fog settled over your brain, a muted heat that made every movement you made feel like it was weighted. every moan he forces out of you feels like it’s soaked in thick honey.
he looked borderline wicked, his own eyelids low and sultry, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, his glinting canines on display as he slowly drags his cock in and out of you.
you shivered every time he kissed that spot so deep, every sensation was heightened to a point of near concern of sensory overload. wooyoung’s moans sounded like heaven's trumpets, the slick sound of his cock sliding against your gummy walls so sticky and gross. "fucking finally..." he snarls under his breath, and you feel your stomach flutter.
the feeling of his hot palms against your thighs and his sharp nose brushing against yours each time his hips pulled back and forth. his breaths fan over your parted lips in heavy pants, his eyebrows knitted together. he looked like he could barely keep his eyes open, but he didn’t want to miss a second of your pretty little blissed-out face.
you knew this was gonna be a bad idea.
“fuck… is she always this wet?” he shudders out, moving his eyes down and catching the glinting sheen of wetness you’ve left on his cock when he slides out of your cunt again, just enough to where his tip nearly pops out of you.
when he thrusts back inside, it’s deep and insatiable, and your back arches lazily and your lungs shake.
you’re both a cloudy, hazy, turned-on wreck. you’ve made such a mess on his dick, making it so easy to glide in and out of your pussy with concerning ease. your hands fist the sheets on either side of your head, and you felt as if you let go, you just might hover off the bed with how good you were feeling.
“it’s good, i know baby,” he mutters against your mouth, opening his lips with a low inhale and kissing you into a soaked mess, his tongue filling your mouth and muffling your quiet moans.
“can i tell you a secret?” he whispers around your tongue, and you moan lowly in response. to help distract you, he pulls his hips back, and this time he rolls them, nice and deep, so his fat tip presses against that spot harsh and heavy, he can feel your legs shake under his hold.
he pulls away from your lips and slots his face into the crook of your neck, littering it in saliva-dripped kisses. while his cock turns your cunt inside out, he mutters out a confession laced with shaky moans and hazy breaths.
“i found out a way to grow my bud incorporated with a natural aphrodisiac. cool shit huh?” as he says it, he thrusts into you especially hard, a surprised, choked moan falls from your lips.
“w-wooyoung-!” you cry out, but he only shushes you.
“a little tweaking here and there, and now smoking it makes you feel a little horny. is it working? are you horny baby? is that why you never want to smoke with me?” he teases you while never stopping the grueling movement of his hips, and you find your words lost in your throat.
“probably why you’re-“ he leans back again and looks down at where he was sheathed inside of you, the strings of slick that clinged to his v-line sending a shiver down his spine as he punctuates each word with a roll of his hips. “so… fucking… wet.”
“woo-“ you moan pathetically, and he brings his eyes up to look at you, a high, sad mess underneath him. his palms kneading the soft flesh of your under thighs, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, and moaning low in his chest. “‘s not… okay.”
your words are empty, your pussy telling him all he needs to hear. wooyoung smiles and shakes his head.
“shh. no talking.” he patronizes. “your job is to lie there, be dumb, and fucking take it.” he groans when he feels you clench around him, your head lolls back against the mattress when you feel the thick veins of his dick drag inside of you. every sensation has your body feeling like it’s buzzing, and the longer he fucks you, the more you begin to lose all remaining coherency.
“yeah, just like that,” wooyoung bites out with a purr, lost in the warmth of your body. “shut that brain off for me, pretty.”
you’re barely on earth enough to notice as one of his hands moves away from your thigh and grabs the disintegrating roach that sits in the ashtray on your bedside table.
he lifts it to his lips, slowing his hips to deep, slick strokes as he inhales one last time, dropping it back into the ashtray. without a word, he leans back down and presses his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss.
you moan as he speeds up his hips, fucking you full of him so much so you feel like your body is not your own.
“breathe in, baby.” he mutters into your mouth, and you do. you inhale in the wisps that drift from his mouth, and your brain fogs over again as the secondhand smoke fills your lungs.
you’re cumming so hard you actually black out for a moment, and wooyoung watches every second of it like it was the most addicting things he’s every seen.
he doesn’t stop moving his hips, riding you out on his cock while you seem to have a never-ending high. your entire body shakes and the remaining tendrils of smoke float over your lips while wooyoung moans greedily.
“no wonder you didn’t want to smoke with me. just look at you baby, i think i’ve ruined you.” he pouts, and then his moans trail off into a broken whine when you clench and gush around him uncontrollably.
“we should make this a habit… fuckkkk me.” he trails off as he loses himself to your cunt once again, sliding his hands up the backs of your legs and pressing down on the backs of your knees.
“look so pretty folded under me. dumb girl. couldn’t connect the dots herself, needed someone to tell her she wasn’t smoking normal shit.” he grins and leans down, dragging his tongue up the slope of your jaw, kissing below your ear.
“my favorite customer.” he coos by your ear, sinking his teeth into your lobe. “don’t be mad at me, please?” he whines, and then growls low by your ear when you tighten around him once more.
“if you’re not mad at me then cum on my cock again, pretty girl. let me feel that pussy forgive me.”
you don’t even mean to, and you are in fact upset that he never told you his weed has aphrodisiac effects, but your body has a mind of its own. overstimulated and fuzzy, your entire body feels like it’s being shocked as you fall apart around him, your limbs twitching as the slick sound of his dick working you out grows louder as you squirt all over his lower stomach.
“holy shit- holy shit- holy- fuck…” he moans, slowing his thrusts to languid, absorbed strokes that help drag the cum out of your body until you’re squeezed dry.
“woo…” you whine pathetically, your whines breaking in your throat, tiredness seeping into your bones as you start to lose consciousness beneath his warm body.
“i’m right here, baby, just a l-little longer, okay? okay? let me fuck you a little longer…” he trails off again and resumes being laser focused on feeling your warmth swallow his cock whole.
he makes no indication that he plans to stop anytime soon, and all you can do is lie beneath him, a fucked out, helpless, high mess while he rides the waves of his own high with your sweet body. it took him so long to finally reach this milestone, hes going to savor it.
well things have changed, alright, and you had a feeling that a new addiction had bubbled to the surface, one that, unfortunately, both of you would not be able to quit cold turkey anytime soon.
Jongho has spent sixteen years learning control. In the ring, in his emotions, in the quiet way he loves. Y/N has always been his constant. The coach’s daughter, his oldest friend, the one person he would never risk losing. But some fights can’t be won with discipline alone. especially when the one person you’ve always protected suddenly starts looking at you differently.
The bell above the gym door rang when it opened. A thin metallic sound that seemed far too small for a place that looked this big.
Jongho stepped inside reluctantly, his sneakers squeaking faintly against the worn floor. The air smelled strange. Thick. Like sweat soaked into old wood and leather. Something sharp lingered beneath it, reminding him of the antiseptic wipes the school nurse used when someone scraped their knee.
He didn’t like it.
He tightened his grip on his mother’s hand.
“Mom,” he muttered, tugging slightly. “Can we go home now?”
His mother squeezed back, but she didn’t stop walking.
“Let’s just try it, Jongho. One day. If you hate it, we can talk about it later.”
Later.
Everyone kept saying later these days.
Later when the paperwork was done.
Later when things were quieter.
Later when they were both “feeling better.”
He hated that phrase almost as much as he hated the silence in their apartment now.
Two months ago it had been loud. His father had laughed easily, the sound filling every corner of their home. Now even the television felt too loud when it was on, so most evenings they sat without it, eating in a quiet that pressed against Jongho’s ears until he wanted to scream.
At school it was worse.
Kids whispered.
Teachers spoke too gently.
And when one boy had asked if his dad was “really dead,” something inside Jongho had snapped so fast he didn’t even remember deciding to move.
He only remembered the heat in his chest.
The way his fists had hurt afterward.
The principal’s office.
His mother’s tired eyes.
So now he was here.
At boxing.
As if hitting things on purpose was supposed to fix whatever was broken inside him.
He scowled at the floor.
Stupid.
Everything was stupid.
The rhythmic thump of gloves hitting a heavy bag echoed through the gym, each strike vibrating faintly under his feet. He glanced toward the sound despite himself.
A tall man moved around the bag with surprising lightness, his fists snapping forward in quick bursts before pulling back to guard his face. The bag swung, chains creaking overhead.
The man noticed them and lowered his hands.
“Mrs. Choi?” he called, voice warm.
Jongho’s mother nodded.
“This is my son.”
The man approached, wiping his hands on a towel draped over his shoulder. Up close, his presence felt steady rather than intimidating, his eyes creasing kindly when he smiled.
“You must be Jongho.”
Jongho said nothing.
He looked away deliberately.
The man didn’t seem bothered.
“I’m Jiun Park,” he said. “You can call me Coach or Jiun.”
Jongho kicked lightly at a scuff mark on the floor.
“I don’t want to be here.”
His mother inhaled quietly beside him, but the coach simply crouched so they were eye level.
“Most people don’t want to be here on their first day,” he replied calmly. “That’s alright.”
Jongho risked a glance at him, suspicious.
“You don’t have to like it today,” the coach continued. “Just try.”
Try.
Another word he was tired of.
His mother rested a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll be right over there,” she said softly, pointing toward a bench along the wall. “You’re safe.”
Safe.
He didn’t feel safe anywhere anymore.
But before he could protest again, the coach gently guided him toward a stack of equipment.
“Let’s get you some wraps.”
The fabric felt rough between Jongho’s fingers as the coach demonstrated how to wind it around his knuckles.
“Not too tight,” he instructed. “We protect our hands here. They matter.”
Jongho wondered briefly why anyone would care about protecting something meant for hitting.
Still, he copied the movements.
The gym hummed quietly around them. A radio played somewhere in the back, low enough that the music blended into the rhythm of breathing and movement.
When the gloves were finally secured over his hands, they felt enormous.
Heavy.
The coach led him to a smaller punching bag.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Show me how you hit.”
Jongho hesitated.
Then he thought about the boy at school.
About the whispers.
About the empty chair at their kitchen table.
Heat surged through him so quickly his eyes burned.
He swung.
The bag jerked.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each strike harder than the last until the chains rattled loudly overhead.
Something wild clawed up his throat.
A sound escaped him, half shout, half breath.
He hit the bag as if it could feel what he felt.
As if it could hurt back.
“Jongho.”
The coach’s voice cut through the storm.
Gentle, but firm.
“Slow down.”
Jongho ignored him and punched again, fury buzzing through his arms.
A hand landed lightly on his shoulder.
“Stop.”
The word wasn’t loud, yet it carried weight.
Jongho froze.
His chest heaved.
The coach held his gaze steadily.
“Take a breath.”
“I am breathing,” Jongho snapped.
“I know. But you are not calming.”
That only made him angrier.
“I don’t need to calm down!”
The coach studied him for a moment that felt longer than it probably was.
Then he nodded toward a cooler in the corner.
“Go drink some water.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“That’s alright,” the coach said. “Go anyway.”
Jongho glared, but something in the man’s expression, Quiet certainty perhaps, made arguing feel pointless.
He yanked off the gloves, letting them drop harder than necessary, and stomped toward the cooler.
On the way, he kicked lightly at a stray piece of padding.
It skidded across the floor.
He kicked another.
If he had to be here, at least he could make it obvious he didn’t like it.
“You know,” a high voice piped up suddenly, “that stuff didn’t do anything to you.”
Jongho spun around.
A girl sat inside the boxing ring, leaning comfortably against the ropes as they dipped slightly under her weight. She bounced once or twice, the canvas humming faintly beneath her sneakers.
He hadn’t noticed her before.
Her hair was pulled back messily, and she held a juice box between both hands.
She looked… completely unafraid of him.
Which was annoying.
“What?” he muttered.
“You kicked it,” she said matter-of-factly. “But it’s just foam.”
He frowned.
“So?”
She tilted her head.
“Why are you mad?”
“I’m not.”
“You look mad.”
“I said I’m not!”
She shrugged, unfazed.
“Okay.”
He grabbed a paper cup and filled it too quickly, water sloshing over the rim.
When he turned back, she was still watching him.
He scowled.
“What are you looking at?”
“You.”
He wished she wouldn’t.
“Why are you so pouty?” she asked.
“I’m not telling you and I am not pouty.”
She hummed thoughtfully, then slid off the ring with surprising agility for someone so small.
Up close, he noticed she was shorter than him by quite a bit.
“You’re new,” she said.
“No, I’m not.”
“You are. I know everyone.”
He crossed his arms.
“Well, I don’t know you.”
“I’m Y/N,” she announced proudly.
He didn’t offer his name.
She didn’t seem to mind.
For a moment, she just studied him with unsettling seriousness.
Then she said quietly, “You know my mom died, too when I was little.I know how you feel.”
The words landed softly.
Jongho blinked.
He hadn’t expected that.
“I was smaller than you,” she continued. “So I don’t remember everything. But I remember my dad being really sad.”
Jongho shifted.
Something inside his chest twisted.
“How do you know about my dad?” he demanded.
She pointed across the gym.
“I heard your mom talking to my dad.”
The coach.
Oh.
He felt strangely exposed.
“But it’s okay,” she added quickly. “You can be mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him at all.
“When my mom died, I got really mad at my crayons,” she confessed. “I broke the red one in half.”
He stared.
“That’s stupid.”
“It was my favorite red,” she said defensively.
Silence settled between them.
Not uncomfortable exactly.
Just quiet.
After a moment, she nudged a second cup toward him.
“You should drink more. Coach says being angry makes you tired faster.”
He took a reluctant sip.
The water was cold enough to sting his teeth.
“If you come more,” she went on casually, “we can share my favorite snack.”
He glanced at her.
“What snack?”
Her face brightened.
“The popsicles that crack when you bend them,” she said, miming the motion enthusiastically. “Then you get two! One for me and one for you.”
He imagined it despite himself.
The sharp snap.
Sticky sweetness.
Summer.
Before everything changed.
“…I guess that’s okay,” he muttered.
She smiled like he’d agreed to something very important.
“You punch really hard,” she added.
He looked away.
“I know.”
“But you should try not to look so scary,” she said thoughtfully. “People might think you don’t want friends.”
“I don’t want friends here.”
She considered that.
“I think you do,” she said finally.
He didn’t answer.
Across the gym, the coach called his name.
Jongho glanced back once.
When he turned again, Y/N was already climbing into the ring, bouncing lightly on the ropes as if she’d always belonged there.
Something unfamiliar tugged faintly at the tight knot inside his chest.
Not happiness.
Not yet.
But maybe…
Something less heavy.
He picked up the gloves again.
This time, when he hit the bag, the anger was still there.
Just not quite as loud.
And without realizing it, he glanced once toward the ring.
She waved immediately.
He rolled his eyes.
But he didn’t feel quite as alone anymore.
Morning light spilled through the high windows of the gym, cutting bright rectangles across the worn canvas. Dust drifted lazily in the beams, disturbed only when someone moved fast enough to stir the air.
Jongho moved very fast.
The heavy bag shuddered violently under the force of his hook, chains groaning as the leather swung sideways. He pivoted smoothly on the ball of his foot, shoulders rotating, hips following through exactly the way Coach Park had drilled into him thousands of times.
Nothing about his movement was wasted.
Every breath controlled.
Every strike deliberate.
Sixteen years had carved precision into his bones.
“Again,” Coach Park called.
Jongho didn’t answer. He rarely did during training. Words burned energy, and energy was better spent elsewhere.
He slipped an imaginary punch, countered with a sharp cross, then drove forward with a combination that made the bag jump hard enough to creak in protest.
Sweat ran down his temple. He ignored it.
“Faster recovery,” the coach instructed calmly.
Jongho adjusted immediately.
It had been years since anyone needed to correct his form more than once.
On the far wall hung framed photographs from past tournaments. Medals glinted faintly behind glass. One of them showed Jongho on a podium, expression composed even as a gold medal rested against his chest.
Another captured the exact second his glove connected with an opponent’s jaw, the man folding under the impact.
Respect had come quietly at first.
Then all at once.
Now his name carried weight in boxing circles. Commentators described him with words like relentless, disciplined, frightening. Opponents studied footage of him with tight shoulders.
But inside this gym, none of that mattered.
Here, he was still just a student.
And a boy.
“Last round,” Coach Park said.
Jongho nodded once.
He stepped back, rolled his shoulders, and let the world narrow until it contained only the rhythm of his breathing and the target in front of him.
Then he moved.
The combination came sharp and fast, gloves snapping against leather with clean, echoing cracks. His footwork skimmed across the floor, light despite his size. When the bag swung toward him, he met it with a perfectly timed uppercut that sent it arcing back again.
Power without chaos.
Control without hesitation.
Sixteen years ago he had hit because he was angry.
Now he hit because he chose to.
“Time.”
The word cut cleanly through the air.
Jongho let the bag settle before stepping away. His chest rose and fell steadily as he peeled off his gloves.
A towel sailed through the air toward him.
He caught it without looking.
“Try not to scare the amateurs,” a familiar voice called lazily. “One of them looked like he was considering a career change.”
Jongho wiped his face, already knowing where the voice came from.
The ring.
Some things never changed.
He glanced up.
And there she was.
Y/N sat perched on the middle rope, one leg hooked casually as she balanced there with effortless familiarity. Her hair fell in a long, dark curtain down her back, shifting when she tilted her head to look at him.
For a brief second, the noise of the gym seemed to soften.
It still happened sometimes. That strange pause in his awareness whenever he really looked at her.
He told himself it was just habit.
Sixteen years of habit.
“You’re distracting them,” he replied evenly.
She gasped softly.
“Me? Distracting? I’m deeply supportive.”
“You were laughing.”
“It was affectionate laughter.”
He snorted quietly, dragging the towel across the back of his neck.
She had grown into her features gradually, the way dawn unfolds rather than arrives. Somewhere between childhood and now, the girl who bounced on ring ropes with a juice box had become someone people noticed the moment she entered a room.
Strangers looked twice.
Some didn’t bother pretending not to stare.
Jongho noticed.
He always noticed.
It was an instinct he never examined too closely.
She hopped down from the ropes, landing lightly before settling cross-legged on the canvas. Her smartphone rested in her hands, thumbs moving quickly across the screen.
A small smile touched her mouth.
Something sharp flickered low in Jongho’s chest.
He looked away first.
Coach Park approached, handing him a bottle of water.
“Your left hook is heavier,” the coach observed.
“I adjusted my stance.”
“I saw.”
Praise from Coach Park was never loud, but it carried more weight than applause.
“You’re ready,” the older man added.
For the upcoming international tournament. He didn’t need to specify.
Jongho inclined his head slightly.
Across the ring, Y/N lifted her gaze briefly.
“Does this mean we have to watch you on television again while dad pretends not to be emotional?”
Coach Park sighed. “I am not emotional.”
“You cried last time.”
“I had dust in my eye.”
She grinned.
Jongho found himself smiling before he could stop it.
It came easier around her. Always had.
Coach Park shook his head and walked off toward another group of fighters.
Silence settled comfortably between Jongho and Y/N, filled only by the muted thuds of training nearby.
He leaned his forearms on the ring apron.
She was still typing.
The faint crease between his brows appeared without permission.
“You’re going to sprain your thumbs,” he said.
She didn’t look up.
“It’s called texting.”
“I know what it’s called.”
“Then why do you sound seventy years old?”
He ignored that.
“…Him?” he asked, the word neutral enough that no one else would have thought twice about it.
She hummed.
“Maybe.”
The crease deepened.
He told himself it didn’t matter.
It absolutely did not matter who she met for coffee or dinner or late movies.
He focused on unwinding the hand wraps instead.
“What was wrong with the last one?” he asked casually.
“He chewed too loudly.”
“That seems survivable.”
“You would think,” she said solemnly.
He almost smiled again.
She finally glanced up, catching him looking.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re being weird.”
“You’re always weird.”
She leaned closer, squinting at his face.
“Do I have something on me?”
“Yes.”
Her hand flew to her cheek instantly.
“What? Where?”
He let the pause stretch just long enough.
“Desperation,” he said.
She stared at him.
Then she smacked his arm.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You asked.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t.”
She huffed, dropping her phone beside her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
He studied her openly now that she wasn’t looking. The easy confidence in her posture. The brightness in her eyes. The faint flush in her cheeks from laughing.
Sixteen years.
He remembered a small girl offering him half a popsicle like it was a binding contract.
He remembered broken crayons and fearless honesty.
Somewhere along the way, without permission, affection had deepened into something far more dangerous.
Love had not arrived dramatically.
It had accumulated quietly.
Training session after training session. Shared jokes. Late-night conversations on the gym steps. The way she never treated him like the medals mattered.
He had realized it slowly.
Accepted it even slower.
Shown it never.
Because loving her complicated everything.
Because he refused to risk the one constant in his life.
She picked up her phone again, expression softening as she read something new.
That sharp sensation returned.
He wrapped the fabric tighter than necessary around his wrist.
“You don’t like him,” she said suddenly, not looking up.
“I don’t know him.”
“You don’t have to. I can tell.”
He didn’t deny it.
She smiled faintly.
“You’re very transparent for someone who thinks he’s mysterious.”
“I have never tried to be mysterious.”
“Sure.”
He exhaled through his nose.
“Does he treat you well?”
Her gaze lifted then, surprised by the question.
“Yeah,” she said. “he is nice...mostly.”
Mostly.
The word irritated him more than it should have.
Nice was flimsy.
Nice didn’t mean dependable.
Didn’t mean steady.
Didn’t mean he would stay when things got hard.
But those thoughts were not his to voice.
So he only nodded once.
She tilted her head, studying him now.
“You’re doing that face again.”
“What face?”
“The older brother face.”
He almost choked on the water he’d just swallowed.
“I do not have an older brother face.”
“You do. Very protective. Very judgey.”
“I am not judging.”
“You absolutely are.”
A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth.
She beamed like she’d won something.
For a moment, the years folded in on themselves. It felt absurdly similar to standing by the cooler with paper cups, trading stubborn looks.
Except now she looked like this.
And he was no longer a boy who mistook anger for strength.
“Are you coming to dinner Sunday?” she asked.
“If Coach invites me.”
“He always invites you.”
He shrugged.
Truthfully, this gym had long ago blurred into something more than a training space.
It was home.
Coach Park returned then, calling his name for another drill.
Jongho pushed off the ring.
“Don’t terrorize anyone while I’m gone,” Y/N called after him.
“No promises.”
As he stepped back onto the mat, he felt her gaze linger briefly before her attention dropped once more to the glowing screen.
He told himself it didn’t bother him.
That he had learned discipline too well to be unsettled by something so small.
Still, when the bell rang to start the next round, his focus sharpened with a familiar, controlled intensity.
Across the gym, she laughed softly at something in her messages.
Jongho drove his glove into the bag.
Power.
Precision.
Control.
The same three things he had built his life on.
And the one thing he had never allowed himself to reach for sat only a few feet away, swinging her legs lightly against the ropes, completely unaware that the only fight he had never figured out how to win was the quiet one inside his chest.
The restaurant was loud in the comforting way only a Korean barbecue place could be.
Voices layered over one another, laughter bouncing off tiled walls while thin trails of smoke curled toward the ceiling from dozens of tabletop grills. The sharp scent of sizzling pork belly hung heavy in the air, mixed with garlic and sesame oil.
Jongho stepped inside and was immediately greeted by a chorus.
“Jongho-ya!”
One of the ajummas behind the counter waved a pair of metal tongs at him like a victory flag.
“You didn’t tell us you had another match last month!” she scolded. “We saw it on television!”
He dipped into a polite bow, already feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment creep up his neck.
“It wasn’t a big match.”
She snorted loudly.
“Gold medal is not big?”
From somewhere behind her, another auntie leaned out of the kitchen.
“You look thinner. Are you eating properly? Sit. I’ll bring extra meat.”
Before he could protest, she vanished again.
A hand clapped onto his shoulder.
“You are a celebrity,” Wooyoung announced dramatically as he pushed past him into the restaurant.
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are,” San added. “Last time we came here someone asked for your autograph.”
“That was one person.”
“An ajumma,” Mingi corrected. “Which is worse. Auntie fame spreads faster than the internet.”
They were already laughing as they slid into their usual booth, a corner table large enough to contain the chaos that inevitably followed when the eight of them gathered.
Seonghwa was lining up the chopsticks with unnecessary precision.
Yunho immediately started flipping through the menu like it might contain secrets.
Yeosang sat quietly, observing with faint amusement.
Hongjoong barely looked up from his phone.
Jongho exhaled.
Familiar.
Easy.
It had taken years to find friendships like this. The kind where silence wasn’t awkward and teasing never cut too deep.
An auntie appeared instantly with trays of meat.
“For our boxer,” she said proudly, setting an extra portion near Jongho.
Wooyoung leaned forward.
“Do you see this preferential treatment? I am wounded.”
“You are loud,” the auntie replied bluntly before walking away.
San burst out laughing.
“You should try winning medals.”
“I win arguments,” Wooyoung shot back.
“No,” Yeosang said calmly. “You just keep talking until people surrender.”
The grill hissed as strips of pork hit the hot surface.
For a few minutes, conversation dissolved into the comfortable rhythm of cooking, flipping, and eating.
Then Mingi leaned back, studying Jongho with exaggerated suspicion.
“So.”
Jongho didn’t like that tone.
“So?” he repeated cautiously.
“You didn’t tell her today? That you actually love her since what? 11 years?”
He froze halfway through reaching for lettuce.
Around the table, heads lifted in unison.
Traitors.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Wooyoung gasped.
“He’s pretending again.”
San grinned.
“You get this soft face whenever her name comes up.”
“I do not have a soft face.”
“You absolutely do,” Yunho said cheerfully. “It’s disturbing.”
Jongho focused very hard on wrapping meat in lettuce.
“I have known her since we were children.”
“Which makes it worse,” Hongjoong muttered.
“Sixteen years,” Wooyoung added. “Sixteen years of yearning.”
“I am not yearning.”
Seonghwa tilted his head.
“You glare at every man she dates.”
“That is because they are questionable.”
“Questionable or just not you?” Yeosang asked mildly.
Jongho stabbed a piece of garlic with unnecessary force.
San leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
“Serious question. Are you ever leaving the friendzone?”
Silence fell.
Jongho set his chopsticks down carefully.
“I would never do that to Coach.”
The teasing softened slightly at his tone.
It wasn’t fear that kept him still.
It was respect.
Loyalty.
Coach Park had given him structure when his world fell apart. Had shaped the anger in his chest into something disciplined instead of destructive.
Crossing that line without certainty felt… wrong.
“What if the coach wouldn’t mind?” Yunho asked gently.
Jongho shook his head once.
“That is not a risk I will take.”
Wooyoung groaned.
“You are the most emotionally repressed man I have ever met.”
“I am disciplined.”
“You are in love,” San corrected.
Heat crept into Jongho’s ears.
Before he could respond, the bell above the restaurant door chimed again.
Wooyoung glanced over lazily.
Then he straightened.
“Well,” he said slowly, “speak of the devil.”
Jongho followed his gaze.
And everything inside him went very, very still.
Y/N stepped inside, brushing her hair back from her shoulders as she looked around the restaurant. The warm lighting caught in the long strands, making them gleam softly.
She looked effortless.
Beautiful.
Like she always did.
Beside her stood a man Jongho recognized immediately.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Annoyingly handsome.
The type who knew it, too.
His jaw was tight, eyes sharp as he said something low to her that Jongho couldn’t hear over the noise of the restaurant.
But the tension was obvious.
Y/N sighed.
Even from across the room, Jongho saw the small crease form between her brows.
“She has a type,” Wooyoung murmured.
“Unfortunately,” Hongjoong agreed.
The man ran a hand through his hair, agitation clear in the abrupt motion.
Y/N responded, her voice calmer, but there was a firmness to her posture now.
They were arguing.
Mingi winced.
“Arguing on a date? Bold strategy.”
Jongho’s fingers curled slightly against the table.
He didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing evenly until Yeosang nudged a glass of water toward him.
“Relax,” Yeosang said quietly.
“I am relaxed.”
“You are denting the table.”
Jongho forced his hand to loosen.
Across the restaurant, the man gestured sharply toward the door as if suggesting they leave.
Y/N didn’t move.
Instead, she said something that made him pause.
The man exhaled harshly, dragging a hand down his face.
Wooyoung leaned closer to the group.
“He looks like the kind of guy who sends paragraphs during arguments.”
“The worst kind,” San agreed solemnly.
Jongho didn’t laugh.
His attention tracked every subtle shift in her expression.
The slight lift of her chin.
The patience thinning at the edges.
She was handling it.
She always handled things.
Still…
Something restless stirred in his chest.
As if some deeply buried instinct had woken.
After another tense exchange, the man finally noticed their table.
His gaze flicked over the group.
Paused on Jongho.
Recognition sparked.
Of course it did.
Boxing wasn’t as niche as people assumed.
The man’s expression tightened further.
Interesting.
Y/N followed his line of sight.
When she saw them, her face brightened instantly.
She lifted a hand in an easy wave.
Jongho felt it like a physical thing.
That simple gesture.
Familiar.
Uncomplicated.
The man said something again, quieter this time.
She shook her head.
Then, without hesitation, she stepped toward their table.
Alone.
The man lingered near the entrance, clearly unhappy.
Wooyoung whispered, delighted, “Oh, I love drama.”
“Behave,” Seonghwa warned.
Y/N stopped beside Jongho, smiling down at them.
“Fancy seeing all of you here.”
“You say that every time,” Yunho said.
“Because you’re always here.”
Her gaze slid to Jongho briefly.
Warm.
Automatic.
Dangerous.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
Just one syllable, but it carried sixteen years of history.
She nodded toward the door.
“Sorry in advance if he storms in dramatically.”
Wooyoung perked up.
“Will there be shouting?”
“Wooyoung,” several voices groaned.
Jongho met her eyes quietly.
“Are you alright?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Her expression softened.
“Yeah,” she said. “He’s just intense… so yeah.”
Jongho glanced toward the man again.
Intense was one word for it.
Asshole was another.
She noticed the look.
“You’re doing the face,” she sighed.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
A hint of laughter touched her mouth.
For a moment, the tension eased.
Then the man called her name sharply from across the restaurant.
Impatience clear.
She rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly.
“I should go before he combusts.”
Wooyoung leaned forward.
“If you need us to trip him on the way out, just say the word.”
She laughed.
Jongho didn’t.
She hesitated half a second longer, gaze lingering on him.
Then she turned back.
As she walked away, something unfamiliar pressed against his ribs.
Not quite anger.
Not quite jealousy.
Something heavier.
San nudged him.
“You hate him already.”
“I do not hate people I have never met.”
“You are glaring,” Yeosang observed.
Jongho exhaled slowly.
Across the restaurant, the man’s hand landed on the small of her back, guiding her toward their table.
Jongho looked away immediately.
The grill hissed loudly.
Smoke curled upward.
Control.
Precision.
Discipline.
He reached for his glass.
And wondered, not for the first time, how he had mastered every fight placed in front of him…
Except the one where he had to sit still and watch her walk toward someone else.
The evening air had cooled by the time Y/N stepped out of the taxi, but the warmth from inside the restaurant spilled onto the sidewalk every time the door opened. Laughter drifted out, mixed with the unmistakable smell of grilled meat.
Normally, she loved places like this.
Tonight, the tension beside her dulled everything.
“Do you always talk about him like that?”
She didn’t need to ask who he meant.
Kang Jisuk shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, jaw tight as they approached the entrance.
“I barely talked about him,” she replied, already tired.
“You smiled.”
She blinked.
“I smile at a lot of things, Jisuk.”
“Not like that.”
She stopped walking and turned toward him fully.
Jisuk was handsome in the polished, magazine-ad kind of way. Tall, well-dressed, sharp features that people trusted too quickly. When they had first met, his confidence had felt reassuring.
Now it just felt loud.
“He’s my friend,” she said evenly. “I’ve known him since I was seven.”
“That doesn’t make it less weird.”
“What is weird about it?”
“He’s a man.”
She let out a slow breath through her nose.
“And I’m not allowed to have male friends?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re implying it.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line.
“You talk about him like he’s…” He gestured vaguely. “Important.”
The irritation that had been simmering all evening flared hotter.
“He is important. He’s family.”
Jisuk scoffed softly.
“You don’t look at family like that.”
She stared at him.
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
But before he could answer, the restaurant door opened again and a group brushed past them, forcing the conversation to pause.
“Let’s just go inside,” she muttered.
She didn’t want to start a fight on the sidewalk.
Not again.
Inside, the familiar noise wrapped around her like a blanket. For a brief moment, she relaxed.
Then she saw Jongho.
And the rest of the table.
Her mood lifted instinctively, the way it always did around people who knew her before life became complicated.
She hadn’t even thought before walking over.
Only later, when she returned to Jisuk and saw his expression, did she realize how it must have looked.
He stood stiffly beside their table, shoulders squared, irritation practically radiating from him.
“You left me there,” he said under his breath as she sat down.
“You were not abandoned in the wilderness,” she replied dryly. “You were standing near the door for thirty seconds.”
“You made me look like an idiot.”
She picked up her chopsticks.
“If you looked like one, that wasn’t my doing.”
His eyes flashed.
For a moment she thought he might snap again, but then something shifted. His posture loosened. A practiced smile slid back into place.
Charm.
Jisuk was very good at charm.
He poured her a drink.
“Long week,” he said smoothly. “Let’s not ruin dinner.”
There it was. The version of him most people saw.
Easy. Attractive. Controlled.
She allowed some of her tension to drain away.
Maybe she had overreacted earlier.
Maybe he just needed reassurance.
He reached across the table, brushing his thumb lightly over her wrist.
“You look incredible tonight,” he murmured.
She had chosen a fitted black top and heeled boots, nothing outrageous, but the intensity of his gaze made her suddenly aware of it.
“Thank you.”
His mouth curved.
“Stay over tonight.”
The invitation was casual, familiar. They had crossed that line weeks ago. Physical closeness had always been the easiest part of whatever this was.
Under different circumstances, she might have considered it.
But she shook her head.
“I can’t. I already have plans.”
The shift was immediate.
Subtle, but unmistakable.
“With who?”
“My best friend. We’re doing a girls night.”
He leaned back slowly.
“Girls night.”
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her outfit, then lifted again.
“You’re meeting Jongho again, aren’t you?”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“Are you serious right now?”
“You were practically glowing when you saw him.”
“That is called being happy to see a friend.”
“A friend who looks like that.”
Her patience snapped.
“Say what you actually mean, Jisuk.”
He didn’t hesitate.
“You can’t tell me you don’t notice the way other men look at you when you go out dressed like…” He gestured toward her. “…that.”
Something cold slid into her stomach.
“Like what?”
“Like a bitch who wants attention.”
For a second, she wondered if she had misheard him.
The noise of the restaurant faded into a dull roar.
Slowly, she set her chopsticks down.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The words were quieter now, edged with something uglier than jealousy.
Control.
Heat rushed to her face.
She pushed her chair back and stood.
“If you actually think that way about me,” she said, voice shaking with fury, “we’re done.”
His brows shot upward.
“You’re breaking up with me? Here?”
“Yes.”
She grabbed her bag.
“I’m not having this conversation in public.”
He followed immediately as she strode toward the exit.
The cool night air hit her skin, but it didn’t calm the wildfire burning in her chest.
Behind her, the door slammed open.
“Are you kidding me?” Jisuk demanded, grabbing her wrist.
His fingers tightened painfully as he yanked her back toward him.
The force stole her breath.
“Let go,” she snapped.
“Do you actually think you’re better than everyone?” he shot back. “Walking away like that?”
She let out a humorless laugh.
“Better than someone who calls his girlfriend a bitch? Yes. The bar is not exactly high.”
His grip tightened further.
“Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” she said sharply. “You’ll insult me again? Congratulations, you’re very intimidating.”
The sound cracked through the air before she fully registered the movement.
For a heartbeat, the world tilted.
Her cheek burned.
The sting spread slowly, shock numbing everything else.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Street noise carried on around them, indifferent.
Jisuk stared at her, chest heaving, as if even he hadn’t expected his hand to move.
Y/N blinked once.
Twice.
Her thoughts scattered, struggling to catch up with what had just happened.
And for the first time that evening, the anger disappeared, replaced by something far colder.
Something stunned.
Something very, very clear.
The sting spread slowly across her cheek.
At first it felt distant, almost unreal, like her body hadn’t decided yet whether to register the pain. The night sounds blurred together. Passing cars. Voices drifting from the restaurant. The faint metallic rattle of the door opening and closing behind them.
Y/N didn’t move.
She just stared at Jisuk.
His chest rose and fell sharply, eyes bright with something ugly and unrestrained.
For a fraction of a second, she saw it clearly.
Not irritation.
Not jealousy.
Possession.
The shape of his hand still seemed imprinted against her skin.
She tasted iron faintly where her teeth had caught the inside of her lip.
He looked as stunned as she felt.
As if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d done either.
Good, she thought distantly.
He should be.
Her fingers curled slowly around the strap of her bag. Words gathered somewhere behind her ribs, sharp and ready to cut.
But before she could speak, Jisuk’s body jerked violently sideways.
The motion was so sudden her brain lagged behind it.
A fist collided with his jaw with a sickening crack.
The sound echoed down the narrow street.
Jisuk stumbled, barely catching himself before another punch drove into his ribs.
Y/N’s breath left her in a silent gasp.
For one disorienting second, all she could see was movement. Two bodies colliding. The violent rhythm of impact.
Then the streetlight caught the familiar broad shoulders.
The controlled power.
The unmistakable stance.
Jongho.
Shock froze her in place.
She had never seen him like this.
Not in the gym.
Not in a ring.
Not anywhere.
There was nothing disciplined about the way he moved now.
No measured restraint.
Only fury.
Pure, terrifying fury.
Jisuk recovered fast, spitting blood onto the pavement before lunging forward with a snarl. His fist caught Jongho across the cheek, snapping his head sideways.
The sound made her flinch.
“Stop!” she heard herself cry, but her voice felt small against the chaos.
They barely seemed to hear her.
Another blow.
Another.
The dull thud of fists striking flesh was nothing like the controlled sounds of training she’d grown up around.
This was messy.
Ugly.
Real.
“Jongho!”
Her voice cracked.
He froze.
It wasn’t hesitation exactly.
It was recognition.
The moment he heard her.
His shoulders stilled, breath ragged as he turned slightly toward her.
And that was all the opening Jisuk needed.
His fist slammed into Jongho’s jaw.
Y/N screamed.
Before she could move, another figure surged forward.
San.
She recognized him instantly, even in the blur.
He grabbed Jisuk from behind, arms locking around his chest as the man thrashed violently.
“Enough!” San barked, voice sharp with authority she had never heard from him before.
“Let me go!” Jisuk snarled, struggling.
“Not happening.”
Jongho swayed slightly but stayed upright.
Her heart lurched painfully at the sight of the blood gathering at the corner of his mouth.
She ran to him.
“Jongho—”
Up close, the damage looked worse.
His cheek was already darkening.
A thin cut split his lip.
She reached for his arm without thinking.
“Are you hurt?”
He didn’t answer.
His gaze was locked on her face.
On her cheek.
Something inside his expression shifted.
The fury didn’t disappear.
It deepened.
Behind them, Jisuk gave a wet, humorless laugh.
Blood stained his teeth when he grinned.
“I should’ve listened to my friends,” he spat. “They told me not to date a girl this arrogant.”
Y/N went very still.
“And this stupid,” he continued. “Running around like she owns the world.”
San tightened his hold.
“Careful,” he warned quietly.
But Jisuk wasn’t finished.
“Who whores around with every guy that gives her attention.”
The word landed like a slap all over again.
For half a heartbeat, silence fell.
Then another voice cut through it.
Cold.
Precise.
Seonghwa.
“You should stop talking now,” he said calmly as he stepped forward, eyes sharp enough to draw blood without lifting a hand.
It wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
Even Jisuk faltered slightly under that gaze.
Y/N inhaled slowly.
Then she tilted her head.
A smile touched her mouth.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Sharp enough to slice.
“You know,” she said lightly, “I used to think your biggest flaw was your personality.”
Jisuk blinked.
“But it turns out it’s actually your imagination,” she continued. “Must be exhausting being this delusional.”
His face flushed dark.
“Go to hell.”
“Oh no,” she replied sweetly. “If you’re there, I’ll pass.”
San gave a short, approving huff.
“Walk away,” he told Jisuk, voice dropping lower. “Now.”
For a moment it looked like Jisuk might resist again.
Then he yanked himself free, straightening his jacket with shaking hands.
His glare swept over all of them before landing on Y/N one last time.
“You’re not worth this.”
She smiled wider.
“Yet here you are. Bleeding for free.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
Humiliation.
Rage.
But whatever he saw around him convinced him not to push further.
He turned sharply and stalked off into the night.
The tension lingered even after his footsteps faded.
Only then did Y/N realize her hands were trembling.
She turned back immediately.
“Sit,” she told Jongho, guiding him toward the low curb before he could argue.
He allowed it.
Which scared her more than if he’d resisted.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It is not nothing.”
She crouched in front of him, rummaging through her bag until she found tissues.
When she pressed one gently to his lip, his breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
He didn’t react to the apology.
Didn’t seem to hear it.
His eyes hadn’t left her face.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said quietly. “What were you thinking?”
His jaw tightened.
“He hit you.”
“That doesn’t mean you get into a street fight!”
“I would do it again.”
The certainty in his voice stole the rest of her lecture.
She looked up.
Really looked.
And something inside her shifted.
She had always known Jongho was strong.
Reliable.
Steady in a way the world rarely was.
But this…
This was different.
There was nothing detached about the way he watched her now.
No distance.
No careful neutrality.
Only something raw.
Something fiercely protective.
Before she could process it, his hand lifted.
Warm fingers brushed her jaw.
Then his palm cradled her cheek with startling gentleness.
The contrast to the earlier violence made her chest tighten painfully.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
His voice was low.
Careful.
As if the question itself were fragile.
The simple touch unraveled something in her.
For the first time that night, the shock cracked.
Emotion surged up too fast to name.
“I…” Her voice faltered. “I think so.”
His thumb hovered near the reddened skin but didn’t press.
Didn’t risk hurting her further.
The restraint in that small gesture made her throat burn.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Her brows knit together.
“For what?”
“I should have been faster.”
The words hit harder than the slap.
Air seemed to leave her lungs all at once.
Faster.
As if protecting her were not even a question.
As if it were simply understood.
She stared at him.
Really stared.
And suddenly she wasn’t seeing the boy who shared popsicles with her on the ring ropes.
Nor just the disciplined boxer everyone admired.
She saw the man who had crossed a street without hesitation.
Who had stepped between her and harm.
Who was now holding her face like she was something breakable and precious all at once.
Her heartbeat stumbled.
Something unfamiliar unfolded quietly in her chest.
Not dramatic.
Not overwhelming.
But undeniable.
Different.
Jongho seemed to realize he was still touching her at the same moment she did.
His hand dropped slowly.
The space between them felt charged afterward.
Behind them, Wooyoung muttered something about ice while Yunho jogged back toward the restaurant.
San hovered nearby, watchful.
But the world had narrowed.
Just for a second.
Just to this.
“You’re staring,” Jongho said softly.
“So are you.”
He didn’t deny it.
She swallowed.
“You look worse than me.”
“I doubt that.”
Despite everything, a small laugh escaped her.
It trembled on the way out.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
He always noticed.
And for the first time in sixteen years, Y/N wondered how she had never seen him before.
A broken internet connection leads Y/N to her quiet, antisocial neighbor, Yeo. Awkward moments and shared baked goods turn into comfort. Until a Christmas market explodes and Y/N learns the truth: Yeo is Kang Yeosang, a hacker and leader of ATEEZ, one of the most dangerous mafia organizations in the country. Pulled into his world, survival becomes inevitable and so does trust.
Pairing: Mafia!Hacker Yeosang × Reader
Genre: Mafia AU • Romance • Drama • Slow Burn
Tropes: Neighbor AU • Civilian × Mafia • Protective ML • Hurt/Comfort
Featuring: ATEEZ • Cookie the Maltese
Warnings: Violence • Explosion • Guns
Main Masterlist | Yeosangs Masterlist
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
This is Part 1
By the time Y/N finally unlocked the door to her apartment, the day had already drained her of everything she had left.
She stood there for a moment longer than necessary, keys still in her hand, forehead pressed lightly against the wood as if the door itself might offer some kind of comfort. It didn’t. Nothing ever really did. Not lately.
Behind her, tiny paws padded impatiently against the hallway tiles.
“Okay, okay,” she murmured, forcing herself upright. “We’re home.”
The lock clicked open, the door swung inward, and the familiar small apartment greeted her. Dim, quiet, slightly too cold because she’d forgotten to turn the heating up again. It smelled faintly like laundry detergent and the vanilla candle she only ever lit on weekends because she was trying to make them last.
The Maltese at her heels immediately trotted inside, tail wagging with far more enthusiasm than the situation warranted. Cookie was small (absurdly small, really) with soft white fur that puffed up around her like a living cloud and dark button eyes that sparkled with unearned optimism.
Cookie always thought things were about to get better.
Y/N kicked her shoes off near the door, shrugged out of her coat, and dropped her bag onto the chair by the tiny dining table. Cookie jumped onto the couch in one smooth motion, curling up immediately in her favorite spot like this had been the best day of her life.
“You didn’t even go outside,” Y/N told her, toeing off her other shoe. “You have no idea what I just survived.”
Cookie let out a tiny huff, already half-asleep.
Figures.
Y/N moved through the apartment on autopilot. She turned on the lamp in the living room, the warm yellow glow doing little to chase away the exhaustion clinging to her bones. The place was small. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchenette that barely fit two people. But she’d chosen it because it was quiet. Because no one asked questions. Because it was affordable and anonymous and didn’t expect anything from her.
Much like the rest of her life.
She wandered into the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared at the contents without really seeing them. Half a container of leftover pasta, milk that might or might not still be good, a few eggs. Nothing that felt worth the effort.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She ignored it.
Work had been… a disaster felt too gentle a word, but it was the closest thing that fit.
She worked a job she hated in a building she despised, surrounded by people who barely remembered her name unless something went wrong. And something had gone wrong today. Everything had gone wrong today.
The printer jammed right before a deadline. Her supervisor snapped at her in front of everyone. A customer blamed her for a system error she had nothing to do with. She spilled coffee on her blouse, then stepped into a puddle on the sidewalk outside and soaked her socks through. Her train ran late. Her headphones died halfway home.
By the time she’d reached her apartment building, she’d been holding herself together by sheer willpower alone.
Now that she was home, that willpower was slipping through her fingers.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself, leaning against the counter. “We survived. That’s enough for today.”
She reached for the kettle, filled it with water, set it on the stove. Tea. Tea would help. Tea always helped, even when nothing else did.
Cookie lifted her head at the sound, ears twitching.
“No, not for you,” Y/N said automatically. “You had dinner already.”
Cookie’s tail wagged anyway.
Y/N smiled despite herself—small and tired, but real. Cookie had that effect on her. She always had.
Cookie wasn’t just her dog. She was her shadow. Her constant. The little warm presence that followed her from room to room, slept curled against her stomach at night, waited by the door every evening like Y/N was the most important thing in the world.
Sometimes, Cookie felt like the only proof that Y/N existed at all.
She carried her mug to the couch, settled down with a sigh, Cookie immediately scooting closer until she was pressed against Y/N’s thigh. The TV flickered to life, the familiar opening theme of a show she’d already watched twice this month filling the room.
Comfort noise. Familiar dialogue. Characters with problems bigger than hers, solved neatly within forty minutes.
It was easier to watch other people’s lives unfold than to think about her own.
Y/N reached for the remote, thumb hovering over the streaming app.
And then the screen froze.
She frowned.
“Don’t,” she muttered, pressing the button again.
The loading circle spun once. Twice. Then an error message popped up.
No internet connection.
Her shoulders sagged.
“No,” she said, louder this time. “No, no, no.”
She tried again. Same message.
She grabbed her phone, checking instinctively—no Wi-Fi. The little icon mocked her. Cellular data was spotty at best in this building, barely enough to load a message, let alone stream anything.
Cookie tilted her head, sensing the shift in mood.
“Of course,” Y/N said flatly. “Of course today would end like this.”
She stared at the screen for a long moment, then let herself fall back against the couch cushions, eyes squeezed shut.
Customer service.
The mere thought made her stomach twist.
An hour on hold. Tinny music looping endlessly. A bored voice asking her to restart the router like she hadn’t already done that three times. Someone telling her they’d send a technician—next week. Maybe.
She didn’t have the energy.
Cookie climbed into her lap, licking her chin once in a rare display of concern.
Y/N laughed weakly, wrapping her arms around the tiny body. “It’s okay,” she whispered, pressing her face into soft fur. “We’ll just… stare at the wall together.”
Cookie snorted, unimpressed.
Y/N’s gaze drifted toward the far wall of the living room, where the faint hum of something electronic could be heard through the drywall. Her neighbor’s apartment.
She hesitated.
She’d lived here for nearly a year and still barely knew the people around her. A polite nod in the hallway. A door closing before introductions could happen. She liked it that way. Less complicated.
Except for him.
The neighbor.
She didn’t even know his name.
She’d only ever seen him in passing. Late at night or early in the morning, slipping through the hallway like a ghost. Always quiet. Always wearing dark clothes, headphones around his neck or over his ears. Hood up, eyes down. Once, she’d caught a glimpse of glowing screens through his open door. Multiple monitors, lines of code flickering across them.
He looked like a computer nerd. The intimidating kind. The kind who probably knew how to fix things.
The kind who absolutely did not want to be bothered by a stranger with a broken router.
Y/N chewed on her lower lip, glancing down at Cookie.
“Well,” she murmured, “it’s either him or customer service.”
Cookie yawned.
She sighed. “That’s what I thought.”
The idea lodged itself in her mind, refusing to leave. She could ask. Just ask. He could say no. That would be the end of it.
She’d baked cookies last weekend. Way too many, as usual. They were still sitting in the tin on the counter, because she always baked like she had someone to share them with.
Maybe this time, she actually could.
Y/N stood slowly, Cookie jumping down to follow her immediately.
“Come on,” she told her. “We’re doing something brave.”
Cookie wagged her tail, blissfully unaware of what bravery meant.
Y/N retrieved the cookie tin from the counter, hesitating before opening it to check the contents. Chocolate chip. Soft. Still fresh. She closed the lid again, heart pounding a little harder than it should have.
This was ridiculous. She was just knocking on a door.
Still, her palms were damp by the time she stepped into the hallway.
The corridor was quiet, fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. She padded down the hall in socks, Cookie trotting beside her like a tiny guardian. She stopped in front of the door she’d passed a hundred times before.
The mysterious neighbor’s door.
She stared at it for a few seconds too long.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Just knock.”
She raised her hand.
Lowered it again.
Took a breath.
Then she knocked.
Once. Twice.
The seconds stretched.
She almost turned away. Already rehearsing the relief of going back inside. When she heard movement on the other side. Footsteps. The faint scrape of something being pushed aside.
Her heart jumped into her throat.
The door opened.
And Y/N forgot how to breathe.
The man standing there was… not what she’d expected. Not at all.
He was tall, for one. Taller than she’d thought from the brief hallway glimpses. Broad shoulders beneath a simple hoodie, dark hair falling softly over his forehead in a way that looked unfairly natural. His glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose, eyes dark and sharp behind them. Eyes that widened just a fraction when they landed on her.
He looked tired. Like he didn’t sleep enough. Like he lived in the glow of screens and caffeine.
And somehow, that only made him more devastatingly handsome.
Y/N stood there, frozen, cookie tin clutched to her chest, Cookie peeking out from behind her leg.
Oh.
Oh no.
He was hot.
The words echoed uselessly in her mind as he blinked at her in silence, clearly just as surprised by her presence as she was by his appearance.
Her brain scrambled to catch up.
She swallowed, heart racing, cheeks warming.
And then she realized she was staring.
Y/N forgot how to speak.
She knew she was standing in the hallway. She knew she was holding a tin of cookies a little too tightly against her chest. She knew Cookie was peeking out from behind her leg like a fluffy bodyguard with no actual authority.
What she did not know was how long she’d been staring.
Because the man in front of her. Her neighbor, apparently. Looked like he had stepped straight out of a very different genre than the one her life usually occupied. Not the background character she’d mentally assigned him as, but someone sharp-edged and quietly striking, like he existed slightly out of sync with the world.
His eyes flicked over her face, then down to the cookie tin, then briefly to Cookie.
Silence stretched.
Y/N realized, with a jolt of horror, that she was still just… staring.
“Oh—” she blurted, immediately wincing. “Hi. Sorry. I—hi.”
Great. Excellent start.
He blinked once, slow and deliberate, like her words needed a moment to buffer.
“…Hi,” he replied.
His voice was soft. Lower than she expected. Calm, but hesitant, like he didn’t use it often unless necessary.
Y/N swallowed, her pulse thudding embarrassingly loud in her ears. She forced her gaze away from his face. Away from his eyes, his mouth, the way his hair fell into them. And remembered why she was here.
Right. Internet. Broken. Adult problem.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “I wouldn’t normally, it’s just—my internet isn’t working and I was going to call customer service but then I remembered you live next door and I thought maybe you—”
She stopped, breathless, realizing she was rambling.
He watched her quietly, head tilted just a little, expression unreadable.
She cleared her throat. “You look like… um. You look like you might be good with computers.”
She winced again, mortified.
Smooth. Really subtle.
For a second, she thought she’d offended him. His brows knit together faintly, lips pressing into a thin line.
Then he nodded.
“…I am,” he said simply.
Relief flooded her so fast it made her lightheaded.
“Oh. Good,” she breathed. “I mean—great. I mean—”
She lifted the tin abruptly, almost smacking herself in the chin. “I baked cookies.”
She shoved it forward like a peace offering.
“Chocolate chip,” she added, as if that would seal the deal.
He stared at the tin.
Then at her.
Then back at the tin.
She watched the internal debate play out across his face, subtle but there. Hesitation, calculation, something almost like confusion. As if no one had ever tried to bribe him with baked goods before and he wasn’t sure how to handle it.
Cookie chose that moment to step forward, tail wagging gently, sniffing the air with interest.
The man’s gaze dropped again.
Something in his expression softened—just a fraction.
“…You baked them?” he asked.
Y/N nodded eagerly. “Yes. Too many. I, um. I always bake too many.”
She didn’t know why she added that. Maybe because silence made her nervous. Maybe because she was already oversharing. Maybe because she wanted him to understand that this wasn’t some weird scheme. Just loneliness disguised as generosity.
He hesitated another moment.
Then he stepped back, opening the door wider.
“I can take a look,” he said. “If that’s okay.”
Her heart did a little jump.
“That would be amazing,” she said quickly. “Thank you. Really. I promise I won’t take much of your time.”
He nodded again, already stepping into the hallway.
Up close, she noticed things she hadn’t from afar. The faint shadows under his eyes, the way he kept his hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, the slight stiffness in his posture, like being around people made him physically uncomfortable.
She also noticed, very abruptly, that he smelled faintly like coffee and something clean. Soap. Laundry detergent. Comfortingly ordinary.
“Um,” she said, gesturing down the hall. “It’s just next door.”
He followed her quietly, footsteps soft against the floor. Cookie trotted ahead like she was leading a tour, clearly pleased with herself.
As they reached her door, Y/N fumbled with her keys again, nerves turning her fingers clumsy.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “Long day.”
He hummed quietly in response. Not quite a word, but not silence either.
She unlocked the door and stepped aside. “After you.”
He hesitated at the threshold, gaze flicking briefly around the apartment before he entered, as if cataloging the space in a way she didn’t quite understand.
Her place was small but lived-in. The couch with ist slightly mismatched throw pillows. The TV paused on a familiar show. A mug abandoned on the coffee table. A dog bed tucked beside the couch, already occupied by Cookie’s favorite toy.
He noticed everything.
She could tell.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said reflexively, even though it wasn’t really messy....just hers.
“It’s fine,” he replied softly.
Cookie immediately circled him, tail wagging faster now, nose pressed to his ankle.
He crouched down without hesitation, movements careful, controlled. Cookie froze for half a second. Then leaned into his hand as he gently scratched behind her ears.
Y/N watched, something warm blooming unexpectedly in her chest.
“You’re very polite,” he murmured to the dog.
Cookie wagged harder, utterly charmed.
“She’s Cookie,” Y/N said. “She, um. She goes everywhere with me.”
He nodded, eyes still on Cookie. “She’s… cute.”
The word sounded almost foreign on his tongue.
Then, as if remembering why he was there, he straightened and turned toward the router.
He knelt again, fingers moving quickly and confidently. She watched him from the couch, suddenly acutely aware of how quiet he was. No unnecessary movements. No wasted words. Like he existed in a more efficient mode than most people.
He unplugged the router. Counted silently. Plugged it back in.
Then he took her laptop. Carefully, asking with a glance rather than words and typed something so fast she couldn’t follow it.
Two minutes passed.
Maybe less.
The Wi-Fi icon flickered back to life.
“There,” he said.
Y/N blinked. “Already?”
He nodded. “Configuration issue. It happens.”
She stared at the screen, then at him, disbelief written all over her face.
“That’s it?” she asked. “You just—fixed it?”
“Yes.”
She laughed, a little hysterical. “I was about to spend an hour on hold.”
He allowed himself the tiniest hint of a smile. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
She exhaled, tension she hadn’t realized she was holding finally leaving her shoulders. “Thank you. Seriously. You have no idea how much that helps.”
He stood, hands tucking back into his sleeves again, retreating slightly into himself now that the task was done.
“Cookies,” she remembered suddenly, thrusting the tin toward him again. “Please. As payment.”
He hesitated.
Then, after a second, he accepted it carefully, like it might vanish if he moved too quickly.
“…Thank you,” he said.
Their eyes met again, just for a moment.
It was awkward. Gentle. Unfamiliar.
And somehow, despite the quiet, Y/N felt less alone than she had in weeks.
She didn’t know his name.
She didn’t know what he did for a living.
But she knew, suddenly and with certainty, that this small, strange interaction mattered.
Even if neither of them quite knew why yet.
The weeks after the broken internet incident passed in a way Y/N hadn’t quite expected.
Not dramatically. Not with sudden confessions or grand changes.
Just… quietly.
She and her neighbor (Yeo, as she’d learned his name apparently was) began to exist in each other’s orbit in small, almost accidental ways.
Sometimes she’d see him in the hallway early in the morning, hair slightly damp, hoodie pulled tight around him like armor. He would nod once, polite but reserved.
“Morning,” she’d say.
“…Morning,” he’d reply, voice still half-asleep.
Other times, she’d run into him late at night when she was taking Cookie out for a final walk, the building hushed and dim. He’d be returning instead keys in hand, shoulders tense, eyes alert like he’d just stepped out of a different world.
They never talked long.
Just fragments.
“How’s your internet?”
“Still working. Thanks again.”
“Good.”
Once, she’d offered him a cookie again. He’d hesitated like before, then accepted it with a quiet thank you and disappeared into his apartment.
Once, he’d held the door for her when her hands were full of grocery bags. Their fingers brushed accidentally, and both of them froze for half a second too long.
Awkward. Soft. Almost endearing.
She noticed things about him without trying.
That he avoided the elevator when others were inside, opting for the stairs even if it took longer. That he always wore headphones, even when nothing was playing. That his schedule made no sense. Leaving the building at hours most people were asleep, coming back when the sky was still dark.
She wondered what he did for work.
Something with computers, obviously. But beyond that, she couldn’t quite place it. He didn’t look like the startup type or the office kind. There was something intense about him, something focused, like his mind was always half a step ahead of wherever his body was.
Sometimes she imagined him sitting in front of glowing screens, fingers flying over keyboards, solving problems no one else could.
Sometimes she imagined he was just… lonely too.
That thought stayed with her more than she liked.
Her own days, meanwhile, didn’t improve.
Work remained exhausting in the quiet, soul-draining way that didn’t leave visible scars but still wore her down piece by piece. She woke up tired. She came home tired. She smiled politely and swallowed frustration until it sat heavy in her chest.
Cookie was her constant. Always there. Always happy to see her. Always curled against her side on the couch while she watched the same comfort shows again and again.
The guy she’d been seeing, if it could even be called that, had slowly drifted into the background. Cancelled plans. Short replies. Excuses that didn’t quite line up.
Y/N had told herself not to think too much about it.
Until she didn’t have to wonder anymore.
She found out on a Wednesday evening, by accident, through a mutual acquaintance’s careless comment and a tagged photo she hadn’t been meant to see. Him, smiling. Him, holding hands with another woman. Him, apparently very capable of commitment. Just not with her.
It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.
But it did.
By the time Friday rolled around, snow had begun to fall.
It wasn’t a dramatic storm. Just a steady, quiet snowfall that softened the city and muffled the noise of the world. Streets glowed under streetlights, footprints appearing and disappearing like fleeting thoughts.
Y/N trudged home through it, Cookie tucked securely in her arm beneath her coat, the little dog peeking out like a curious marshmallow.
“I know,” Y/N murmured quietly. “Almost there.”
Her body ached. Her head throbbed. Her chest felt tight in that familiar, unwelcome way. Christmas decorations had gone up around the city. Twinkling lights, wreaths, cheerful window displays.
Everyone looked like they had somewhere to go.
Someone to go home to.
She climbed the steps to her apartment building, breath puffing white in the cold, and pushed the door open with her shoulder. The hallway smelled faintly of pine cleaner and someone else’s dinner.
Cookie wriggled in her arms.
“Patience,” Y/N whispered, already fumbling for her keys.
Her fingers were numb from the cold. She dropped them once, muttering under her breath as she bent down awkwardly to retrieve them while still holding Cookie.
By the time she reached her door, the exhaustion hit her all at once.
She slid the key into the lock.
It didn’t turn.
She frowned, pulled it out, tried again.
Nothing.
Her breath hitched.
“No,” she whispered. “Come on.”
She tried again. Wrong angle. Again. Still nothing.
Her hands started shaking. Not just from the cold now, but from everything else she’d been holding in for weeks. The unfairness of the day. The quiet apartment waiting on the other side of the door. The fact that it was nearly Christmas and she had no one to call, no one to tell, no one who was waiting for her.
The key slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
That was it.
She slid down the door, back hitting the wood as she sank to the ground, knees pulled to her chest, Cookie pressed close. A sob tore out of her before she could stop it. Sharp and ugly and humiliating.
“I hate this,” she whispered brokenly. “I hate all of it.”
Tears spilled over, blurring her vision, dripping onto Cookie’s fur as she clutched her tighter. “I’m so tired,” she choked and whispered. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
The hallway door at the other end creaked open.
Footsteps echoed softly.
“—Y/N?”
Her head snapped up, heart jumping painfully into her throat.
Yeosang stood a few feet away, coat still on, snow dusting his dark hair. His brows were drawn together in concern, eyes scanning her quickly, taking in her posture, the tears, the dropped keys.
He froze, like he wasn’t sure what to do next.
“…Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
The question was gentle. Careful.
And somehow, that made it harder to breathe.
Y/N scrambled upright so fast she nearly lost her balance.
“Oh—hi,” she said too quickly, swiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her coat. She hoped the dim hallway lighting and the way her hair fell forward might hide the worst of it. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
Her voice betrayed her immediately. Thin, strained, nothing like fine at all.
Cookie squirmed in her arms, sensing the sudden movement, tiny paws pressing against her chest as if trying to anchor her. Y/N forced a breath in, then another, willing her heart to slow down.
Yeosang didn’t move closer. He stayed where he was, hands loosely at his sides, posture hesitant like he wasn’t sure if stepping forward would make things better or worse.
“You were… crying,” he said quietly. Not accusing. Just stating a fact.
Y/N laughed. An awkward, brittle sound that didn’t quite make sense even to her own ears.
“No,” she said immediately. “I mean—yes, but not like—” She shook her head, words tangling. “It was just the door. It wouldn’t open. Long day. You know how it is.”
She nodded to herself as if that explanation was perfectly reasonable.
He watched her for a moment, eyes searching her face, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he saw straight through her anyway.
But he didn’t argue.
“…Okay,” he said after a beat.
Relief washed through her, mixed with a sharp pang of something else. Gratitude, maybe. Or disappointment that he’d let her lie so easily.
She turned back to the door quickly, eager to prove her point. “See? It’s stupid. It just—gets stuck sometimes.”
She bent down, scooped up her keys, and tried again. This time she focused, tongue pressed to the inside of her cheek, carefully lining the key up with the lock.
It didn’t budge.
Her shoulders tensed.
She tried again. Harder.
Nothing.
Heat rushed to her face, frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface again. “Of course,” she muttered under her breath. “Why wouldn’t it—”
“May I?” Yeosang asked gently.
She froze.
“Oh—um. Yes. Sorry. Of course.”
She stepped aside, hugging Cookie closer, suddenly acutely aware of how ridiculous she must look. Puffy-eyed, hair frizzy from snow, clinging to her dog like a lifeline.
Yeosang approached the door calmly, movements unhurried. He took the key from her hand with a light touch, careful not to brush her fingers this time.
Y/N watched him from the side, noticing how focused he looked even doing something as mundane as opening a door. He adjusted the angle slightly, applied pressure in a way she hadn’t thought to try.
The lock clicked open effortlessly.
“There,” he said.
She stared at the door like it had personally betrayed her.
“…Wow,” she said weakly. “I swear I tried that.”
He shrugged faintly. “It sticks when it’s cold.”
“Right,” she said. “Of course it does.”
She pushed the door open, stepping into the warmth of her apartment. The familiar space wrapped around her instantly. The soft glow of the lamp, the faint scent of vanilla, the quiet that usually felt comforting but tonight had felt suffocating.
She turned back to Yeosang, who was still standing in the hallway, clearly unsure whether to leave or say something else.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “For—both things.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome.”
She hesitated, fingers tightening briefly around Cookie’s fur.
Then, before she could overthink it, she blurted, “Wait.”
He paused.
“I—um. Just a second.”
She disappeared into the apartment before he could respond, heart pounding as she kicked off her shoes and padded quickly into the kitchen. Her eyes landed immediately on the large glass dish sitting on the counter, carefully covered with foil.
Tiramisu.
She’d made it two nights ago after work, because she hadn’t wanted to sit in silence and because baking felt like doing something for someone. Even if that someone was just herself. She’d eaten one portion, then another, and then stopped, realizing she’d made far too much again.
The rest had been sitting there ever since.
Waiting.
She peeled back the foil, hesitated for half a second, then picked the whole dish up. Still heavy, still full.
When she returned to the doorway, Yeosang looked up in surprise.
She held it out toward him, arms slightly strained under the weight.
“I made tiramisu,” she said, suddenly shy. “I, um. When I was lonely. There’s too much. And you helped me. So—”
She gave a small, hopeful smile. “Please take it.”
He stared at the dish.
Then at her.
Then back at the dish.
This time, the hesitation was familiar.
“…All of it?” he asked.
She nodded. “All of it.”
After a moment, he accepted it carefully, like it was something fragile.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Their eyes met again, the hallway still and hushed around them, snow falling softly outside.
For the first time that evening, Y/N felt the tightness in her chest ease. Just a little.
“Good night, Yeo,” she said.
“…Good night,” he replied.
She closed the door gently behind her, leaning her forehead against it for a moment once it clicked shut.
Cookie huffed softly in her arms.
And Y/N realized, with a faint, fragile warmth blooming in her chest, that maybe tonight hadn’t ended as badly as she’d thought.
Midnight suited Yeosang.
The city was quieter then. Predictable. Cleaner, in a way. Fewer people, fewer variables. The kind of hour where he could move from one place to another without being seen, without being questioned, without having to explain himself.
He adjusted his grip on the glass dish in his hands as he stepped out into the cold.
Tiramisu was not something he usually carried to meetings.
The fact that he was doing so now registered dimly, like background noise. He was aware it was strange. He simply hadn’t found a reason not to.
Snow crunched softly beneath his boots as he made his way down the street. His hood was pulled up, headphones resting around his neck but not playing anything. He didn’t need them tonight. His mind was already occupied.
Y/N.
The thought surfaced without invitation, as it had been doing more frequently lately.
She was… confusing.
That was the most accurate classification he could give her.
Yeosang liked patterns. Systems. Information that fit together logically. He had known who she was long before she knocked on his door with a tin of cookies and nervous eyes.
Background checks were automatic. Habitual. When a new tenant moved into the building, he ran her name through systems out of reflex rather than suspicion. He’d expected something unremarkable.
And she was unremarkable. On paper.
No criminal record. No suspicious financial activity. No ties to any syndicate, rival or otherwise. A job that paid poorly and demanded too much. A history that was painfully quiet—no close family listed, no emergency contacts beyond a vet clinic.
A Maltese. Cookie. Registered and microchipped.
That had been it.
She was statistically insignificant.
And yet.
She kept knocking on his door with baked goods.
Cookies. More cookies. Tiramisu. Always too much of it. Always framed as a thank-you, like she was trying to repay a debt he didn’t remember agreeing to.
People usually wanted something from him. Information. Protection. Silence.
She wanted to give him dessert.
Yeosang frowned faintly as he turned down a side street, boots carrying him toward the nondescript warehouse that housed ATEEZ’s headquarters. He still hadn’t figured out what she expected in return. If she expected anything at all.
That uncertainty bothered him more than it should have.
The image of her earlier that night surfaced unbidden: sitting on the floor outside her apartment, shoulders shaking as she tried to pull herself together before he’d seen too much. The way she’d insisted she was fine while clearly not being fine at all.
People lied all the time.
But she lied badly.
And then she gave him tiramisu.
Yeosang exhaled slowly, pushing the thought aside as he reached the side entrance and keyed in the code. The door slid open soundlessly, and the familiar low hum of the headquarters greeted him.
Warm. Bright. Controlled.
Safe.
Inside, the others were already there.
Hongjoong stood near the long table, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up as he scrolled through something on his tablet. Seonghwa leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed, posture elegant even at midnight. Yunho and San occupied opposite ends of the room. Yunho relaxed, San restless. Mingi sprawled in a chair, scrolling through his phone with far too much enthusiasm, while Wooyoung hovered near Jongho, who was calmly dismantling and reassembling a piece of equipment like it was meditation.
The noise level rose immediately when Yeosang entered.
“There he is,” Wooyoung announced. “Our elusive cryptid.”
Yeosang ignored him, as usual, and set the tiramisu carefully on the table.
Mingi’s head snapped up. “Is that food?”
“Yes,” Yeosang replied.
“What kind of food?” Yunho asked, already standing.
“Tiramisu.”
There was a brief pause.
Then: “Why do you have tiramisu?” San asked, squinting suspiciously.
Yeosang blinked. “Because it was given to me.”
Seonghwa’s gaze flicked to the dish, then back to Yeosang’s face. Something knowing passed through his eyes.
“…Given to you,” Hongjoong echoed slowly. “By whom?”
Yeosang hesitated. Not because the answer was classified, but because he didn’t understand why it mattered.
“My neighbor,” he said.
Silence.
Then chaos.
“YOUR WHAT?” Mingi practically shouted, leaping to his feet.
“Hold on,” Wooyoung said, grinning. “Neighbor as in… person? Woman? Human woman?”
Yeosang frowned. “Yes.”
San leaned forward. “You have a neighbor?”
“I’ve always had neighbors.”
“No,” Jongho corrected calmly. “You usually avoid them.”
Yeosang considered that. “…I don’t avoid her.”
That earned him several looks.
Seonghwa’s lips twitched. “And she made you tiramisu?”
“She makes a lot of food,” Yeosang said, mildly defensive now. “As thanks.”
“For what?” Yunho asked.
“For helping her,” Yeosang replied. “With her internet. And her door.”
Hongjoong set his tablet down slowly. “Yeosang.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you known this neighbor?”
Yeosang thought about it. “A few weeks.”
“And in those few weeks,” Wooyoung said, counting on his fingers, “she’s baked you cookies, more cookies, and now tiramisu.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think that was… notable?”
Yeosang looked between them, genuinely confused. “She said she makes too much.”
Mingi snorted. “Classic.”
“She also has a dog,” Yeosang added, as if that explained something.
“She carries it everywhere,” Yeosang continued, unaware that everyone else had leaned in slightly. “Because she’s lonely.”
The room went very quiet.
“…She told you that?” Yunho asked carefully.
“No,” Yeosang said. “I observed it.”
Wooyoung stared at him. “You observed loneliness?”
“Yes.”
Seonghwa smiled softly into his hand.
Hongjoong rubbed his temple. “Yeosang. How exactly do you feel about this neighbor?”
Yeosang frowned again. “I don’t know.”
That was the truth. He didn’t know.
“She’s confusing,” he continued. “She doesn’t follow patterns. She thanks people excessively. She lies when she’s upset. She cries over doors. She gives away food she spent time making.”
“And this bothers you?” San asked.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Yeosang replied.
Wooyoung grinned wider. “Oh, it makes perfect sense.”
Yeosang didn’t respond. He was too busy replaying the image of Y/N standing in her doorway, holding out the tiramisu with that small, hopeful smile, like she was offering him something fragile and expecting nothing in return.
He hadn’t known what to do with that.
He still didn’t.
“She’s not a threat,” Yeosang added, more firmly now. “I checked.”
“We trust your judgment,” Hongjoong said easily.
“And her dog likes me,” Yeosang said, as if that mattered. “…She let me pet it.”
That did it.
Mingi burst out laughing. “He’s done for.”
“I’m not,” Yeosang said immediately.
Wooyoung clapped him on the shoulder. “You just brought homemade dessert to a mafia meeting because a girl gave it to you.”
Yeosang looked down at the tiramisu.
Then back at them.
“…It would go bad otherwise.”
The laughter that followed didn’t register as teasing to him. Just noise, just data he didn’t need.
All Yeosang knew was this:
Y/N was a variable he hadn’t accounted for.
And somehow, without trying, she had already inserted herself into his system.
That realization sat quietly in his chest as he opened the tiramisu and handed out spoons.
He didn’t yet understand why.
But he suspected he would.
Eventually.
The meeting shifted naturally from teasing to business.
It always did.
Hongjoong tapped the table once, the sound sharp enough to pull everyone’s attention back into alignment. The joking faded immediately, replaced by focus. Screens lit up around the room as Seonghwa pulled up maps, routes, and timelines.
“The rival syndicate has been quiet,” Hongjoong said. “Which means they’re planning something.”
Yeosang straightened slightly in his chair, fingers already moving across his tablet. This was the part he understood best. Information didn’t joke. It didn’t tease. It behaved predictably if you knew how to listen.
“They’re shifting resources,” Yeosang said. “Digital and physical.”
He brought up a schematic of the city center, highlighting several points in red.
“Christmas market,” San muttered, leaning forward. “Of course.”
“They’ve been monitoring crowd density from previous years,” Yeosang continued. “Peak times. Camera blind spots. Emergency response delays.”
Mingi frowned. “So… something loud?”
“Or something hidden by noise,” Seonghwa replied calmly.
Yeosang nodded. “They’re testing signal jammers. Small radius. Temporary outages.”
His mind flickered, uninvited, to Y/N’s frustrated face when her internet had gone down. The way she’d blamed herself for it. The way she’d laughed it off like it didn’t matter.
He dismissed the thought quickly and refocused.
“They’ll likely use the distraction to move assets,” Yeosang said. “Possibly people.”
“Can we intercept?” Yunho asked.
“Yes,” Yeosang replied. “If we reposition surveillance before the weekend. I’ll reroute public cameras and add redundancy.”
Hongjoong nodded. “Do it. Quietly.”
Yeosang’s fingers paused for half a second over the screen.
Quietly was always his specialty.
As the meeting wound down, strategies settled into place, responsibilities assigned, the room slowly relaxed again. Someone turned the lights down a notch. Someone else opened another container of food.
She’d sounded tired when she said it. Like the word itself carried weight. He hadn’t asked why. He usually didn’t ask questions that would require emotional responses he wasn’t sure how to handle.
Still, the image of her standing there in the hallway. Coat dusted with snow, eyes too bright, dog tucked close like a shield. It kept resurfacing.
Pretty, his mind supplied unexpectedly.
Not in an obvious way. Not the kind of beauty that demanded attention.
She was… soft-looking. Expressive. Her clumsiness wasn’t careless. It was earnest, like she tried too hard to be polite, to be grateful, to take up as little space as possible.
Cute, he realized.
That assessment surprised him enough that he frowned faintly.
He didn’t dwell on it.
When the meeting officially ended, Yeosang gathered his things automatically. He didn’t expect company when he stood to leave.
“You heading back?” San asked, already shrugging into his jacket.
“Yes.”
Wooyoung appeared at his side instantly. “Perfect. We’re coming with you.”
Yeosang blinked. “Why.”
“To hang out,” Wooyoung said brightly. “Also because San ate too much tiramisu and needs supervision.”
“I’m fine,” San protested.
“You said that last time,” Wooyoung replied.
Yeosang considered refusing.
Then didn’t.
The walk back was quiet at first. Dawn crept in slowly, pale light reflecting off snow-covered sidewalks. The city looked different in the early morning—less sharp, more forgiving.
San stretched as they walked. “You live in a weirdly normal building.”
“It’s efficient,” Yeosang replied.
Wooyoung smirked. “That’s one word for it.”
They reached Yeosang’s floor just as the elevator doors slid open again.
Yeosang stepped out and stopped.
Y/N stood a few feet down the hall, keys in hand, coat buttoned up tightly. Cookie peeked out from her arm, wearing a tiny sweater Yeosang had never seen before.
She looked tired.
She also looked startled when she saw him.
“Oh—hi,” she said, freezing in place.
“…Hi,” Yeosang replied.
There was a beat of silence.
Then another.
San glanced between them, sensing something but not sure what.
Wooyoung, however, lit up instantly.
“Well, good morning!” he said cheerfully, stepping forward like this was the most natural encounter in the world. “You must be the famous neighbor.”
Y/N blinked. “Famous?”
Yeosang stiffened. “Wooyoung.”
“What?” Wooyoung grinned. “He talks about you all the time.”
That was not true.
Yeosang opened his mouth to correct him...
But Y/N laughed softly, the sound small but genuine, easing something tight in the hallway air.
“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t realize I was… a topic.”
“She’s not,” Yeosang said immediately.
Wooyoung gasped. “He’s shy. Don’t take it personally.”
Y/N smiled at Yeosang, eyes warm despite the awkwardness. “It’s okay. I’m used to awkward.”
Cookie chose that moment to bark quietly at Wooyoung.
Wooyoung crouched down immediately. “And you must be Cookie. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Yeosang frowned. “You have not.”
San chuckled. “Cute dog.”
Y/N adjusted Cookie in her arms. “I have to get to work,” she said apologetically. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise,” Wooyoung said. “Any friend of Yeosang’s baked goods is a friend of ours.”
Yeosang closed his eyes briefly.
Y/N tilted her head. “Baked goods?”
“…He means—” Yeosang started.
“I mean thank you for the tiramisu,” Wooyoung said brightly. “Excellent texture.”
Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “Oh. You’re welcome.”
She glanced at Yeosang once more, smile lingering. “See you later, Yeo.”
“…See you,” he replied.
She disappeared down the hall, Cookie’s tail wagging as the elevator doors closed behind her.
San elbowed Yeosang lightly. “She’s nice.”
“She is,” Wooyoung agreed. “Also, you’re terrible at hiding things.”
Yeosang unlocked his door, expression neutral.
“There’s nothing to hide,” he said.
Behind him, both of them exchanged knowing looks.
Yeosang didn’t notice.
But as he stepped inside, the hallway already quieter without her presence, he found himself thinking. Not for the first time—that mornings hadn’t been part of his system before.
Now, apparently, they were.
The van was quiet in the way Yeosang preferred.
Not silent but controlled. The low hum of electronics filled the space, monitors casting a soft blue glow across his face. Wires snaked across the floor, connected to systems he trusted more than people. Every camera feed was laid out in front of him: entrances, exits, rooftops, stalls, crowd density overlays.
The Christmas market looked almost unreal from above.
Strings of lights hung between wooden booths, reflecting off fresh snow. People moved in slow, cheerful currents, bundled in scarves and coats, hands wrapped around steaming mugs. Music drifted faintly through the audio feed—something cheerful, something harmless.
Exactly the kind of place people assumed was safe.
“Positions confirmed,” Hongjoong’s voice crackled through Yeosang’s earpiece. “All units in place.”
“Copy,” Yeosang replied, eyes never leaving the screens. “Cameras rerouted. Jammers disabled. I’m seeing clean feeds.”
San and Yunho moved through the crowd on two separate feeds, blending in easily. Wooyoung lingered near a stall that sold ornaments, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. Jongho stood near an emergency access point, looking like nothing more than another passerby.
Everything was under control.
Yeosang leaned back slightly, fingers hovering over his keyboard. His role tonight was simple: observe, alert, redirect if necessary. He wasn’t frontline. He wasn’t meant to be.
That suited him.
The rival syndicate had been careful, but not careful enough. Their digital footprint had been sloppy. Encrypted, but rushed. Yeosang had dismantled their network quietly days ago, leaving just enough access to watch them think they were unseen.
Minutes passed.
Nothing happened.
His pulse remained steady.
Then—
Movement on Camera 17.
Yeosang’s fingers stilled.
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he adjusted the zoom.
A familiar white shape moved through the crowd, tucked close to a dark coat.
His chest tightened.
Y/N.
She stood near one of the larger stalls, wooden beams wrapped in lights, steam rising from vats of mulled wine. Cookie peeked out from her arm, wearing a small red sweater that clashed slightly with her coat.
Yeosang stared.
“What is she doing there,” he murmured, not realizing he’d spoken out loud.
She wasn’t alone.
Three people stood with her. Coworkers, likely. Their body language matched profiles Yeosang had seen a hundred times before: proximity without intimacy, polite laughter, loose circles that allowed easy exits.
Her smile flickered across the screen.
It didn’t reach her eyes.
Yeosang noticed immediately.
It was subtle. Anyone else would have missed it. But he’d seen her enough now to know the difference between her real smile and the one she used when she didn’t want to be asked questions.
Yeosang’s fingers moved instinctively, pulling up layered data. Cell signals, interference patterns, heat maps.
That’s when he saw it.
A spike.
Small. Sharp. Out of place.
His blood went cold.
“No,” he whispered.
He zoomed in further, overlaying schematics onto the camera feed. A stall pillar. Hollow inside. Recently modified.
Too recently.
The timer appeared on his secondary screen before he consciously searched for it.
Three minutes.
“Bomb,” Yeosang said, voice suddenly too loud in the van. “Market center. Camera 17. She’s right there.”
“What?” San’s voice snapped in his ear.
“I’m rerouting—” Yeosang’s hands flew over the keyboard. He tried to kill the signal. Override the trigger. Anything.
The code resisted.
Two minutes.
Y/N laughed at something one of her coworkers said. Cookie shifted in her arms.
Yeosang was already moving.
He tore the headset from his ear and shoved the van door open, cold air slamming into him. His feet hit the ground hard, lungs burning as he sprinted toward the market entrance.
“Yeosang, abort!” Hongjoong shouted through the comms he was no longer wearing.
One minute.
The crowd blurred around him. Lights streaked. Noise crashed in all at once. Music, laughter, voices.
He saw her.
She turned just as he broke through the edge of the crowd, confusion flickering across her face when she recognized him.
“Yeo—?”
The explosion ripped through the air.
Sound vanished.
Yeosang didn’t think.
He didn’t calculate.
He didn’t hesitate.
He closed the distance in two strides, wrapping his arms around her and turning his body instinctively, back to the blast, shielding her completely as he fell with her to the ground.
The force hit him like a wall.
Heat. Pressure. Pain.
And then—
Nothing.
Y/N couldn’t see.
At first, she couldn’t hear either. Only a shrill ringing that made her head feel too small for her skull. The world was gray and burning, thick with smoke that scratched her throat when she tried to breathe.
Her chest rose sharply.
Cookie.
The thought came before pain, before fear, before anything else.
“Cookie—?” she croaked, voice barely there.
Her arm moved instinctively, tightening around her side.
Something warm and small shifted beneath it.
A soft whine.
“Oh—oh thank God,” she whispered, panic breaking into relief as she looked down.
Cookie was curled tightly against her ribs, pressed into a little pocket formed by Y/N’s arm and coat, her white fur now gray with ash but her eyes wide and alive. She was shaking, but she was breathing.
Y/N pressed her face briefly against Cookie’s head, tears stinging her eyes.
“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”
That was when she became aware of the weight.
Something, or someone, was on top of her.
Her breath hitched as she lifted her head slightly, vision clearing just enough to register dark fabric, broad shoulders, arms braced into the ground on either side of her.
“Yeo…?” she whispered.
He was there.
Yeosang was hovering over her, his body angled protectively, back toward where the explosion had come from. His hair was dusted with ash, a faint cut along his temple already bleeding sluggishly.
Her heart lurched.
She lifted a trembling hand and pressed it to his shoulder.
“Yeo,” she said again, louder this time.
He moved immediately.
“I’m here,” he said, voice low, urgent. “Are you hurt?”
The sound of his voice grounded her in a way nothing else could.
She shook her head quickly, breath coming in short gasps. “I—I don’t think so. Cookie’s okay.”
His shoulders sagged, just a fraction, but she noticed.
“Good,” he said. “Good.”
He pushed himself up carefully and offered her his hand. She took it without thinking, letting him pull her to her feet. Her legs wobbled beneath her, knees threatening to give out.
Only then did she see behind her.
Her coworkers.
They were scattered across the snow-dusted ground, bodies unnaturally still, some partially obscured by smoke and debris.
“Oh God,” Y/N whispered. “Oh my God—”
Her stomach dropped, panic flaring again. “Are they—are they—?”
Yeosang didn’t answer.
He stepped slightly in front of her, his body shifting subtly, shielding her without making it obvious.
“Yeo,” she said, clutching his sleeve. “What happened? Why were you—?”
Her words died in her throat.
Because Yeosang wasn’t looking at her anymore.
He was staring past her.
Not with confusion. Not with fear.
With focus.
Her skin prickled.
Slowly, she turned her head.
Five figures emerged from the thinning smoke.
They moved with purpose. Spread out just enough to control the space, boots crunching against debris, guns already raised. They were dressed too neatly, too uniformly to be random bystanders.
For a split second, Y/N’s panicked mind reached for the most logical explanation.
“Police?” she whispered.
Yeosang’s hand tightened at her wrist.
“No,” he said quietly.
He pulled her back. Firmly this time, until she was directly behind him, his arm coming up instinctively to block her view, his body a solid wall between her and the approaching men.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
One of the men laughed. A short, humorless sound.
“Well, I’ll be fucked,” he said. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”
Yeosang didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
The man tilted his head slightly, gaze sliding past Yeosang’s shoulder.
“And you brought company,” he added. "Pretty company."
Y/N felt their attention shift.
She shrank instinctively, fingers digging into the back of Yeosang’s coat, suddenly acutely aware of how exposed she was. How out of place.
One of them took a step closer.
“Kang Yeosang,” he said clearly. Deliberately. “ATEEZ’s golden ghost.”
The name hit her like a physical blow.
ATEEZ.
The word rang in her ears, loud and unmistakable.
Her mind scrambled, dredging up half-remembered headlines, whispered conversations, warnings embedded in news articles she’d skimmed without interest.
One of the most dangerous mafia organizations in the country.
Strategists. Enforcers. Ghosts.
People you never saw until it was too late.
Her breath stuttered.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “That’s—no, that’s not—”
Her gaze flicked up to Yeosang’s back.
To the man who fixed her internet in two minutes.
Who crouched to pet her dog.
Who was always way to nice to her rambling.
Who accepted baked goods like they were priceless treasures.
It didn’t make sense.
It couldn’t make sense.
One of the men chuckled again. “Did she not know?” he asked mockingly. “That’s cute.”
Y/N’s stomach twisted violently.
ATEEZ.
Kang Yeosang.
Her neighbor.
Her somewhat crush.
Her mind reeled as reality cracked open around her, the smoke finally clearing enough for her to see what had been standing right in front of her all along.
And Yeosang—
Yeosang stayed exactly where he was.
Between her and the guns.
Unmoving.
Y/N couldn’t make the world make sense.
Her mind kept snagging on the same thought, looping uselessly as the smoke thinned and the five armed men closed in.
Yeosang is part of the mafia.
Not just involved. Not just tangentially connected. Not some poor guy forced into things by circumstance or debt or bad luck.
One of them.
Her eyes darted to his back. Broad, steady, unyielding.
No. That couldn’t be right.
Maybe he was being exaggerated. Maybe they were lying. Maybe he was one of those people who got dragged into it because he was good at something, because someone stronger had decided his skills were useful.
She clung to that fragile thought desperately.
Until one of the men scoffed.
“Relax,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “It’s not like we’re going to shoot one of ATEEZ’s leaders in public.”
The word hit her harder than the explosion had.
Leader.
Y/N’s breath left her lungs in a sharp, silent rush.
She stared at Yeosang again. Not the quiet neighbor, not the awkward man who accepted tiramisu like it was sacred. But the way he stood now. Still. Grounded. His shoulders squared, weight balanced, eyes locked on the men in front of him with an intensity she had never seen before.
He didn’t look confused.
He didn’t look afraid.
He looked prepared.
Her stomach twisted.
Before she could move, before she could even process the fear blooming hot and fast in her chest, something rough grabbed her arm from behind.
She screamed.
A hand yanked her backward, fingers digging painfully into her shoulder as her back slammed into a solid chest. Cold metal pressed against her throat.
“Ah, ah,” a voice murmured close to her ear. “Don’t move.”
Panic detonated inside her.
“Ahh—!” she cried, hands instinctively flying up, breath hitching as the blade nicked her skin just enough to warn her.
Cookie barked frantically, wriggling in her arm.
“Shut the dog up,” someone snapped.
The man behind her cursed. “Annoying little thing.”
Before Y/N could react, his grip shifted and Cookie was ripped from her arms.
“No!” Y/N screamed, terror eclipsing everything else as she watched the man toss Cookie aside like she was nothing more than an object.
Cookie landed hard in the snow a few feet away, yelping once before scrambling to her feet, terrified but alive.
Y/N went feral.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs, vision tunneling, breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts.
“That’s enough,” Yeosang said.
It was the first time he’d spoken since the explosion.
His voice cut through the chaos like a blade—low, controlled, deadly calm.
“She is a civilian,” he continued, eyes never leaving the man holding Y/N. “She has nothing to do with this.”
The man laughed softly, tightening his grip just enough to make Y/N whimper.
“Civilian or not, she’s with you,” he said. “And that makes her leverage.”
The knife pressed closer.
Y/N felt hands slide along her waist, invasive, deliberate. The man behind her shifted, his grip becoming possessive rather than just controlling.
Her skin crawled.
Something inside her snapped.
“Don’t touch me,” she choked, tears streaming now, fear turning sharp and electric. “I— I know jiu jitsu.”
The words came out breathless, desperate.
The man laughed again, louder this time. “Sure you do.”
He adjusted his stance, distracted. Just for a second.
That was all she needed.
Her body moved before her brain caught up.
She dropped her weight suddenly, twisting her hips sharply to the side while trapping his wrist against her shoulder. Her foot hooked behind his ankle, leverage snapping into place the way it had been drilled into her muscles years ago.
She didn’t think.
She reacted.
The man hit the ground hard with a startled grunt, the knife clattering uselessly across the pavement. Y/N followed through automatically, knee driving into his chest, forearm locking against his throat. Pressure, angle, control.
He went still.
Unconscious.
The world froze.
Y/N stared down at him, chest heaving, hands shaking violently.
“I—” she gasped. “I didn’t—I—”
She scrambled back, stumbling to her feet, nearly tripping over her own legs as reality crashed back in all at once.
The other men were staring at her.
Yeosang was staring at her.
Shock flickered across his face. Real, unguarded, unmistakable.
Cookie barked again, rushing back to her side, pressing against her legs like she was trying to make sure Y/N was still real.
Y/N scooped her up immediately, sobbing now, adrenaline burning through her veins.
“I told him,” she whispered shakily, almost to herself. “I warned him.”
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Yeosang took a single step forward.
And the air around him shifted.
For a split second, Yeosang forgot how to move.
He had seen violence before. Calculated, efficient, expected. He had seen people hesitate, freeze, beg. He had seen trained men overpower civilians without effort.
He had not expected her.
The man hit the ground with a dull, final sound, his body going slack in a way Yeosang recognized immediately.
Unconscious. Clean. Controlled.
Yeosang’s breath caught.
He looked at Y/N properly for the first time since the explosion.
Really looked.
She stood frozen in place, chest heaving, hands trembling violently at her sides. Ash streaked her cheeks, clinging to her lashes. Her yellow wool coat. Too bright for this situation, too soft. Was dusted gray, the hem soaked through with melted snow.
She looked impossibly small.
Fragile.
And yet
Her stance was still instinctively grounded. Her feet were placed correctly. Her shoulders were tense, but not collapsed. Muscle memory hadn’t left her yet.
She hadn’t panicked blindly.
She had acted.
Yeosang felt something sharp and unfamiliar twist in his chest.
She shouldn’t be here.
She shouldn’t know how to do that.
She shouldn’t have had to.
Her eyes darted around wildly now, shock crashing in as adrenaline drained, Cookie pressed tight against her legs like an anchor to reality.
Yeosang made a decision.
Immediate. Absolute.
I am getting them out of here.
No hesitation. No secondary objectives. No negotiations.
He moved.
The men were still processing. Eyes flicking between the unconscious body on the ground and the woman standing over him, disbelief momentarily disrupting their formation.
Yeosang closed the distance to Y/N in two strides.
He lowered himself slightly, bringing himself into her line of sight without crowding her.
“Y/N,” he said.
She flinched at the sound of her name but looked at him.
Her pupils were blown wide. She was on the edge. Still standing only because her body hadn’t caught up with what had just happened.
“You did well,” he said quietly.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“Look at me,” Yeosang instructed, steady and calm. “You need to trust me now.”
She swallowed hard. “…Yeo?”
“I’m going to get you out,” he said. “You and Cookie. Unhurt.”
Something in his voice cut through the noise in her head. He saw it. The moment her breathing stuttered, then tried to follow his pace instead.
She nodded. Once.
That was enough.
Before the other men could recover, Yeosang reached into his pocket and flicked his wrist.
The device was small. Unremarkable. Anyone else would have mistaken it for trash.
It hit the ground between the remaining four men
And detonated.
Not with fire.
With light.
A concussive flash erupted, followed by a sharp acoustic burst that fractured their coordination instantly. Shouts rang out, weapons lifting too late, disoriented bodies staggering backward.
Yeosang didn’t look back.
He grabbed Y/N’s hand.
“Run,” he said.
And she did.
They sprinted through the market, weaving between overturned stalls and fleeing civilians, Yeosang adjusting his pace instinctively to match hers, never letting go. Snow crunched beneath their feet, lights blurring overhead, sirens beginning to wail in the distance.
“Almost there,” he told her, though she hadn’t asked.
Her grip tightened on his hand.
He rounded the corner sharply and yanked the van door open.
“Get in,” he ordered.
She scrambled inside, clutching Cookie to her chest, breath ragged.
Yeosang followed immediately, slamming the door shut behind them.
The interior was already occupied.
Seven pairs of eyes snapped toward him.
Then to her.
Hongjoong froze mid-sentence.
Seonghwa’s brows shot up.
San leaned forward, eyes narrowed.
Wooyoung’s mouth fell open.
Mingi choked on air.
Yunho blinked twice.
Jongho simply stared.
The silence was deafening.
Yeosang didn’t miss a beat.
“Drive,” he said.
Hongjoong recovered first. “Right.”
The van lurched into motion.
Only then did Yeosang glance down at Y/N, who was curled slightly into herself on the bench seat, still shaking, eyes unfocused, Cookie tucked under her chin.
Wooyoung finally found his voice.
“…Is that your neighbor?”
Yeosang didn’t answer.
He reached out, steadying Y/N without thinking, placing himself firmly between her and the rest of the world.
Because one thing was very clear now.
She was no longer just a variable.
She was under his protection.
And Yeosang did not lose what he protected.
Y/N sat in the van like she had been abducted.
That was the first thought Yeosang registered once the adrenaline began to ebb and the vehicle settled into steady motion. Her back was rigid against the metal wall, knees drawn up slightly, arms wrapped around Cookie so tightly the dog let out a soft, uncertain whine. Her eyes tracked every movement. Every shift of weight, every voice. Like she was mapping escape routes that didn’t exist.
She hadn’t spoken since they’d driven off.
Yeosang hated that.
He shifted closer, careful not to crowd her, lowering his voice automatically. “You’re safe,” he said. “No one here will hurt you.”
Her head turned slowly.
She looked at him. Not like his neighbor, not like someone who trusted him. But like someone trying to decide whether he was a threat.
“Are you,” she asked quietly, “not in the mafia?”
The question landed harder than shouting would have.
Yeosang didn’t answer immediately.
The silence stretched just long enough for her lips to press together, something fragile in her expression cracking.
“And these people,” she continued, still calm, still eerily controlled, “are they not the leaders of one of the most dangerous organizations in the country?”
No one else spoke.
Yeosang could feel the others watching him, but he didn’t look away from her face.
“Yes,” he said.
Her breath hitched.
“And you expect me,” she said, voice starting to tremble now, “to feel safe?”
The word snapped.
She laughed once, sharp, disbelieving and suddenly the calm shattered completely.
“You dragged me into a van,” she burst out, voice rising. “After a bomb. After men with guns. After someone tried to put a knife to my throat. And you’re telling me I’m safe?”
Wooyoung leaned forward, palms up. “Okay—okay, I get how this looks, but—”
“Don’t,” she snapped, eyes flashing toward him. “I don’t know you. I don’t know any of you.”
Yunho tried gently, “We’re not going to—”
“I don’t care,” she yelled, voice breaking now. “I want to go home.”
Cookie barked, mirroring her distress.
“I want to go home,” she repeated, louder. “Now.”
San shifted uncomfortably. Mingi swallowed hard. Even Jongho looked away.
Yeosang closed his eyes briefly.
This was the moment he’d been dreading.
When the truth stopped being abstract.
When it became personal.
“Y/N,” he said firmly, cutting through the noise.
She turned back to him instantly, breath ragged, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“You can’t.”
The words fell heavy in the van.
Her face went blank.
“…What?”
“You can’t go back to your apartment,” Yeosang said, voice steady even as something tight pulled in his chest. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow.”
Her head shook slowly, denial already setting in. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do,” he said quietly. “Because they saw your face.”
The air seemed to leave the van all at once.
“They saw you with me,” he continued. “They know where it happened. They will look. And if they find you alone—”
He stopped himself.
Didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
Her grip on Cookie tightened again, knuckles white.
“You’re saying,” she whispered hoarsely, “that I can’t go home because of you.”
The accusation wasn’t angry.
It was devastated.
Yeosang held her gaze. “I’m saying you can't go home if you want to live. They will target you because of me.”
Silence swallowed the space between them.
Hongjoong spoke gently from the front. “We’ll keep you safe.”
Y/N laughed again, hollow this time. “You keep saying that like it means something.”
Yeosang leaned in just enough for her to hear him over the hum of the engine.
“It does,” he said. “Because once someone is under our protection… they don’t get touched.”
Her shoulders slumped slightly, exhaustion crashing over her now that the fight had nowhere to go.
“…I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered.
“I know,” Yeosang replied.
The headquarters tower cut into the night like a blade.
Yeosang had seen it hundreds of times—glass and steel, lights burning high above the city, anonymous and untouchable. From the outside, it was just another corporate skyscraper. From the inside, it was ATEEZ’s spine. Control rooms below. Operations floors stacked neatly above them. And at the very top—
Home.
The van rolled into the underground garage, tires humming softly before coming to a stop. Doors opened. Cold air rushed in.
Y/N stepped out last.
She moved like a ghost.
That was the first thing Yeosang noticed and the thing that unsettled him most.
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t argue. Didn’t cling to Cookie or flinch at the unfamiliar space. She simply followed, quiet and pale, eyes distant, posture oddly straight, as if something inside her had gone very still.
This wasn’t the woman who apologized for existing in hallways.
This wasn’t the one who rambled nervously or smiled too hard.
This was someone who had shut something off to survive.
Yeosang walked beside her, matching her pace.
Too quiet.
They moved through security checkpoints without pause. Biometrics, coded doors, private elevators. The kind of systems civilians were never meant to see.
Y/N didn’t ask a single question.
The elevator doors slid shut, carrying them upward at a speed that made her ears pop. No one spoke. The others exchanged glances but said nothing.
Yeosang watched her reflection in the polished steel wall.
Ash still streaked her face faintly. Her yellow coat looked out of place here. Too soft, too human for this world of sharp edges and control. Cookie was tucked against her chest again, unnaturally quiet.
The silence pressed in on him.
He tried to break it.
“You’re… cold,” he said, quietly. Stupidly. “I can get you something warmer when we—”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
The words were calm. Flat. Final.
They hit him harder than shouting would have.
Yeosang’s mouth closed automatically. His chest tightened in a way he didn’t like or understand. He nodded once, reflexively, as if she could see it.
“…Okay,” he said.
The rest of the ride passed in silence.
When the doors opened into the penthouse level, the space unfolded wide and bright—floor-to-ceiling windows, muted lighting, clean lines. Private rooms branched off down quiet corridors. This was where they slept, worked, existed when they weren’t ghosts.
Y/N stepped out and looked around once.
Then she walked past Yeosang.
Straight toward Hongjoong.
Yeosang stiffened slightly.
She stopped in front of him, gaze lifting with a steadiness that didn’t match the way her hands trembled faintly at her sides.
“You,” she said. “You’re in charge.”
It wasn’t a question.
Hongjoong blinked, then inclined his head slightly. “Yes.”
She nodded, as if confirming something for herself.
“Do I get a room,” she asked, voice even, “or a prison cell?”
The question landed like a dropped glass.
No accusation. No hysteria.
Just logistics.
Yeosang felt something twist in his chest.
Hongjoong’s expression softened immediately. “A room,” he said. “Of course.”
He gestured down the hallway. “There’s a guest suite that’s empty.”
“Thank you,” Y/N said.
She didn’t look at Yeosang.
Didn’t look at anyone else either.
She simply turned and walked down the hall, footsteps quiet, purposeful. Cookie glanced back once. Dark eyes meeting Yeosang’s for a split second, before disappearing with her.
The door closed softly behind her.
The sound echoed far louder than it should have.
Yeosang stood still.
Too still.
Seonghwa glanced at him, something unreadable in his eyes. Wooyoung opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Even San stayed quiet.
“She’s in shock,” Yunho said gently.
Yeosang nodded.
He knew that.
What unsettled him wasn’t her fear.
It was her distance.
Because for the first time since he’d known her—since the cookies, the door, the tiramisu—she hadn’t reached for him at all.
And Yeosang realized something then, standing in the quiet penthouse of one of the most powerful organizations in the country.
Protecting her had been easy.
Earning her trust again?
That was going to be much harder.
And he didn't even know why he wanted her trust back.
synopsis ; after finding out that your boyfriend is cheating on you with your best friend, you're blinded by rage, wanting nothing but revenge. so you go to the party your friend told you they'd be at to catch him in the act and you just so happen to run into your boyfriend's ex-best friend, his rival, his enemy. then, the perfect revenge plan comes to mind, and jongho is more than happy to oblige.
pairing(s) ; jongho x f!reader
☆ ── wc. ; 4.2k
☆ ── genre ; smut w/ a sprinkle of plot, angst if you squint real hard, bfs ex-bsf!jongho
☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, infidelity (on both sides), alcohol consumption, dubcon (they've both have been drinking), jongho is a cocky motherfucker, petnames (sweetheart, baby, pretty, babygirl...), driving while intoxicated (don't be stupid like them plz), car sex, lowkey public sex, unprotected sex, dom!jongho x sub!reader, biting/marking, fingering, clit play, photography/videography, mingi is a jerk here (sorry, whoops), creampie, hair pulling, choking, praising, a sprinkle of degradation, implications of multiple rounds, lmk if I missed anything!!
The loud party music reverberated all through the house, shaking the ground under your feet and blaring in your ringing ears. But as you stood in the threshold of the living room, all you heard was the raging sound of your heartbeat as you looked past all the people, zeroing in on two people—your boyfriend with your best friend. You hadn't even planned on coming to this party; you were just going to get a bunch of snacks and binge-watch a new show.
However, when your friend told you that she had seen Mingi with your best friend, you refused to believe her. She was the one who told you about the party and how Mingi was gonna be there. So here you were, standing in the doorway, rage bubbling in your gut and your eyes glued to where your boyfriend and best friend were dancing together, her ass pressed right against his dick while he kissed her neck. They might as well have been fucking in front of everyone there.
At first, you didn't want to believe that Mingi would ever cheat on you; he was the sweetest and most honest man you've ever met. But now, as you stand here and watch him feel up your best friend, you feel sick. Tears brimmed in your eyes, fingers balling into fists at your sides. You were thankful that Sana had said something to you, but it didn't make it hurt any less.
The pain you felt quickly built into even more rage, your sadness buried underneath it. Your jaw clenched tight as you watched Mingi turn Zoe around, his hands going straight to her ass as she pulled him down for a kiss.
"Hey y/n, I thought you weren't coming tonight." Yunho, Mingi's best friend, walked over, a wide grin on his flushed face, a red solo cup in his hand. That smile quickly faded the moment you turned your head to look at him. Anger was plastered perfectly on your features, and he looked over to where you had been looking, his eyes widening when he saw Mingi and Zoe in the middle of a heated makeout.
"I need a drink." You were seething, pure anger laced in your words, and your shoulders were trembling with rage. Yunho didn't get a chance to say anything before you were shoving past him, towards the kitchen.
"Hey, wait!" Yunho called after you, reaching out to grab your arm. A chill ran down his spine when you turned to look at him with a piercing glare, and he released his hold. He watched as you walked away, silently cursing himself.
Making your way down the hallway, you get to the crowded dining room, and you start shoving through the dense crowd, ignoring all of the complaints and insults that were thrown at you. After a few minutes of struggling to get through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, which, surprisingly, was empty compared to the rest of the house. You then make a beeline for the alcohol that was still lined up on the countertop, not even bothering to grab a red Solo cup before reaching out and snatching the half-filled Bacardi that was among the other bottles. Twisting off the cap, you tossed it onto the counter and brought the bottle up to your lips, chugging a few gulps, relishing in the way that it burned going down, your body growing warm.
You were so lost in your head and deafened by the loud bass that you didn't notice when a certain dark-haired male walked into the room.
"Well, who pissed in your Cheerios?" Jongho stepped into the kitchen, a smug grin plastered all over his face as he saw you. The moment his voice reached your ears, your annoyance level only spiked, having not wanted to run into him tonight, knowing that he would only piss you off more after seeing Mingi and Zoe.
Pulling the bottle away from your lips, you slammed it down on the counter, causing the bang to echo quietly in the room and the clear liquid to slosh around. You then turned to look at Jongho with a sharp glare.
"Fuck off, Jongho." You hissed, bringing the bottle back to your lips as your body swayed a bit due to the sudden intake of alcohol. However, before your lips made contact with the rim, the bottle was snatched from your hands.
"Are you trying to give yourself alcohol poisoning?" Jongho quipped, turning the bottle and reading the label on it before shrugging. The glare on your face deepened as he brought the bottle to his own lips, drinking the remaining alcohol in the bottle. Pulling it away, he tossed it into the trash can off to your left, his eyes flickering back to you, "So, what's got your panties in such a twist?"
You ignore him as you turn and grab another bottle of alcohol, not even sure what it was, but it was bright cherry red. Unscrewing the cap, bringing the bottle to your lips, and taking a long swig, this one burning more than the Bacardi. Your mind started to wander to all the things Mingi might've done behind your back, and it made you sick to your stomach. Then your best friend—well, ex-best friend now—and all of the things she must've lied to you about, causing the rage to skyrocket, threatening to blow the top off.
Then, as your eyes flickered over to Jongho, who had pulled out his phone, you never really had any real reason to hate or dislike him besides the fact that he and Mingi used to be the best of friends until a huge argument happened two years ago. You couldn't even recall what the argument was about, but it ended their seven-year friendship. When they stopped talking, Mingi didn't want you talking to him, but Jongho, being, well, Jongho, continued to bother you just to get a rise out of Mingi. At first, you ignored him, but the longer you kept being put between their bullshit, you started to grow annoyed, hence your current annoyance with him.
"If you really must know, I just caught Mingi cheating on me with Zoe." You told him, taking another drink of the alcohol, starting to feel buzzed. Jongho's eyes softened as he watched you, having known for a while now.
"I know." He told you, causing you to nearly choke on the alcohol in your hands, eyes shooting over to meet his in disbelief.
"You knew?" You asked, and he nodded with a shrug, "and you didn't?" A whole new, fresh wave of anger washed over you, fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle.
"Would you have believed me?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, and just like that, some of your anger diminished as you realized he was right. You would never have believed him if he had told you about Mingi and Zoe.
The room then fell into another wave of silence, and you looked down at the bottle in your hand, eyebrows scrunched as you got lost in your thoughts. Jongho watched you for a moment before grabbing a bag of chips off the counter and opening it to grab a few.
Just then, an idea popped into your head—albeit a horrible one—and your eyes shifted from the bottle of UV vodka to the dark-haired male who stood a few feet away from you. Jongho stood there, one hand holding his phone while the other was shoved in his hoodie pocket after having put the chips back. Feeling your eyes practically burning into his skin, he looked up at you, raising an eyebrow.
"I have a proposition of sorts for you." You stated, not sure if it was the alcohol that was now coursing through your system or the anger that clouded your mind, but you wanted nothing more than to get back at Mingi. So why not use his ex-best friend, the person he hates the most, to do so? It was only fair, seeing as he used your best friend to cheat. Jongho leaned against the counter, watching you with quizzical eyes. "I caught Mingi cheating, right? So… it's only right that I get back at him." You started, swirling the liquid around in the bottle, "How would you like to help me?"
"And how exactly do you want me to help, sweetheart?" Jongho couldn't help but feel intrigued by your proposition, head tilting slightly and a smirk playing on his lips while he watched you. You started to step closer to him, the alcohol bottle hanging from your manicured hand.
"Well… you," You moved to stand just in front of him and pressing your finger to the center of his chest, "sleep with…" A smirk of your own tugged on your lips as you moved your hand to poke your own chest, "me."
"So let me get this right," Jongho started, pushing himself off the counter, "you wanna get back at your cheating boyfriend…" He trailed off as he reached forward to grab your wrist, pulling your body closer to his, "by cheating on him with his ex-best friend?"His other hand snaked around your waist, his cold fingers causing goosebumps to erupt all over your exposed skin that was peeking out from underneath your top.
Your breath hitched as he leaned down, bringing his face merely inches away from yours, the smell of rum heavy on his tongue. Heat crept up your neck, adding to the shade of red that already painted your cheeks. The heat started to make you feel lightheaded, and you swallowed thickly. Never in your wildest dreams did you think Jongho would have this kind of effect on you, but with his skin on yours and your lips merely inches away from yours, you start to realize that maybe some of your annoyance wasn't actually annoyance.
Jongho watched as your eyes flickered from his down to his lips before meeting his gaze once more. Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you chewed on the soft flesh as you nodded. Tightening his grip on your waist, he leaned down until his lips were right next to your ear.
"Your place or mine?" His voice dropped an octave while his lips softly brushed your skin when he pressed a kiss on the curve of your jaw. Your breath caught in your throat, and your hands shot up to grab the edges of his jacket.
"Yours, if we can even make it there." You breathed out, eyes fluttering closed as his lips trailed down to your neck.
"I know a place," He murmurs against your skin, and no other words are spoken as he pulls away, grabs your hand, and intertwines his fingers with yours before pulling you out of the kitchen. Jongho led the both of you through the dense crowd of people, ignoring all the complaints and towards the front of the house. As he got to the front door and you glanced over, a sick sense of satisfaction bloomed in your chest as you caught the shocked look on Mingi's face right before the door closed behind you.
—
Jongho barely made it ten minutes down the road before your hands were all over him. You reached over the console, palming his growing bulge. His jaw was clenched tight as he tried to focus on driving, but when your lips made contact with his jaw, he couldn't take it anymore.
Quickly, he pulled over into the parking lot of an abandoned gas station on the corner of the block where none of the streetlights worked. You let out a sharp gasp when he slammed on his brakes. He then grabbed your wandering hand and yanked you towards him, your body bending over the center console.
"You really couldn't wait till we got back, huh?" He asked, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, and your face flushed as his alcohol laced breath fanned your neck. A small whine fell from your lips as he bit your ear, the pain making you shiver.
His lips then trailed from the curve of your jaw to your cheek before sealing your lips in a heated kiss. He let out a deep groan when he got a taste of your watermelon lip gloss. Then his eyes flickered over to his rear-view mirror and the little dash-cam that was hooked underneath it, an idea coming to mind. Pulling away from you, he smirked at your dazed expression, your lips forming a pout at the loss of his lips on yours.
"Look at you, does the thought of cheating on your boyfriend really make you that needy?" He teased, and you whined at the mention of Mingi, disgust pulling on your lips. Chuckling, Jongho leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. "Get in the backseat."
You didn't have to be told twice before you were climbing into the back, a small squeak falling from your lips when Jongho slapped your ass that was peeking out from the bottom of your skirt.
Jongho then leaned forward, turned the dash-cam on after making sure that it was facing the inside of the car. Upon seeing the little flashing red light, a smug smirk tugged on his lips, and he turned to join you in the back. Once he was next to you, he grabbed the back of your neck and brought your face closer to his.
"What— mmphh, were you doing?" You asked as he pressed his lips against yours again, making you forget all about it.
"Don't worry your pretty little head about it." He smirked as his hand fell to your bare thighs, trailing up under your skirt. Your breath hitched when his fingers brushed over your hipbone. Your body was aflame with need, and your thighs were clenching together to try to relieve some of the pressure.
Pulling back, he moved back to watch as you grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, showcasing your blue lace bra. Jongho chuckled as he moved his hand to the insides of your thighs, prying them apart. Then his lips were on your neck, biting and sucking deep purple and red marks on your skin, soaking in the unfiltered moans you let out. He had always thought about what you would sound like, but this was way better than what he imagined.
"J-Jongho…" You breathed out his name, fingers threading through his hair as his lips trailed across your collarbone. His hand snaked around your back, unlatching your bra and pulling it off to let your breasts fall free.
A sharp gasp fell from your lips when he moved further down, wrapping around your nipple, teeth grazing the perked bud, sending shivers down your spine. His hand under your skirt moved further up, pressing against your clothed slit, groaning against your sensitive skin when he felt how wet you were.
"So wet for me already," Jongho pulled away from your breasts with an audible 'pop', hooded eyes burning into yours, "when was the last time that shitty boyfriend of yours fucked this pretty pussy of yours?" He growled, causing you to whine, heat rushing up your neck, and making you dizzy.
"M-Months." You choked out as he buried his face back in your chest, marking every inch of skin he could, so he knew you wouldn't be able to hide them.
Jongho scoffed, not believing that Mingi could leave you alone for so long, especially when you sound like this—look like this. He grabbed your skirt and pushed it up your hips, grabbing the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down, shoving them into his jeans pocket. Then he grabbed your knees, spreading your legs before moving to your hips to pull your body closer to him. A sharp gasp fell from your lips at the sudden movement, but was quickly swallowed by Jongho as he pressed his lips roughly against yours.
"Fucking idiot." He growled, pulling away, but caught your bottom lip between his teeth. Your hands wrapped around his forearm when his fingers split your folds. "Why don't we show him what he's missing out on, huh?" Jongho smirked, pressing his finger against your aching clit, causing your body to jolt, nails digging into his arm.
"Fuck, Jongho." You cursed, thighs going to close as his pace became ruthless. Jongho quickly caught one, holding you open. A choked gasp fell from your lips, head tilting back when he pushed his fingers into your tight cunt, stretching you open.
Stars danced across your vision when he brushed against your sweet spot, a loud moan of his name tearing through your lips. Jongho's eyes flickered over to the camera, a smug grin plastered on his face. He then leaned in closer to your face, breathing in all of your cute little pants and whines.
"Feels good, doesn't it, baby?" He asked, curling his fingers against your sweet spot once more, his thumb circling your clit, adding to the mind-numbing pleasure you were feeling. With another curl of his fingers, you could feel that little knot in the pit of your stomach tighten, eyes rolling slightly.
"J-Jon—" You were cut off by a moan, and the dark-haired male chuckled into your neck, soaking in all of your reactions and sounds. He hissed as your nails dug into the skin on his forearm, threatening to break skin.
Then, just as you felt like you were going to tumble over the edge, Jongho pulled his fingers from your needy pussy. A loud whine caught in your throat when he bit down on the junction of your shoulder before pulling away to look at you.
"Bend over the console." His voice was raspy, causing you to clench around nothing, but you were quick to do as told when he moved away from your body.
Leaning against the console, you noticed the red light flashing under the mirror, but you didn't get a chance to question it before Jongho was pushing down on your back. You hadn't even noticed that he pulled his pants and boxers down, his hard cock springing free.
"You ready, sweetheart?" He asked, leaning over you, right next to your ear, soaking in your small whine when he teased his tip against your soaked folds. His eyes, however, were glued to the dash-cam, pride swelling in his chest at the thought of Mingi seeing this.
"J-Jongho." You moaned out, hand reaching out to grab the passenger seat as he started to push into your tight heat. Your jaw fell slack the more he inched his way in while whispering absolute filth in your ear.
"God, you're so tight, sweetheart," Jongho groaned, fingers tightening around your hips, "are you sure that pathetic boyfriend of yours even fucked you?" He grunted, pushing his cock to the hilt in your warm walls, the full feeling making your eyes roll.
"Shit, Jongho." You whined, hips fighting against his hold as you started to grow desperate.
His hand then wrapped around your throat, pulling your head back a bit, growling in your ear, "Answer me."
"He did, but fuck not like this." You choked out, eyes fluttering closed as his breath fanned your face, "Now, Jongho, please move, god please."
Jongho chuckled at your whiny pitch and the way you were trying so desperately to move your hip to gain some kind of friction. Then he was letting go of your throat before grabbing your hips, pulling out to the tip, and thrusting back in sharply, eliciting a loud moan from your lips.
The car started to shake as he fucked into you roughly, fingers digging into your hips, sure to leave bruises. The sounds of your moans and his dirty talk filled the car, along with the sounds of skin slapping skin. All of the windows fogging over, blocking the already dim lights, the air growing stuffy with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and sex.
"Jongho." You choked out, head hanging low as tears blurred your vision, and Jongho smirked. Another choked moan fell from your lips when his fingers threaded through your hair, pulling your head back.
"Why don't you tell your loser of a boyfriend who's fucking you so good?" Jongho asked, leaning down, kissing the back of your shoulder, and you shook your head, any coherent words lost to you. His lips trailed up your neck before blowing a puff of air on your ear, watching as your body shivered, another whine falling from your lips. "Go on, baby, tell him."
"You…" You breathed out, jaw falling slack as he brushed over your sweet spot.
"Say my name," Jongho growled, pulling away from your skin to piston his hips into yours, knocking a series of moans from your kiss-swollen lips.
"Jongho." You cried out, hand moving up to grab his wrist as he tugged on your hair.
"You can do better than that, sweetheart." He chuckled, relishing in the way he was absolutely ruining you. Tugging your head back a little more, he moved back to your ear, "Say it louder."
"Jongho!" His name slipped from your lips in a borderline scream when he repositioned his hips, and he hit dead on your sweet spot.
"Louder."
"JONGHO!" You screamed his name when he bit down on your shoulder, breaking the skin, and the metallic taste of your blood hit his tongue.
The dark-haired male smirked against your skin, and his eyes flickered to the camera, sure to have your face on full display. However, he choked back a groan when you tightened like a vice around his throbbing cock.
"Close already pretty?" He asked, chuckling dryly as he released your hair to grab your hips with both hands to pound into your abused cunt. You nodded your head with a pathetic whine, knuckles turned white due to how hard you were gripping the center console and passenger seat.
"P-Plea— ngghhh, Jongho!" You cried out as he continued to brush over your sweet spot, stars dancing across your vision, the edges nearly going black.
"Cum, you pathetic baby, make a mess on my cock." He growled into your ear, and that was all you needed for that coil to snap, your high washing over you like a tidal wave. The breath was stolen from your lungs, eyes rolling, and incoherent babbles falling from your lips. Jongho wore a smug grin as he grabbed your jaw, forcing your face towards the camera. "Such a pathetic little thing aren't you? What would your boyfriend think if he saw?"
His question brought you down a bit from your high, and you bit your lip, muffling a whine before looking up at the flashing red light. You had finally realized what it was, and it made you dizzy as you thought about Jongho saving this moment. Then you also thought about how Mingi would be absolutely pissed if he saw it.
Swallowing thickly, "F-Fuck him— shit Jongho!" You let out a loud whine as he continued to plow into you, chasing his own high.
"Who's better, hmm?" He asked, clenching his jaw as he felt his high right on the tip of his tongue.
"Yo— fuck! You!" You nearly screamed again when he sat back up to fuck into your fluttering walls.
"Good fucking girl," Jongho growled, his thrusts becoming sloppy before he was painting your walls white with his seed. A whimper fell from your parted lips as the new warmth filled your womb.
The two of you lay there for a few moments as you came down from your highs. Jongho grabbed his discarded phone that was sitting on the seat behind him, turning the camera on to face where his cock was still buried in your cunt. Hitting record, he then started pulling from your soaping heat. A chuckle falls from his lips when you whine at the empty feeling, but he quickly bit his lip as he watched his cum pool out of your twitching hole.
A whine of his name spilled from your lips when he collected his leaking cum on his thumb before pushing it back into your pussy. He did that until you were trembling under his hand, tears spilling from your eyes, and his name falling out of your mouth like a mantra.
When he was satisfied, his cock was throbbing once more, and you let out a choked whine when he was pushing back into you. Your breath hitched when his phone screen came into view. Mingi's contact pulled up with two videos attached.
"Why don't you do the honors, sweetheart?" He pressed a kiss against your temple as you raised a shaky hand, finger hitting send. Jongho wore a smug grin as he pulled out of you once more, tugging your body off the center console and into his lap in the backseat.
"Jongho…" You breathed out as he helped you sink down on his cock, fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Lookie there, baby, he's already seen it." He grabbed his phone to show you the multiple messages Mingi had sent, clearly pissed, and you couldn't help the sick satisfaction that bloomed in your chest.
"G-Good." Your eyes fluttered as you rolled your hips against his, leaning down until your lips brushed his ear, "Why don't we make another one to send him?"
"Fuck you're filthy, babygirl," He chuckled, tossing his phone to the side, still opened to Mingi's messages, and grabbed your ass. Pulling your hips flushed against his, he quickly swallowed your moans with his lips, only pulling away to speak, "let's give him an encore."
tinted windows don't hide the sound of you getting split open
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 yeosang x f!reader x seonghwa
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢warnings!: smut, pure filth, m/f/m threesome, established relationship w/ yeo, alcohol consumption/drunk sex, semi-public sex, squirting, overstimulation, rough sex, oral (m!f! receiving), cum play, spit play, spanking, attempted DP, degradation & praise, rip reader's cervix, marking/biting, toe sucking (brief), creampies, light aftercare, could be more
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 quick intermission on syncink, purely self-indulgent nonsense, hands down the messiest & most unorganized thing i've written lmao if you make it to the end you deserve a medal or therapy idk
You weren’t planning to be almost nerfed by a taxi stepping out the club.
The taxi came out of nowhere, one second you were stumbling off the curb, the next Yeosang was yanking you back against his chest, your heel catching on the concrete as the cab's horn blared past.
"You’ve gotta be kidding me," he breathed into your hair, his heart hammering against your shoulder blades. His hand splayed across your stomach, fingers pressing into your dress.
"You trying to give me a heart attack, baby?"
The bass from the club still thrummed in your ear, mixing with the adrenaline and the eight patron shots you should’ve said no to, quite literally on the verge of pissing yourself.
You turned in his arms, and the movement made the high slit of your dress fall open, exposing your thigh.
"Sorry-yy," you said, not sorry at all. Your hands found his chest, god his chest is fucking divine, sliding up to loop around his neck. "But I need to get you home. Like, now."
Yeosang's eyes dropped to where your dress opened. His blonde hair was still messy from your fingers earlier on the dance floor, and his face was flushed from alcohol, from the heat, from you.
"Yeah? That urgent?"
"You know I wanna jump your bones like 24/7." You pressed closer, feeling the way your nipples hardened, knowing he could feel it too through his shirt. "Been thinking bout’ it all night."
His hand slid lower, fingers grazing the bare skin of your thigh through the slit. "Babe, you're gonna kill me before we even get there." But he was smiling, those perfect white teeth.
"Let me call us a ride before you do something that gets us arrested for public indecency."
"That's taking too long," you whined, your hand dropping to palm him through his pants. He was already half-hard. "Can't we just—"
"In one piece," he said firmly, catching your wrist even as his hips pressed forward into your touch. "I need you in one piece. And conscious. And preferably not in the back of a cop car."
You pouted, admitting defeat, letting him pull your hand away. It was chilly out, handing off his jacket because he just knew the complaining was about to begin.
“Yeo, I’m shaking like a stripper. Where is the damn car?”
He clicked his teeth; he hates it when you get upset, and it’s cold without his jacket on. He pulled his phone from his back pocket to check the current drivers.
“Fuck, no cabs are local right now.”
“Why didn’t we take the company car again?”
He rolls his eyes, mimics you, “‘Let’s be like normal civilians going to the club, no cameras, no chauffeur.’”
“I DO NOT sound like that.” You trip again as you try to whip around and give him a look. He steadies you once more, body pressed against the front of him.
At this point, he’s not even hiding how he was groping you
He checked the app one more time for the cabs with no luck, to put you both out of misery.
“This is so damn impossible right now.”
“Need a ride?”
You nearly break an ankle when you jump out of Yeosang’s arms to turn and see Seonghwa.
He was club hopping with the group you were with, but you thought he had already dispersed somewhere else. He had his hair tied back, a black dress suit, just the image of composure.
The opposite of what you and Yeosang were.
Seonghwa takes in the scene of you bent over a bit, trying to fix the strap on your heel. Yeosang is crouched down, trying to block onlookers' views; he’s failing.
Seonghwa lingers on the bare skin your slit reveals, can tell you’re also slightly inebriated. It’s all amusing to him.
“Or you two gonna continue giving the street a show?”
Yeosang finally turns around to properly acknowledge Seonghwa. “Hwa?” He’s not surprised to see him, just forgot, as usual.
Yeosang gives him a blank stare, nothing behind those pretty eyes.
“Yeosang.” Seonghwa’s voice was always smooth to you, like, get this man on a podcast right away, at least he wouldn’t say dumb shit.
“Hey, lightweight. Having trouble?”
You take the praise back.
“One. fuck you. Two. I ammm nottt a lightweight! You know this.” The slight slur of your words is not helping your case.
You straighten up a bit, a bit flustered as you notice how high your dress rose up from bending over. You’re horrible at playing it cool when in reality you're just drunk and so damn horny.
“I have my car, driver’s around the corner.”
Yeosang side eyes you, “See, someone came prepared.”
“Beats waiting for a cab that’s not gonna show.” Seonghwa is addressing both of you, but you take note of how his eyes drift to you every now and again.
Yeosang double-checks with you one more time, you give him a hesitant nod, knowing that you were all over him on the street. You know you’re just gonna combust in the car with anticipation.
Yeosang wraps his hands around your waist from behind, head resting on your shoulder.His breath heating your ear and along your neck.
He whispers, it sends more chills. “Gonna behave in this car, kay?”
Seonghwa agrees to drop both of you off for the sake of your dignity. He waves down the car as it turns the corner.
“The partition works,” Seonghwa adds, too casually. “In case ya know–want some privacy.”
The words just sit there between you as you all exchange looks, because the dude has gotta be joking, right?
Rightttt?
You clench your thighs, Yeosang’s arms tighten around you, his breathing getting heavier.
Seonghwa has a knowing look; he’s smirking. A menacing look..
“Unless you’d rather I keep it down?”
Yeosang clears his throat, “We’ll take the damn ride.”
The sedan parks next to the curb, the tinted windows, the ones so dark to protect whoever is riding in them.
In this case, it’s Park Seonghwa and Kang Yeosang, perfection.
You reach for the back door at the same time as Seonghwa, hands touching. He helps you slide into the backseat while Yeosang gets in from the other side.
The seats are leather, seatwarmers are on, low lighting, and the car smells brand new. It's just the complete contrast to the state of mind you’re in.
Your dress slides up, you accidentally flash your thigh to Seonghwa in the process. “Be careful.” You catch him looking, and he doesn’t give two fucks that you did.
Yeosang slides his hand over your lap, yanking your dress down, making direct eye contact as he looks up at Seonghwa, who’s still hanging on the door next to you.
You can tell Yeosang is barely holding it together. He whispers in your ear again, “shit, just behave.”
Seonghwa hops in the front passenger seat, adjusts the rearview, even though he’s not driving, his chauffeur is.
Makes eye contact with both of you in the backseat. “Comfy?”
He motions to the driver, “Both of 'em, Yeo’s place.” Seonghwa pressed the button, and the privacy partition began to rise, tinted glass sliding up between the front and back seats until it sealed with a soft click.
Yeosang's hand was still on your thigh, fingers digging in hard.
You turned to look at him. His eyes were fucked, pupils blown, that look he gets when he's past the point of pretending to have self-control.
"C'mere," he said, and yanked you into his lap before you could even respond.
You barely got your knees on either side of him before his mouth was on yours. His hands went straight to your ass, pulling you down against him, and yeah, he was hard as hell. You could feel every inch of him through his pants.
You ground down, and he made this noise in his throat, half-groan, hands already shoving your dress up.
"Shit," he muttered, breaking the kiss to look at you. His hair was messy from your hands, lips swollen.
"Can't believe you wore this dress."
"You like it?" You rolled your hips again just to watch his eyes flutter.
His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing hard, then he shifted you until you were straddling just one of his thighs.
"Ride it," he said. "C'mon, show me pretty baby."
He pressed his thigh up and the friction hit just right. You gasped, hands bracing on his shoulders as you started moving, grinding down.
Dry humping, a lost art.
"Wait—fuck," Yeosang said, eyes going wide. "Are you not—"
"Nope." You didn't stop moving, grinding down harder.
"You're shitting me." His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you down so hard you gasped. "You've been walking around all night with no—"
"Told you I was ready."
"Fuck." He looked wrecked already, staring at where you were riding his thigh, and you could feel how wet you were getting, soaking straight through his pants.
He groaned, one hand sliding up to grip your jaw.
"Open for me," he leaned in and spit directly into your mouth.
You swallowed, eyes locked on his, and his grip got tighter.
"Just so hot," he muttered, and then his hand was between your legs, fingers on your clit, rubbing in tight circles that made your thighs shake. "C'mon, baby. Wanna feel you come on my thigh."
The combination of his thigh and his fingers was so much. You were already wound so tight from the club, from teasing him all night, and it only took a few more grinds before you were coming.
Yeosang didn't let up, kept you grinding through it, his fingers still working your clit until you were shaking and had to swat his hand away.
"Fuck," you breathed, slumping against his chest.
"One down," he said.
You caught your breath for maybe five seconds before your hands were at his belt, fumbling with the buckle.
"Need you," you said, fingers clumsy from the alcohol and the orgasm still buzzing through you. "Yeo, please—"
"So needy," he said, but he was already lifting his hips, helping you shove his pants down just enough to get his cock out.
It was already leaking, and you wanted to put your mouth on it, started to lean down, but he caught you by the hair.
"Later," he said. "Get up here."
He pulled you back onto his lap, lined himself up, and you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You were so wet he slid in easy, both of you groaning.
You both just breathed for a second, adjusting, and then you couldn't wait anymore. Started moving, bouncing on him, hands braced on his shoulders because the car was cramped as hell.
"Shit—just like that," Yeosang groaned. "Fuck, you're so sooo tight."
Your dress was bunched up around your waist, tits bouncing every time you moved, and you caught him staring, couldn't decide where to look. Your face, your chest, where he was disappearing inside you.
He leaned forward, buried his face between your tits, mouth hot and wet on your skin. Then pulled back and spit right on your chest.
You moaned, and he rubbed it in with both hands, before yanking you down into a kiss. Messy, all tongue, and you could hear the wet slap of skin every time you came down on him.
"Get off—" he said, pulling you up. "Spit on it."
You leaned down, let spit drip from your mouth onto his cock, and he groaned, used his hand to spread it before pulling you back down.
The car was definitely rocking on moving wheels. You were being loud, but you couldn't stop.
Yeosang started fucking up into you, hard, taking over completely. You just held on, head thrown back, nails digging into his shoulders.
"Yeo," you gasped, "Yeo, wait, I—"
"Come on," he said, voice wrecked. "Fucking give it to me."
The pressure kept building, almost uncomfortable, and you tried to say something but his hand on your throat and the way he was hitting your cervix was delicious.
The gush of liquid, your whole body locking up as you came so hard. You were making sounds you'd never made before, and distantly you remembered wetness everywhere, soaking his lap, dripping onto the leather seats.
"Holy fuck," Yeosang choked out, and he kept going, kept fucking you through it. "Baby, fuck, you're—shit—"
You couldn't stop shaking. It felt like it went on forever, your body just giving and giving until you were just fully spent.
When you finally came down, you realized how much of a mess you'd made. His pants were drenched. The seats were wet. Your thighs were sticky.
"Oh my god," you said, voice hoarse. "Did I just—"
"Mhm." Yeosang sounded dazed. He was still inside you, still hard. "You just—fuck, that was—"
The car wasn't moving, you both froze.
The engine was off. You'd stopped. Which meant you'd arrived, which meant…
"Shit," you breathed, looking around at the fogged windows, the soaked seats, the absolute disaster you'd made of Seonghwa's car.
Yeosang's hands were still on your hips, gentler now. "That was new."
"I know, I—I didn't know I could—"
Seonghwa twisted in the passenger seat, partition down, driver standing outside, and the look on his face made your stomach flip.
Not mad. Hungry.
His eyes dragged over everything, you still on Yeosang's lap, dress bunched up, thighs spread, the wet mess everywhere. The fogged windows. The smell of sex.
"Busy back there?" His voice was low, and the tent in his pants was obvious.
Yeosang's hands tightened on your hips, again. You were still stuffed full of him, could feel him twitching inside you.
"Sorry about your car." Your brain was fuzzy, body still buzzing.
Seonghwa's eyes met yours. "Are you?"
Hell no, not in the slightest.
You shifted on Yeosang's lap, making him groan. "You just gonna sit there, or you gonna help?"
Yeosang's breath hitched. His jaw clenched, something jealous in his eyes, but you could feel how hard he still was inside you.
"She's lovely," Yeosang said, hands sliding up your sides.
Seonghwa climbed into the back, and suddenly the space was way too small for three people.
"Let's see if you can keep up," you said, and Seonghwa's smile was sharp.
His hand landed on your thigh, and the touch was different from Yeosang's. You grabbed his wrist and moved it higher, right where you wanted it.
"Don't be shy now."
Seonghwa's fingers slid through the mess between your legs, and you gasped. Oversensitive, but you wanted more.
He brought his fingers to his mouth, tasted them. "Sweet." His eyes locked on yours. "Yeosang's been holding out on me."
"Fuck off," Yeosang muttered.
Seonghwa leaned in and kissed you. His tongue was in your mouth, tasting like you, and when you broke apart to catch your breath, Yeosang was right there.
He pulled you into a kiss, reminding you exactly who you were with at the start.
When that kiss ended, you turned back to Seonghwa, testing. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. "You always let him share his toys?"
"I'm not a toy," you said.
"No?" Seonghwa's smile was dangerous. "Then show me what you want."
Yeosang's hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back hard enough to make you gasp. There was something raw in his expression you'd never seen before.
"My girl," he said.
Your pussy clenched at the tone. "Then fuck me like it."
For a second he just stared at you, jaw working, and then his grip in your hair tightened until it hurt. "You want me to show him who you belong to?"
His other hand wrapped around your throat, "Want me to fuck you sooo good he knows nobody else gets you like this?"
"Yes," you breathed.
"Say it."
"Show him."
Something snapped. He pulled out of you and you whimpered at the loss, already missing the fullness. His hand left your throat to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at Seonghwa. "Watch. Watch what I do to her."
Then to Seonghwa, "Lie down."
Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, amused. "Giving orders now?"
"You want in or not?"
"Oh, I'm in." Seonghwa stretched out across the backseat, that long black hair fanning out. "Come here, lightweight. Let's see if you taste as good as you look."
You straddled his face, and his hands gripped your ass hard. The first swipe of his tongue made you gasp, licking up everything. Your cum, your wetness, Yeosang's precum. When he sucked on your clit, your thighs clamped around his head.
"Grind on me," he said against your pussy. "Don't be polite."
Yeosang was watching with his cock in his hand. "Get over here," you told him.
You took him in your mouth, tasting yourself, and his hand tangled in your hair, Seonghwa's tongue was relentless and you couldn't focus, couldn't do anything but take it from both ends.
"Nobody eats this pussy like I do." Yeosang's voice had that jealous edge you rarely heard. His hand in your hair, pulling you off his cock. "That's enough."
He yanked you off Seonghwa's face completely, Seonghwa made a noise of protest, his chin wet with you.
"The fuck, Yeosang—"
"She's mine." Yeosang's voice was sharp, final. He pulled you back against his chest, one hand splayed across your stomach, the other sliding between your legs. "You're here because I'm letting you be here. Don't forget that."
Seonghwa's eyes went dark. "Noted."
"Say it," Yeosang demanded, fingers circling your clit, making you whimper. "Tell him whose cock you choke on every night, who you're with."
"You," you gasped. "Yours, Yeo, I'm yours—"
"Good girl." He bent you over the center console, your ass in the air, face pressed against leather. "Now I'm gonna prove it."
Yeosang slammed back into you. The angle was brutal. He wasn't holding back anymore."Who fucks you this good?" he demanded.
"You—fuck, Yeo—"
Seonghwa reached for your foot and sucked your toes into his mouth. The unexpected sensation made you clench around Yeosang and he groaned, fucking you harder.
The car rocked on its suspension, definitely obvious to anyone outside, but you were way past caring.
Your tits were hanging down, bouncing with every thrust, and Seonghwa grabbed them roughly, spit dripping from his mouth onto your chest.
He rubbed it in with both hands before leaning down and biting, hard enough to make you yelp, his teeth leaving marks on the skin.
"Fuck," you gasped, and Yeosang spanked your ass in response.
"She likes that," Yeosang said, voice rough. "Do it again."
Seonghwa bit the other one, then sucked a bruise into the curve of your breast, his tongue soothing over the sting.
But you couldn't focus. There was too much happening. Yeosang's cock hitting your cervix, Seonghwa's mouth on your tits now, biting and sucking.
That pressure was building again. "Yeo, I'm gonna—"
"Do it," he gritted out. "Fucking do it."
You squirted again, gushing around his cock, and Yeosang pulled out just in time for it to spray everywhere.
Some of it hit Seonghwa square in the chest. He looked down at himself, then back up at you with a feral smile. "Fuck. Do that again."
Yeosang dropped to his knees in the cramped space, mouth on you before you could even process it, drinking you down like he was dying of thirst.
"Oh my god—" You couldn't stop shaking, his tongue still working you, licking and sucking.
He sat back, face soaked, looking feral. "Hwa's turn."
"Sit," you told Seonghwa, already moving.
You freed his cock, thick and pretty, and he caught your wrist before you could sink down.
"Slowly," he said, eyes locked on yours. "Wanna watch you take every inch."
You lowered yourself in one slow motion that had you both groaning.
"There she is," Seonghwa said, hands gripping your hips. "Now show me what all that noise was about."
The stretch was different, the angle hitting new spots, and you rode him hard. Used him. Yeosang's hands found your tits from behind, pinching your nipples until you gasped.
"Harder."
He slapped them instead, sharp stings that made you clench. Seonghwa groaned, guiding your hips, and Yeosang bit down on your shoulder hard enough to bruise.
Then your neck. Your ear. Marking you up while you fucked his friend.
"Open," Seonghwa said, and spit in your mouth. You swallowed, then grabbed his face and kissed him. Turned and kissed Yeosang, passing it to him.
"Dirty girl," Yeosang murmured.
You were close, grinding your clit against Seonghwa with every roll. Yeosang's hand slid down and slapped your pussy, right on your clit.
You nearly screamed. "Again—"
He did it. Once, twice, three times, until you were coming, clenching around Seonghwa's cock so hard he cursed.
"Gonna cum," Seonghwa groaned.
"Inside." You felt the hot pulse of him coming inside you. You kept moving, milking him, until he was gasping and oversensitive.
When you climbed off, cum dripped down your thighs. Yeosang spread your legs, watching it leak out, then shoved two fingers inside you.
"Look at this mess." He pushed Seonghwa's cum back in, fucking you with his fingers before pulling them out and pressing them to your lips. You sucked them clean, tasting everything.
He didn't give you time to recover. Just lined himself up and slid in, groaning at how wet and used you were. Cum squelching with every thrust.
"Fuck, you're so full," he said, and you were. Could feel both of them inside you, the stretch almost too much when he bottomed out and hit your cervix.
"Too deep?"
"Don't you dare stop."
He fucked you harder, deeper, until tears were streaming down your face and you couldn't tell if it was too much or not enough. Seonghwa leaned in, wiped your tears with his thumb, then circled your clit with the wetness.
That did it. You came sobbing, clenching around Yeosang as he groaned and added his load to the mess. You could feel it, so much cum leaking out around his cock, dripping onto the seats.
"Wait," you gasped through the haze. "Both of you."
They both looked at you.
"Both of you. At the same time."
"Baby, I don't think—" Yeosang started.
"Try."
"Fuck, okay."
It took maneuvering, you on your back, legs spread wide, Yeosang still buried inside you. Seonghwa lined up next to him and the first push made you gasp. The stretch hurt like hell but you wanted it anyway.
He got halfway before you had to tap out. "Wait—fuck, too much—"
He pulled back immediately, but those few seconds of being that full had you shaking.
"Holy shit," you breathed. "Almost."
"You're fucking insane," Yeosang said, grinning.
When he thrust again, your pussy made this wet sound, all the air and cum getting pushed around.
"Oh my bejeezus," you said, mortified for half a second.
"Don't," Seonghwa said. "That's hot as fuck."
Yeosang groaned. "Do it again."
He fucked you harder and the sound got worse, louder, your body making noises you couldn't control. But they were both so into it.
They started passing you between them after that. Seonghwa pulled you onto his cock while Yeosang moved to your mouth.
You took him deep, gagging yourself on purpose, trying to see how far you could go. Spit dripped down your chin as you choked on him.
"Fuck, look at her," Seonghwa said, watching you struggle. "She's trying so hard."
You pulled off, gasping. "I can take more."
"Yeah?" Yeosang's hand fisted in your hair.
You forced yourself down until your nose hit his pelvis, throat convulsing around him. Held it until you couldn't breathe, then pulled off coughing.
"Good girl," he said, and the praise made you clench around Seonghwa.
Then they switched. Yeosang pounding into your pussy while Seonghwa fed you his cock. You took him just as deep, determined, and he cursed when you swallowed around him.
"Gonna cum," Seonghwa warned, pulling out of your mouth.
You opened wide, and he came on your tongue, warm and bitter. Before you could swallow, Yeosang stilled inside you and grabbed your face, kissing you hard, taking half of it into his mouth.
You passed it back and forth between kisses, messy and gross and so damn hot, until you both finally swallowed.
Time blurred. More orgasms, more cum. Yeosang filled you up again, a third time, and you were leaking everywhere.
Your cervix ached. Your tits were covered in bite marks. Your ass stung from being spanked. You were utterly destroyed.
"I can't," you finally sobbed, pushing weakly at whoever was touching you. "I'm done, I can't—"
"Okay, baby, okay." Yeosang pulled you against his chest. "You're done. You did so good."
Seonghwa grabbed your dress and wiped between your legs, cleaning up the mess still leaking out of you.
The fabric came away soaked.
"Open," Yeosang said softly. He wadded up the cum-soaked part of the dress and pushed it into your mouth.
You could taste all of it, your cum, their cum, your squirt, everything. You gagged a little but kept it there, looking up at them with tear-stained cheeks.
"Fuck, look at her," Seonghwa said.
"Hold on." Yeosang grabbed his phone. "Can I—"
You nodded, and he took a picture, then Seonghwa took one. You, naked and wrecked and gagged with your own dress, covered in marks and cum.
Yeosang pulled the dress out of your mouth and you gasped for air.
"One more thing," Seonghwa said, and he scooped cum from between your legs, you didn't even know whose it was at this point, and held his fingers to your lips.
You opened your mouth, and he fed it to you. Then he did it again. And again. Making you swallow every drop he could collect, a whole cocktail of cum.
"So nice," he murmured, and you whimpered.
When he was done, you collapsed back against the seat. Your body was still twitching with aftershocks.
For a minute, nobody moved. Just heavy breathing and your occasional whimper.
Then Yeosang was pulling you back into his lap, gentler this time. His hand smoothed down your back while Seonghwa found someone's jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
"You okay?" Yeosang asked quietly, lips against your temple.
"Mhm." Your voice was shot. "Just... holy shit."
"Yeah." He huffed a laugh. "Holy shit."
Seonghwa handed you a water bottle from somewhere up front. You didn't even question where it came from, just drank half of it in one go.
"So," Seonghwa said after a moment, looking around at the destroyed interior. The soaked leather seats, the fogged windows, the smell that would definitely never come out. "We're never getting the deposit back on this car."
You started laughing, and then Yeosang was laughing too, and suddenly all three of you were cracking up in the ruined backseat.
"Worth it though," you said when you could breathe again.
Yeosang kissed your shoulder, right over one of the bite marks he'd left. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You looked between them, Yeosang with his fucked-up hair and swollen lips, Seonghwa with your release still drying on his face. "Definitely worth it."
Seonghwa met your eyes, something unreadable in his expression. "This happening again?"
You felt Yeosang tense slightly behind you. Possessive, but not stopping you from answering.
"Maybe," you said. Then, because you couldn't help yourself, "If you can keep up next time."
Yeosang laughed against your neck, and even Seonghwa cracked a smile.
"Guess we'll see," Seonghwa said.
Outside, the sky was starting to lighten. You were naked in a destroyed car with your boyfriend and his friend, covered in evidence of what you'd just done, and you'd probably regret at least some of this soon.
𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jeong yunho x f!reader x park seonghwa
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: were you working with the mad, or were you mad yourself?
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 28.8k
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: forensicpsychiatrist!reader, patient!yunho, therapist!seonghwa, arrogant!reader, slowburn, nsfw content, mind games, manipulation, violence, bl00d, self h4rm, dissociative identity disorder, mental health, intermittent explosive disorder, mentions of child predat0rs and sex off3nders, mentions of trafficking, major character death.
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: this is a dark psychological thriller, the themes i write about are not meant to be glorified. read responsibly. reread the warnings if needed before proceeding. if you find any typos, please don’t mind them. I’ve spent a year writing and deleting and rewriting I honestly am proud I managed to wrap it up.
not when there is nothing clouding your mind. no romance, a family that lives far away, no pets, a personal housekeeper, and a private chef. all you really have to do is stay on top at all times. not for the paycheck, and certainly not to prove yourself to anyone - other than yourself - but because of opportunities.
your not-so-new position has opened a new door for you, revealing countless cases that those below you don't even think about, let alone dream of. if offered, they would've declined. and you wouldn't blame them. after all, they all stayed in the same position for years, not bothering to thrive in their career or life. it is just a job to them. and such people don't deserve any new doors being opened for them. they should stay below you, and let ambitious people like you take over and make the best of what they are given.
opportunities, such as the one that lays on your perfectly organized desk in a form of a thick file folder, are what keeps your life interesting. you thrive off someone else's misfortune. they do get better, eventually. they add numbers to your salary, satisfy your hungry brain and odd interests, and leave to have a better life. mostly.
this one, however, might be here a while. and he might be the first real opportunity you have to show off your true expertise in the field.
the serenity haven institute was so kind to send you the file folder, along with the letter in which they beg you - professionally - to visit their facility and help the poor dr. sloane burke with the patient. accepting the offer means moving cities. and moving cities means a temporary fresh start. a change you might need. perhaps their facility has professionals, and not staff. you frown upon those who do a measly job and wait on their tippy toes by the doors, almost stacking there on top of each other to see which one can leave the fastest. tsk. imbeciles.
the luxury suite on the top floor of the indigo hotel is not as luxurious as you thought it would be. nothing compares to your minimalist dark marble house just outside the city, with windows almost replacing entire walls and making each passerby envious of your treasures. your house is a contrast to your workplace. the never-ending white halls and tiled floors are replaced by dark green or black walls and mahogany floors. the shades of silver turn into gold when you step inside, and the only thing that is white in the house are your work clothes. even your dishes are black, with a golden rim.
the hotel suite is not much different. the gold accents are there, yet the black and dark green are replaced by their signature indigo. it lacks elegance. you mention it to the receptionist upon exiting the building, who only gives you a raised eyebrow and makes you roll your eyes. you are surrounded by such average people.
just as you step foot into the serenity haven institute, you realize that these people are no better. they were waiting for you, and not in a welcoming a new doctor way, but "please, help us, we are desperate and don't know how to do our jobs" way.
dr. sloane burke is a stunning woman. mid forties, blonde haired, icy blue eyes, and a striking posture. and incredibly dense. no wonder they couldn't make progress with the patient. talking with her over a cup of tea in their mediocre cafeteria has made you realize that you are indeed the best, not only in your facility, but elsewhere too. perhaps they needed someone like you, whether they wanted it or not.
"dr. park awaits you in the psychiatric ward. see that garden?" the woman points at the glass doors of the hallways that reveal a garden planted in the middle of the building. when you nod, she continues. "you can go that way since the weather is nice today. just so you don't have to go all the way around and get lost. dr. park will be waiting for you at the hallway entrance. just follow the signs to your right."
going alone had its little perks. you could linger in the garden a little, eyes taking in every flower that is hidden in the grass and every bench that blends in with the trees in the shades. it is early, and the summer heat has yet to strike for today. the garden seems empty, even though it feels like a presence lingers among the shadows of the green branches. you shake it off, continuing your journey through the garden and into the other side of the facility.
it is difficult to mask your disappointment. nobody greets you. nobody seems happy to be here. they treat it like a retail job. how foolish. spending hard earned money and a lot of time to educate themselves and land a job here, only to walk around with sour looks on their faces and counting the minutes until the break or the end of the shift.
and then, your eyes land on dr. park.
gods. doctor park. such a man shouldn't be able to exist. was he a figment of your imagination? were you finally going crazy and started imagining men after being unable to find any decent ones? were you brought here as a patient, not a doctor?
"ah, our saviour!" his lips, a pretty pink shade, curl and reveal a pearly white smile. you swear you feel your knees buckle. "park seonghwa, pleased to meet you."
and he has manners? good lord. it takes you a while to blink, and then to finally accept the hand that waits for yours. his touch is gentle, and as soft as his gaze. chestnut eyes sparkle under the early morning sunrays, and he might be the only person to escape the cruelty of the bright hospital lights that make everyone look monotone and grey. dr. park stands out, even though he wears the same attire as his colleagues. his skin has a warm tone which others are missing, and when he smiles, your stomach feels fuzzy. oh, how you've forgotten how it feels. fingers itch to remove the caramel stray hair from his face. you are jealous of his hair colour.
suddenly, you feel very insecure about how you look. you are put together. you think. but under his gaze, you can't help but feel like you could've done more. the stain that you managed to wash out from your blazer is suddenly noticeable again, your nail polish is chipped, and the tote bag that loosely hangs from your shoulder could've been replaced by one of the countless designer ones you own. you didn't think there would be anyone worth impressing. not in this way, at least.
"doctor...?" his velvety voice meets your ears. once again, you feel like a fool. how can you let this happen? "is everything alright?"
"yes!" you shout accidentally. you didn't know the word would come out so loud, and as if it would fix the damage, you slap your palm over your mouth, smearing your lip gloss in the process. this is a mess. "i apologize, dr. park."
the man only smiles at you. "if you need a moment, there is a toilet nearby-"
"no, no." you shake your head. "i'm fine."
in reality, you wish to redo this encounter. you wish you were back at the hotel, choosing a lipstick over a lip gloss, and retouching your nails. then, coming in here with confidence and swiping him off his feet. that's how it had always been; you being the reason behind dropped jaws, lingering stares and stuttering, not the other way around.
"so..." you trail, wiping at your cheek in hopes to remove the raspberry flavoured sticky residue from it.
and just when you thought that your moment of weakness has passed, dr. park seonghwa gently grabs your wrist, moving your hand away from your face. his tongue peeks out just enough to wet the tip of his thumb, which he brings over to your now irritated skin and effortlessly wipes the lip gloss away. "there. all pretty again."
you wish the ground would swallow you. your cheeks are blazing, and the tips of your ears feel as if they turned a newly discovered shade of red. this exchange is highly unprofessional, and knowing you, you'd already be on your way to a supervisor or writing an angry e-mail. but now you know pretty privilege exists, because dr. park is just too drop dead gorgeous to do anything about it. hell, you don't mind it.
"unfortunately, i already have to abandon you to return to my area. i'm sure you can manage, though. i've heard a lot about your excellency." he knows which words to say, and what buttons to push. and you hate and like him for that. nobody knew how to work you, and he has solved you within two seconds of meeting you. "the patient is in the room at the end of the hallway, marked with a red line below the window and the only one with an id pad. i'm sure they've added your id card to the approved visits list?"
"yes." you reply, clutching the rectangle plastic in your pocket.
"good luck, doctor. i hope we cross paths again."
"thank you, doctor park."
your eyes are reluctant to abandon his slender figure. you have a job to do, not crushes to chase. yet.
with a sigh, you bring the id card to the pad, listening closely for a beeping sound and waiting for the screen to flash a green light. park seonghwa has taken all the joy out of this. and that is another reason to hate him. the more reasons you can find, the sooner you'll get back to your usual state. what happened back there was unacceptable, and it will not happen again.
"mr. jeong yunho, i am-"
"mmf!"
eyes shoot up at the figure in front of you: a man, tied to the chair, naked except his boxers. the undershirt is stuck into his mouth, while the rest of the clothes are ripped to shreds and coat the floor. you step back, disgust towards this place clouding your mind again.
"doctor burke?" you are quick to dial her number.
"yes, doctor? did you manage to find dr park?"
"mmpf! mmm!"
you tilt your head to the side, trying to figure out why the man's eyes are so wide and why he is in this position. "do you usually tie your patients to a chair and gag them? half naked?"
"what?"
"you heard me. please get over here. this is a matter that must be discussed immediately."
within seconds, dr. sloane burke bursts into the room, and a gasp echoes in it. "doctor park!"
now, you are more confused than ever. the blonde haired man is finally freed from the undershirt, and doesn't waste a second before shouting:
"yunho ran away in my clothes."
what?
𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎.
most of these cases can be solved by one very simple question.
"so... jeong yunho." you say, disappointed.
"i didn't mean to, doctor! i swear!" the man cries out, curling up on the bed. "he made me do it!"
"do you sometimes get confused about which personality is the good one and which is the bad one?"
and it does the trick. the cries stop, and the brown eyed man sits up straight, tilting his head to the side. "ouch. very professional of you, doctor. that will cost you."
"this isn't my first rodeo." you sigh, and then push yourself off the wall you were leaning on. "i'm just disappointed that i have wasted my time by coming here. you aren't a special case. you just want to escape time in prison, and you were in luck to find doctors with no brain cells here."
"careful, pretty." the way he raises his eyebrow and shows his wicked smile shouldn't have sent chills down your spine. you try your hardest to hide the gulp, but yunho sees it. he is observant. his hungry gaze eats up your every feature, every breath, and every blink. "would be a shame to send you away so soon. i could use new company."
"you think you are in the position to threaten me with my job?"
the man stands up, and you almost flinch at the sudden clink that echoes in the room. almost. the handcuffs on his wrist slide along the metal bar of the bed frame, until he is at the bottom of it, almost reaching you with his free hand. you don't allow yourself to move, planting your feet on the ground and maintaining eye contact. "your name will go on my suicide note."
then, wicked laughter fills the room. it isn't often that you feel uneasy. but now, you watch his eyes glimmer with something unknown to you as he devours you with his gaze, and you find yourself clutching the file to your chest.
after all, this man managed to fool doctor park, tied him to a chair and fooled you as well. and to think that you enjoyed him touching you? disgust rushes through your body, mixed with adrenaline. you are confused. that hasn't happened in a while, and this place managed to do it twice in the span of two hours.
"this is merely an introduction, mr jeong. our journey is yet to start." your tone is sharp.
the metal clinks again, yunho leaning over so that he can get a hold of you if he tried a little harder. he knows he can, but chooses not to; you know it as well. you see it in his gaze. yet he opts to stare deep into your eyes, as if using magic to burn into them and get to your brain and enchant you with his dark spells.
"don't get too comfortable. would hate to see yunho do something to that gorgeous face."
"so this is stefano talking now?" you question, tilting your head on the side, mimicking his earlier stance.
he chuckles. "no, doc. this is your worst nightmare speaking."
"how clever." you say, yet you feel your blood going cold in your veins. "i'll see you soon, mr jeong."
mistake number one: never turn your back first. walk away backwards, and turn once you've safely reached the door. why? because the deranged, self absorbed, lying patient might grab you by your hair and yank you towards him.
the gasp doesn't manage to escape your lips, instead ending up trapped in your throat. jeong yunho's hand covers almost half of your face, muffling any noise you intended on making. his fingers are painfully digging into your skin, and you know it'll bruise. shivers run through your body as you feel his hot breath on your ear. and then, his teeth. teeth biting on your earlobe, not gentle, yet not painful. enough to plant a seed of true fear in your body.
he holds you with a single hand on your mouth, with his other one still cuffed to the bed frame. and there is nothing you can do about it. your body succumbs to his power, limbs going numb. all limbs free, yet useless. is this how you'll meet your end? by being an utter fool?
"listen to me, doctor." his voice is raspy and low, sending vibrations through your ear and turning into a new set of shivers that run through your body. "i'm not your fucking experimental guinea pig. you can collect achievements somewhere else, on someone else. not me."
never in your life did you stand so still. never in your life did you feel pure fear like this. jeong yunho is deranged, now you know. not because of his written diagnosis, but because he might be pure evil. the wicked grin, the façade that has fooled a whole facility, the acts. something tells you that you won't be able to escape him, even if you tried.
"you know..." he trails, tapping his thumb against your cheek. then, he slowly drops his palm from your face to your neck, and wastes no time in burying his fingers on the sides of it. "i could just snap your pretty little neck if i wanted to. so fragile. so easy."
a pathetic gasp finally leaves you; music to yunho's ears. his grip tightens, and you don't know if lack of oxygen is playing tricks on you, or if yunho really is that strong, but it feels as if your body levitates from the ground. you don't feel the floor beneath your feet, and you are losing the little balance you had left.
"can't wait to see you bruise. you'll look so pretty." with that, he drops your weak body on the ground. he really did pick you up just by your neck.
you waste no time in crawling to the metal door, back leaning against it as your hands fly to your neck in hopes of relieving the pain. you breathe in the air that you have taken for granted until now. your earlobe stings, your cheeks and neck ache, and your head spins. the clink of the metal echoes in the room again, and you watch in disbelief as yunho walks over to the armchair placed next to the bed, then plops on it. all while looking at you.
"you're going to regret this," your voice is hoarse.
his lips curve upwards, revealing the freakishly pearly teeth in a grin. "can't wait, little lamb."
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐖𝐀.
you may have a notebook addiction.
twenty-seven empty notebooks at home, all with hard covers, their own carefully picked bookmarks, color customized sticky tabs. all twenty-seven collecting dust in your apartment while you raid the local stationery shop for a brand new one.
jeong yunho is your experimental guinea pig, whether he likes it or not. no amount of fear will stop you. you dropped your guard yesterday, the adrenaline from the park seonghwa fiasco still working in you. or maybe you were high from the praises, and all of it hit you right in the head. you overestimated yourself.
but you'd never admit it out loud. you never do. you silently lower yourself to the ground, and learn from your own mistakes. jeong yunho will regret ever looking your way, let alone putting his hands on you.
passing by a mirror in the shop, you come to a stop. the concealer did a poor job of hiding the bruises on your neck and cheek. as you abruptly turn around as to not look at his reminders anymore, your hair sticks to the lip gloss on your lips, and you smear it on your cheek once again. you are reminded of the hallway incident. despite working on various cases from the start of your career, it never ceases to astonish you how one person can possess two vastly different sides.
you've witnessed a man in your life be a wonderful father, yet a terrible husband. you've observed a woman be a mother worth of envy, yet an unfaithful wife. you've seen a boy be a sweet brother, yet a terrible friend. all in one place, in your own family. and now, you have yet to discover what sides are hiding within your newest patient.
jeong yunho made you gawk. he made you feel the first butterflies in a while, made your cheeks heat up for a reason that wasn't anger or second-hand embarrassment. you allowed him to touch you. because he was handsome. because he had basic manners. because you're a fool. you haven't yet learned, it seems. letting your guard down is not an option, ever. even if you get married one day, you'll still have your guard up. you trust nobody but yourself.
your thoughts are interrupted by a discovery: a hard cover notebook the size of your handbag, with a black marble effect and gold edges on the paper. fitting for your aesthetic, as well as for yunho. perhaps you were odd for it. but who is there to judge you? making your way to the pen station, your eyes already catch a few. money was never the issue. lack of space? not until recently. but you'll surely make space for five new pens among a full drawer of them.
once in your hotel suite, you can't help but plop on the bed from exhaustion. you thought having a pleasant morning stroll would benefit you. it did, the first ten minutes. upon arriving at the hotel and seeing your trusted black maserati, you almost kissed it. you worked hard for that baby, and you cherish it every day. it has spoiled you. you have forgotten how to walk outside of your home or workplace.
the phone vibrates from the nightstand. at first, you think it is notifying you that it is done charging. you don't expect messages. you have made it clear that you are giving your number away for emergencies, and that you are not to be disturbed outside your working hours. you have sent your family money just a week ago, they shouldn't reach out to you for another three weeks. it surprises you when you see a message from an unknown number on your screen.
+82 31-0304-1998: greetings, dr y/n. this is dr park, i was supposed to escort you to your patient. apologies for the disturbance, but in my case this counts as an emergency. my shift ends early today and i won't see you, yet i would like to apologize for yesterday's situation. well, disaster, more like. now that the shock is gone, humiliation has set in, and i am desperate to fix my image in your eyes. would you grace me with your presence at the velvet cup café before your shift?
right, park seonghwa exists. had you not witnessed yunho's stunt in person, you would've thought of dr park as a weakling through stories and rumours that often traveled to your facility. the poor man didn't stand a chance. you could've ended up just like him, had it not been for the cuffs. or just yunho's mercy.
+82 31-1117-1117: seems emergency enough, dr park. very well. i'll see you at the velvet cup in an hour.
+82 31-0304-1998: you are very kind, doctor. i'll never forget this.
a jest. how delightful.
the summer heat has decided to strike twice as hard today. not even the air conditioner in your car could help the melting makeup from your face. you are forever grateful that your position allows you to dress however you wish. you can't help but enjoy the envious glances you get when crossing the parking lot of the hospital on your way to the café. you're rich, but never rich enough to not make use of free parking. the place is just a block away. a ten minute walk. five if you go through the facility.
and you do, boasting your pale pink, below knee length summer dress along the way, with a blazer hanging on your shoulders as to not violate the dress code of no bare shoulders allowed. the block heels of your sandals click against the freshly mopped floor. you feel their eyes. you thrive in it. and maybe, just maybe, you send a condescending smile their way, causing them to gasp in disbelief and erupt in mumbles. they'd never say it to your face.
when your pink sandal steps into the café, you are surprised to find it rather... satisfactory. dr park might have taste.
it is as if you have entered your own home, with velvet furniture, dark walls, golden corners and marble details. this might be your new favourite place, aside from the recently discovered stationary shop. you notice the blonde head sitting in a secluded area far from the windows.
as soon as his eyes lock with yours, he wastes no time in standing up and pulling the chair out for you. it earns him a few snickers and side eyes from a few teenagers hanging out by the bar taking pictures. a single sharp glance from him is all it takes to silence them, prompting them to turn their attention back to the coffee machine and the endless rows of beverages.
"nice to finally meet you. i'm dr park. the real dr park." he offers his hand with a smile. "but seonghwa is just fine."
you accept it. "nice to formally meet you, dr park seonghwa."
"i truly apologize, on behalf of the serenity haven institute. i was hoping your first impression would be less chaotic."
"no worries. if anything, it has me intrigued. therapist overpowered by the patient? you don't see that every day." you tease him.
to your surprise, he chuckles back. others would already be offended. "true. but, you don't see a jeong yunho every day, in my defense."
"right," you agree. you really don't see a jeong yunho every day. you thought he might be like others you've "treated", actors who crumbled under your pressure and ended up where they belong; prison. but yunho isn't just an actor. no, he is deranged, that you believe. the double personality? not as much.
the waiter soon takes both your orders, his being an espresso and yours a detox smoothie. he raises his eyebrow once the waiter arrives, eyes fixed on the green drink that is placed in front of you. "didn't take you for a smoothie person."
"didn't take you for a judgmental one." you raise your eyebrow as well, in a teasing way.
he laughs, his eyes crescent moons. "apologies. i just meant to say, my first impression of you through e-mails and the whole fiasco was different from how i see you now."
"meaning?"
"you seemed very... well, don't get offended, but..." he trails, as if considering whether or not to use the word that is on his mind or choose a less offensive one.
"well?" you press.
"scary." he finishes.
it is now your turn to laugh. seonghwa seems uneasy, not knowing whether or not to join you. "scary? based on e-mails?"
he tilts his head left and right, as if trying to remember more information. "maybe some rumours as well."
"hmm," you take a sip of your smoothie. instant refreshment hits you, and you might have to thank park seonghwa for showing you this place. the smoothie is a perfect temperature and consistency, and the banana doesn't overshadow other ingredients like it usually does. you aren't picky at all. "i'd love to hear some of those rumours."
"promise you won't cry?" he offers you his pinky finger.
you accept it, linking it with his and pressing your thumb to his to lock it. "i'll try my best."
recently, no conversation has flown so smoothly. seonghwa's voice is pleasant, and he speaks politely and slowly. not once did you have to lean in and say the huh you thought you were cursed with. he isn't good with eye contact, though. every time he looks at you and finds your gaze already locked on his figure, he looks away. were you truly that intimidating?
of course you were. you thrived in it. making people walk on eggshells around you has almost always been your thing, and as arrogant as it may sound, you don't want it to stop. you enjoy it. people not being able to stand up for themselves in front of you, not being able to look you in the eyes for longer than a few seconds, not knowing whether your laugh is sincere or sarcastic. you weren't intimidating. you were mean.
"i think my favourite one was about you being yunho's lover coming to get him out. something like the joker and harley quinn."
you should be disgusted. instead, you are amused. "why?"
"because those who met you and had the pleasure to work with you and were conveniently fired by you described you as having a double personality. they think of yunho and you as a perfect match." he finally finishes his espresso. you have downed your smoothie long ago.
"my favourite one has to be about me being a vampire and feeding on my patients. some even said they could see fang marks on their necks. i don't know who's more dense - those who claimed to have seen those things or those who believe it."
from there the conversation spirals into vampires, ghosts and horror movies and stories, and then lands on jeong yunho. theories about yunho being an entity sent to haunt places like this and collect doctors with his dark magic, creating his army to take over the world, then laughing about it. how professional, laughing at a patient. except, this is the very first time that you do it. simply because yunho doesn't need help. he's nothing but a liar.
"oh, the time!" you notice the clock hanging on the wall behind the blond man. "i must abandon you now, dr park-"
"seonghwa, please." he insists. "at least outside our workplace."
you hum, standing up and putting the blazer over your shoulders. "alright, seonghwa. thank you for the drink, and for showing me a decent café. i know where my time and paycheck will be going now."
"well," he stands up as well, picking your shoulder bag up from the table and offering to put it on you. you let him, sliding a hand through the bag strap and letting it rest against your hip. he stands close, but not enough to make you uncomfortable. just so that you can properly see his soft brown eyes and his flawless smile. "if you ever feel lonely, or wish to hear more rumours about yourself, you know how and where to find me."
"that i do." you return the smile. "thank you, seonghwa. i can assure you that you have restored your dignity in my eyes."
"ah, a relief, truly." he puts a hand over his heart. "i can't quite assure you that i don't find you scary anymore, though."
"you shouldn't."
to seonghwa, it is a joke. he laughs as he watches you send him a wink and leave the café. to you, not as much. he should still somewhat fear you. that is your defense. what from? well, you don't need a reason. you need to be your best and strongest self in the eyes of everyone, so that nobody even dares to think of crossing you.
it was that easy until now, why is all of it crumbling as soon as you stepped foot in the serenity haven institute? just what are park seonghwa and jeong yunho?
𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄.
13/06/2015
cold blooded murder in a family neighbourhood
in a shocking turn of events, police have arrested 27-year-old yunho jeong in connection with the brutal murder of a local shopkeeper in the heart of the city. the incident occurred late sunday night, and has left the community shocked and divided.
authorities were called to the scene after the shopkeeper's daughter saw jeong pressing a knife to her father's throat. upon arrival, officers discovered the lifeless body of 57-year-old ethan morris, the owner of a beloved corner store, lying in a pool of blood with his daughter beside him. the cause of death was a slit throat.
"if i hadn't seen him, i wouldn't have believed it" said laurie morris, who believed that yunho jeong would never do that. "you think you know someone, you invite them over for family meals, your children and grandchildren play with them, and then this happens?"
jeong is currently being held without bail and is scheduled to appear in court next week. the case has sparked conversations about mental health among the neighbours.
"it is baffling to me. yunho mowed our lawns, played with our children and taught them football, helped the elderly, brightened every room he was in. what causes a person like that to flip a switch? or was this his plan all along since moving in our neighbourhood? to fool us all and do something like that? was poor ethan the only one? what if there is more we don't know of?" says one mother whose children loved jeong and were babysat by him multiple times.
one thing is certain: this neighbourhood won't rest until they find out what caused a supposedly bright and happy man like yunho jeong to commit such a crime.
15/06/2015
further investigation on yunho jeong reveals chilling information
in a chilling, out-of-movie discovery, local authorities unearthed skeletal remains in the backyard of jeong yunho's residence. the remains have been identified, belonging to more than one person. investigators have also uncovered a dug up hole near the toolshed. they speculate the hole was meant for the deceased ethan morris.
"six out of seven remains we have found belong to registered sex offenders in the county." stated chief inspector san choi. "jeong wasn't killing without a reason. all the victims have criminal records, which leads to the next question: was ethan morris hiding something that the police failed to find, but jeong did?"
authorities urge anyone with relevant information to come forward, as the case threatens to unravel a sinister web of past crimes.
01/07/2015
case of gayoung jeong reopened
yunho jeong's mother, gayoung, was pronounced dead at the crime scene. hit by a drunk driver while crossing the road, the police didn't do much further investigation and concluded the case. recent news about her son yunho have caused investigators to reopen the case and find a trail that leads back to him.
yunho jeong is due for another interrogation.
10/07/2015
not yet behind the bars
further investigation regarding the murder of ethan morris, remains in the jeong residence backyard and a link to gayoung jeong has uncovered a twist; yunho jeong is undiagnosed and suffers from intermittent explosive disorder. it is revealed during interrogation that jeong does not possess memory of committing any crimes, and seems just as shocked when shown pictures of crime scenes.
so far, yunho jeong is to be met with a psychologist to establish his diagnosis.
21/07/2015
ethan morris, the child predator
laurie morris, the daughter of the deceased ethan morris, has uncovered a stash of various illegal pornography in the shop owned by her father. she has also uncovered phone hidden among the shelves in the stock room, full of suggestive messages exchanged with children in the neighbourhood. it seems that jeong knew something nobody else did.
does that justify his actions?
eyes ache from the small letters, and migraine sets in. you drop the newspaper on your desk, only to grab onto your head for support. the picture of yunho's mugshot looks at you from the table. and for a split second, you lose your mind. his eyes seem to glimmer, and the corners of his lips almost turn upwards, sending shivers down your spine.
with a single hand motion the papers are sent flying from the table and scatter all over the floor.
"a fucking hero." you mock before stepping on the picture with your heel and ripping the picture in the process. "egoistical cunt."
𝐘𝐎𝐔.
it is only your third time using the scanner for the entrance, yet the short sound it emits when the doors click open will start haunting you already. the heavy door is pushed open by the guard - a new addition to the system - and then closed after you enter.
yunho lays on the bed, both hands tied to the metal bed frame. he doesn't open his eyes. for a moment, you think he is sleeping. but you know better than that. even if he is, you won't allow him the satisfaction of feeling peace.
standing next to the bed and hovering above him, you drop the stack of the old newspaper full of articles about him on his head, jolting him awake. "wake up, stefano."
to your surprise, he doesn't react aggressively. instead, he sits up as much as the cuffs allow him, leaning against the cold wall behind him. the signature smirk is back on his lips as he looks at you. "the lamb is back in the wolf's den."
"how incredibly poetic." you sit on the chair next to the bed, this time at a safer distance. "couldn't have become a poet? chose to be a murderer and fraud instead?"
"i think you too can admit that this is way more fun." he snickers.
you aren't amused. at all. instead of giving him reason to continue, you cut him right off. "do you think you are a good person for what you did? a hero? a saviour the city needed?"
his expression darkens. brows furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line, and eyes dark due to dilated pupils. his whole body goes from relaxed to tense, aggressive. ready to attack. "you-"
"do you think you are unfairly locked in here?" you press further. you'll drive him crazy until he bursts.
"you don't know anything-"
"do you think you are better than everyone else? than the investigators? than us? dr park? dr burke? me?"
"shut up."
"is stefano someone you use when you are vulnerable but don't want people to know it's actually you? because if yunho shows an emotion other than anger he won't be feared?"
"last warning." he grits his teeth.
"did you kill gayoung?"
silence envelops the room. his expression is unreadable. the quick switch of emotions stuns you, and you don't seem to guess what comes next. you expected him to become more aggressive. to yank at the cuffs in an attempt to reach you. anything but this. sudden calm posture, relaxed expression. but the glint doesn't fade. then, he opens his mouth. his stupid fucking mouth.
"you need a cock."
"what?"
"you heard me." he simply shrugs. "when is the last time someone fucked you? properly? no wonder you're so tense."
"i am letting you know right now that you shall not speak to me that way." you are furious. how dare he?
was he right? perhaps. but that doesn't affect the quality of your work or your personality. then again, it's been so long. you have forgotten if you acted differently in the past. it doesn't matter, anyway. you won't give yunho the satisfaction.
"that's inappropriate. not to mention unprofessional and–"
"oh, dove." he coos. "i thought we were way past professional the moment i touched you in that hallway. or the moment you stepped in here and accused me of faking my illness."
no matter what you say, he has the counter spell. he's stubborn. stubborn, and fucking annoying. he knows how to get under your skin and he enjoys every second of it.
"do you touch yourself, doctor?"
"how was your relationship with your mother?" you ignore his question.
"all this anger and stress... you need to relax. maybe that's why you're so horrible at what you do." each word acts like a blow in a balloon, making you feel fuller and fuller until you threaten to burst. "if i was you, i'd touch myself all day. fuck, you're so pretty for someone i should hate."
how can a person degrade you and compliment you in a span of ten seconds? that is his talent, it seems. and judging by the amused grin on his face and his cocked eyebrow, your frustration is evident on your features. brows furrowed, teeth abusing the inside of your cheek, and fingers gripping your notebook.
"i'd put a mirror in front of me just to see myself."
"your inappropriate remarks won't distract me from the fact that you are nothing but a fraud who doesn't deserve any of our time."
"then why are you here?" his voice drops a few octaves. the vibrations of his low voice creep under your skin and run down your spine. "why are you wasting your time? why not go out there, tell them all that i am nothing but a liar, and that i should be behind bars? why are you still here?"
"i want to know what goes on in that fucked up head of yours. just because you have been wrongly diagnosed doesn't mean that you are healthy."
he sinks back into the bed, gaze fixed on the ceiling. "then, let's hear it. diagnose me, doc."
"i need to find out more about you. you need to help me so that-"
"i'm not going to help you paint me as a misunderstood soul who has wandered off the right path. i'm not going to help you with anything. i can only help you relax so that you can do your job better."
"jeong-"
"you start by putting two fingers in your mouth, and wet them nicely with that annoying tongue of yours..."
"you're crossing the line again."
"then you slide them down to your pretty panties. if you're wearing any. i wonder what kind you have. is it a string? is it pastels? maybe it's-"
"what happened to your father?"
"-grandma panties. definitely grandma panties."
"it's not grandma panties," you say before you think. and gods, do you have to fight the urge to put the pillow over his face to hide his satisfied grin. "mr jeong."
maybe it's time for a new approach. you need to bite back your pride and arrogance. jeong yunho is as stubborn as you, but right now, you refuse to be on his level.
"please."
if the room wasn't dead silent, except for the gentle clinking of the handcuffs against the metal bars, not even you would've heard yourself. and for a second, you hope he didn't hear it as well. you regret it as soon as you say it. but he hears it. he hears it well, that son of a bitch. "well. don't you sound pretty when begging?"
"this can work out for both of us." you offer.
"and how's that, little lamb?"
"being locked in here has surely affected your mind and healing. handcuffed, away from socializing, only discussing your mental health and treatment. if you cooperate, i have the power to get you out of here. i'll place you in a nice room, you'll have normal meals, you can even visit the cafeteria or go for a walk in the park."
"and what do you get in return?"
"i get to go home sooner. leave this shithole and never come back." you admit. "i didn't say there wouldn't be anything in it for me"
yunho thinks. he bites his lip when he does so, you notice. you don't take back what you thought back in the hallway. jeong yunho really is handsome. you'd be lying if you said you weren't disappointed that he turned out to be the patient and not your colleague. dr park is gorgeous in a different way. he is pretty; a gentle beauty. blonde hair, soft smile, eyes that turn into crescent moons as he laughs. yunho, on the other hand, is fierce beauty. with dark hair, and dark eyes, and a deep velvet voice. you hate that the first encounter with him has impacted you. he has ruined seonghwa for you. because of yunho, seonghwa isn't interesting. it shouldn't be this way. none of the two should be interesting. you are here to work, not create your own grey's anatomy.
"in return, all i ask from you is to speak."
"oh, well. why didn't you just say so?" he stands up again. "nobody ever thought to ask that. and here you are, making it so simple."
you sigh. mockery is unmistakable in his tone. "mr jeong..."
"no." his voice drops, and so does your stomach.
"what?"
"no. i won't make it easy for you. do your fucking job."
and just like that, he reminds you exactly what he is. a fucking pain in the ass.
"then do your fucking part." you quickly drop back to his level. "you want me out of here? out of your hair? then start talking."
the dark haired man clicks his tongue. "oh, no, no. like you said: this is merely an introduction. our journey is yet to start. you're too pretty to send away so soon."
he thinks he is so clever. hiding mockery under compliments. testing you. inviting you to attack first so he can have a reason to do it back. the clinking of the cuffs rings in your ears as yunho suddenly sits up straight. you flinch, further feeding his ego.
"uncuff me."
"absolutely not." you reply in disbelief.
"then no cooperation."
"you are not in the position to-"
"you are not a detective. you are a dumb little doctor who has come to show off to these peasants, who thought that i am no smarter than them, who thinks that she has all the power in the world. guess what, pretty? i dictate the rules here. i have you all wrapped around my finger. and there is no escaping it until you do as i say."
"hmph," you can't help the snort that leaves you. "pretty hard to have control around here when you can't even go to the toilet by yourself."
"you-"
"we'll try again tomorrow, mr jeong." you stand up with a sigh. "with a different approach on both ends."
"you think you're in the position to order me how to act?"
"and do you think you are in the position to piss me off when i am the key to your semi-freedom, if not even freedom?"
it shuts him up, for a second. until that foolish grin graces his lips once again. "you think it's freedom that i want?"
"and what could a man like you possibly want other than freedom?" you are intrigued. he doesn't allow you a moment to think about the answer yourself, because jeong yunho leaps across the bed and almost reaches you, were it not for the cuffs stopping with a heavy noise at the end of the bedframe.
he licks his lips, and lowers his eyebrows, dark eyes hiding beneath them and his hair. "you."
with a quick smash on the button beside the door, the guard opens it for you, and you escape with your back still turned towards the exit, gaze remaining on jeong yunho who doesn't move a muscle as he kneels at the end of the bed, eyes drilling holes through your own and making your head burn and body feel light with fear. just before the door shuts, you make out the words he mouths out to you.
"come back soon, little lamb."
𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇.
dr sloane burke is a very chatty woman. you don't like that. your only saviour is dr park seonghwa who sits between the two of you in the cafeteria and engages in the conversation for you.
yunho this, yunho that. you hate it. you tried to switch topics multiple times, but they all ended with yunho once again. were it not for seonghwa's gentle grip of your wrist and the delicious ceasar salad, you would've gone home by now.
"just a bit more," he had whispered, offering a soft smile. and how could you reject him?
that's how you're still sitting here, listening to dr burke go on about how yunho is the spawn of devil and how nobody can tame him. normally, you would be on her side. but she is starting to get on your nerves, and is subtly doubting your abilities.
"he's not an animal to tame." you stand on his side.
a gasp of disbelief, then a snort, leaves dr burke's mouth. "what, you feel sympathy for him?"
"how do you expect someone to act human when you don't treat them as such?" you simply reply, and you can almost feel her blood pressure rising through seonghwa. they hate it when you're calm. and you love it when they lose their cool. "frankly, dr burke, i am yet to ask about how you have approached this case. could you describe a session to me?"
"are you doubting my abilities? questioning my progress?"
"what progress?" you simply reply.
sloane is fuming. she is red in the face, and you shove the fork stacked with chicken and salad into your mouth before you can burst out laughing. seonghwa has to cover his mouth with his palm, and he fake coughs while masking a smile.
"what does that mean?"
"it means..." you take your time, slowly chewing the refreshing meal. it almost seems like she is shaking from anger. it hurts more because seonghwa is here, you know it. "...it is odd that you've worked with him for ages, yet he still isn't showing improvement. in fact, he is becoming worse. who is there to blame?"
"this is unacceptable. down talking in front of my colleague, in my own working place. how dare you?"
dr park decides it is time to end the most interesting conversation he has heard this year in this facility, no matter how much he doesn't want to. "while i truly admire both of your... love and dedication for this case, i'd rather spend my lunch not talking about work. is that a fair request?"
"certainly, dr park. i apologize." dr burke is quick to bat her lashes at the man, but not before glaring at you.
you don't apologize. there is nothing to apologize for, and thus, you finish the remaining salad, and pick up your tray. seonghwa stops mid bite, his own food resting on the fork in the air as his brown eyes follow your actions.
"enjoy your food." you greet as you stand up, tray secure in one hand and handbag in the other.
"leaving so soon?" disappointment is evident in his voice, and you love the satisfaction that washes over you as sloane bites the inside of her cheek. "i was about to offer dessert."
"that is very generous of you, dr park." you say, looking at the carefully arranged brownies in a clear container that sits on the table. "another time, maybe. i can feel my braincells dying with each second that passes in this... lovely environment."
before sloane can open her mouth, you smile at dr park, who still struggles to contain his laughter, and leave.
𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍.
there is a ritual you perform every single evening before bed.
first, locking the front door. with your profession, it is important that you watch your safety. you never had any issues, and there is no reason to start having them now.
second, closing the windows and pulling the curtains over them. even a sliver of the yellow street lamps threw you off. the annoying indigo curtains won't stay shut, thus you have no other option than to staple them together. you'll pay them. maybe then they can afford proper curtains.
third, a glass of prosecco. cold, sharp, and bubbling with a kind of careless joy you don't allow yourself in daylight. it tastes of green apples and white flowers, a fleeting sweetness that vanishes almost as soon as it arrives. you sip it slowly, letting the fizz settle against your tongue, all while leaning against the kitchen counter as your gaze is fixed on the darkness that has swallowed the suite.
fourth, letting the water run in the bathtub while you arrange your bed. four pillows are neatly stacked at the headboard, and a pair of black silk pajamas neatly sit at the foot of the bed, waiting to be worn.
fifth, a hot bath. not warm, hot. such hot that has your skin red and burning, yet your muscles relaxing. a single pale green bath bomb, a matching face mask, and a second helping of prosecco, is all you've been waiting for all day. the bathroom smells of green apples, the mirror is fogged up, and the candles lit around the bathtub cast calming shadows on the walls. you are slowly boiling yourself into a stew, yet you've never felt more careless and relaxed.
sixth, once every single candle is extinguished, you slip into your sleepwear, then under the covers.
seventh, lulling yourself to sleep with counting. it usually takes one hundred and eleven for you to start feeling your body going limp.
yet three hundred and fifty later, you are wide awake. you open your eyes with a sigh. you are surprised to find a yellow hue on your wall. looking over, you find just what you expected: curtains not closed properly. you must've stapled them poorly. you didn't forget, that you know. you specifically remember glancing out the window, and seeing two of the staff having a smoke break before you closed it and stapled the cheap fabric together.
as you approach, you notice the stapler resting just where you left it on the dresser below the window. already irritated because you should've been asleep by now, your grip on the curtains isn't so gentle, causing your finger to slip through them.
you find it hard to believe your eyes once you take a proper look. not only is the window creaked open, but the fabric that was held together by staples is ripped. the staples uselessly lay on the dresser, and some of them still hang by a thread. as if someone has ripped them open by force.
the grip on the stapler intensifies, and for the first time ever, you feel unsafe. truly unsafe. scared to death, you gulp as quietly as you can. you find it in you to turn around, eyes frantically searching for an intruder. you don't know what to hope for. if there is nobody in your room, they could be anywhere. if there is, you have zero survival instincts.
in the middle of the summer, your body shivers. glimmering eyes stare at you from across the room, hidden under a hood.
"oh my god." is all you can mutter upon seeing the wicked grin. he doesn't move. he simply leans against your bedroom door, hands hidden in the pockets of his hoodie. you don't dare break eye contact, no matter how much you want to. you need to watch his every move. "show yourself."
a chuckle meets your ears upon hearing you stutter. "oh, dove."
"don't come closer." foolishly, you raise the stapler towards him. you startle yourself, pressing it too hard and causing a staple to jump out and hit the floor.
the low chuckle intensifies. "you're so precious it hurts."
"stay where you are." you still hold the gadget in the air, pointed at him. "i mean it."
"or what?" he pushes himself off the door, taking a small step towards you. "you'll staple me?"
heavy footsteps against the wooden parquet are taunting, each one echoing inside your head and reminding you that you are trapped. helpless. at the verge of death.
you lean against the dresser, the light summer breeze caressing your nape through the opened window. the man stops in the middle of the room, hands slowly abandoning the comfort of his pockets. you allow yourself to glance at his hands, and instantly, the air gets knocked out of your lungs. a sharp knife mimics the glimmer of the stapler, the handle stuck in his unmerciful grip.
"i'll give you ten seconds to run." he raises his hand, twirling the weapon between his slender fingers. "after that? i don't know. i could fuck you. i could kill you. let's leave space for imagination."
there is nowhere to go. nowhere to hide. the door is unreachable, and the window isn't an option. you'd die before he gets to you.
"yunho..." his name falls from your lips, shaky and pleading. "please."
he hums with satisfaction. "how i love when you beg. you're getting me used to it."
"please," you are ready to do whatever it takes to feed his ego and hopefully make him succumb.
"as much as i love it, time is running out, lamb." he tilts his head to the side, a habit of his whenever he mocks you. "ten."
you don't move just yet. he raises an eyebrow, confused as to why you aren't running to save yourself. then, he realizes.
"oh? am i in the way?" he points the knife at the door. then, he walks over to your bed, plopping on it and sinking in the pillows that now smell of your shampoo. "green apples. how did you know i love them?"
slowly, you take one step forward. yunho jolts, and you scream, pressing yourself back against the dresser. he only laughs, then lays back where he was.
"i promised ten, didn't i? it wouldn't really be fair if i broke a promise and took advantage of your state. though, i am doing you a favour. more than a second has passed, and i am so generously still stuck at ten."
you don't believe a single word out of his mouth. he could jump at you as soon as you turn your back to him. it seems to be his favourite thing to do.
"nine." he sinks deeper into the pillows, knife twirling lazily above his head as if this is all a game.
your legs refuse to move. the dresser digs into your back, the wood biting into your spine.
"eight." his voice is calm, almost bored. "you're wasting precious seconds, lamb. i'd run, if i were you."
your throat burns. you can't tell if it's from the plea you swallowed or the scream you're holding back.
"seven." he inhales, slow and deliberate, nose buried in your pillow. "apples and fear. intoxicating."
your body jolts forward before your mind catches up. bare feet slap against the parquet, carrying you toward the kitchen and living room.
"six." his laugh follows, low and delighted. "that's it. run for me."
if you were in a better state, you would've remembered to lock the door of the bedroom, earning yourself more time to run. instead, you frantically search for your shoes, which are nowhere to be found. you could've sworn you took them off by the sofa before you plopped on it after work. sensing that the countdown is coming to an end, you run down the hallway, struggling to keep your footsteps steady.
your lungs burn as you sprint down the darkness, the hallway feeling as if it is expanding and has no end. then, the door finally comes in sight. salvation. trembling fingers stretch for the handle, slick with sweat, nails scraping the metal.
and then — another hand. larger, steadier, landing on the same handle at the exact second as yours.
you freeze. the cold press of his skin against your knuckles is worse than the knife pressed against your neck.
yunho leans in, his breath brushing your ear, voice low and amused. "synchronized. how romantic."
body screams to fight. yet you stand still, letting yunho pick you up with ease and draping you over his shoulder as he walks back into your room. the fall on the bed is anything but gentle, the mattress causing you to bounce a few times before it engulfs you in the layers of covers and pillows.
through blurry eyes, you make out yunho dropping the knife on the nightstand. his hands reach for the hem of his hoodie, pulling it over his head and letting it fall on the ground. "want to take a guess now?"
tears prickle at your eyes as you bring your legs close to your chest, crossing your ankles in hopes of protecting yourself. you shake your head, answering his question, and begging him to stop at the same time. "please."
"oh, you'll do your begging."
he dives into the bed, half naked body hovering over you as his fingers snake up your neck and press into the sides of it. the yellow hue illuminates his bare face properly, as well as his nude torso. you hate that you are attracted to it. you hate that the first encounter with him has left such an impression on you, it seems that no matter what he does, you keep feeling that tingling sensation in your stomach.
he has ruined you without even trying.
his fingers linger at your throat, not squeezing, just resting there as a reminder of how easily he could. his eyes search your face, and the smirk that curls his lips tells you he's found what he wanted.
"there it is," he murmurs, almost tender. "that look. you don't know if you want to run from me or crawl closer."
your breath hitches, and you hate yourself for it. hate the warmth that coils low in your stomach, the same warmth that sparked the first time you saw him. before you knew what he was.
"don't flatter yourself," you manage, though your voice cracks.
yunho laughs softly, leaning closer until his hair brushes your cheek. "i don't need to. your body does it for me."
you squeeze your eyes shut, nails digging into your palms, trying to will the attraction away. his presence is overwhelming. the scent of your own shampoo clinging to his skin, the heat radiating from him, the way he makes the air itself feel charged.
"you'll figure it out soon enough," he says, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, though his hand never leaves your throat. "whether you hate me more... or want me more."
little by little, he is proving you right. on the brink of life or death, you've never been more flustered and wet. you've never been more turned on by a man. you've never lost your mind. until now, when you subconsciously press your thighs together when his hot breath hits your lips.
he notices, and that evil, murderous smirk comes back to life. "i knew it."
you want to deny it, to spit in his face, to remind him he's nothing but a deranged patient, a liar, a murderer. but the words knot in your throat, tangled with the heat he's already coaxed out of you.
"don't look so ashamed," he says, tilting his head to the side, studying you like a puzzle he's already solved. "fear and want... they taste the same to me."
your pulse hammers against his hand at your throat, and you hate that he can feel it. hate that he knows your body better than you know it.
"you'll keep telling yourself you despise me," he whispers, leaning close enough that his hair brushes your cheek again, "but every time you come back, i'll be waiting to prove you wrong."
slowly, he sinks his head between your shoulder and neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before biting into it. before your hands can fly to his hair to try and pull, his other hand catches them by their wrists, pinning them against the bed above your head. the pain is delicious, and the soft lips that kiss the bruised area sweet.
"fuck," he breathes out. "you even taste like apples."
"how did you escape?" you dare ask, and as soon as you do, you regret it.
the mischievous smile is gone, replaced by a serious look. "why do you have to spoil the fun?"
"i-"
"i didn't escape. i came to visit, just like you visit me." he softens the grip on your throat, thumb caressing your jawline as he admires your features. "it wouldn't be fair if i didn't return the favour, right?"
you don't reply.
"you lock your doors, staple your curtains, pour your wine," he murmurs, eyes fixed on yours. "and still, here i am. doesn't that tell you something?"
you swallow hard, throat dry. "that you're insane."
he laughs, low and sharp, the sound vibrating against your skin. "no, lamb. it tells you that you belong to me, whether you admit it or not."
his thumb lingers along your jaw, tracing the line of your cheek as if he's memorizing it. the knife is forgotten on the nightstand, but his presence is sharper than steel.
"you visit me in daylight, while i'm chained up, with guards and condescending looks," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "and now i visit you in the dark, with none of those things between us. balance, don't you think?"
your lips part, but no sound comes out. you want to tell him he's wrong, that this isn't balance, it's violation. but the words dissolve under the weight of his intense gaze. he could crush you if he wanted to.
"you're trembling, doctor. is it fear? or is it something sweeter?"
your body betrays you again. the shiver that runs down your spine, the way your breath hitches when his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth. your lips part on their own, and you hate how satisfied he looks.
he smiles, slow and knowing. "i don't need chains to keep you. you'll come back to me on your own."
the man slips his thumb past your lips, letting it rest on your tongue. his brows furrow when he feels the hotness and wetness of your muscle, twitching under his touch. he knows you're holding back. he knows you want nothing more than to swirl it around his finger. yet he also knows that you are smart and strong. you don't allow yourself such a moment of weakness. you've sunken deep enough as it is, by your own will. still, yunho can't help but further toy with you.
with his knee, he forces your legs to spread. he is stronger than you, and resisting him means losing energy. thus, you obey, spreading your legs and allowing him to press his knee against your clothed core. you gasp at the contact, the feeling of fabric and the hardness of his body against your sensitive core overwhelming already.
"you poor thing." he coos. "i was right. you need a cock."
he frees you from his grip, hands working on the belt of his pants. he plays with it in his hands as he studies your face, before bringing the leather to your lips.
"open up."
you do as told, parting your lips and letting him place the belt between your teeth for you to bite into.
"good girl."
the words shoot straight to your core, earning a squirm from you and a hum from yunho.
"you like that, don't you?" he taunts. "you probably didn't even know it gets you going. has nobody ever praised you, dove?"
you shake your head. no man ever, and you mean ever, has praised you. it was all degrading words, rough hands and no emotion other than harshness. you thought something is wrong with you for not enjoying it, not even thinking that you might be into something else. but how could you, when nobody tried anything else?
"you don't belong there, doctor." his voice becomes a mere whisper. "you're too pretty. too smart. too perfect for them."
compliments laced with something that you can't name yet catch you off guard. the belt slips from your lips with a gentle clink. "what?"
"and park seonghwa? he doesn't deserve a single look from you. you're too intelligent for him."
his knee rubs against you, extracting a whine from your throat. you are getting desperate with each second that passes. instead of hating yourself for wanting it, you are starting to hate him for not giving it.
"they thought you could break me," his lips graze your tear stained cheek as he speaks. "but i'll be the one breaking you."
you audibly shudder when his lips trail down your bruised neck, the tip of his nose following and trailing down your clothed body, until they reach the burning core between your spread legs. he buries his face into it, his nose bumping into the aching clit as he lets out a low groan.
"fuck," he breathes out. "may i?"
all the things that have happened up until this point didn't shock you as much as that question did. you look down at him, surprise evident on your features. he raises his head to look at you as well, danger and hunger a storm in his eyes.
"i may be deranged, angel," he murmurs, prying your knees further apart with ease. "but i still have manners. so, may i? pretty please?"
"i-" you are at loss for words. odd how the crazy man has more manners than an ordinary man. "i don't know."
"you don't know," he repeats softly, almost amused. "that's the most honest thing you've said to me yet."
even though you haven't answered yet, he doesn't move on his own. he waits, patiently, savouring your every expression. you're thinking hard, he knows it. you want it, but you don't want him to know. so he makes it easy for you to give in without humiliating yourself.
"if i said... that i won't leave until you scream my name, will it make your decision easier?"
your teeth sink into your bottom lip, still unsure.
"and if i said that i'd take such good care of you, that nobody will ever come close to my standards?"
his gaze softens, though the storm beneath it never fades.
"you've been starved of gentleness your whole life, angel," he murmurs, thumb stroking along your thigh as if he's offering salvation. "let me feed you."
you are beginning to think you are the insane one. you're dripping, and he hasn't even touched you properly. his words alone did this to you.
"i promise you, i'll ruin you with courtesy." his voice drops an octave. "and you'll thank me for it."
"please." the word comes out as a whisper from you, yet to yunho, it is louder than anything in this world at the moment. you almost whine with desperation when he doesn't bury his head back into you, but instead hovers over you again. the clanking of the knife on the nightstand makes you lay still. fuck, what did you get yourself into? "yunho...?"
instead of answering, he simply places himself in between your legs once again, carefully peeling your bottoms and panties off you and letting them fall to the ground. he takes his sweet time in admiring your glistening core, as if trying to burn the image into his head. his hot breath hits you again, this time on your bare skin, before you feel it.
his hot tongue, laying flat on your clit and folds, licking generously as he savours the first taste of you. your fingers fly to his hair, gripping it desperately, while your hips already twitch, unhappy with his slow pace. he places one hand on the bottom of your stomach, keeping your body pressed against the mattress and preventing you from squirming.
he hums against you, plush lips capturing your clit between them and gently sucking as the tip of his tongue teases the tip of your clit. tears stream down your cheeks once again, fear and yearning fighting inside you and tearing you apart. soon enough, you fall apart on his tongue, gasps filling the air and body twitching with pleasure.
"stop," you breathe out, overstimulated. he doesn't, instead burying his tongue into your hole and his nose into your abused clit. "please, please, please-"
he pulls away for a second, being merciful enough to let you have a moment to collect yourself. when you glance down at him, you almost faint. his lips glisten with your essence, and his hair is ruined because of your grip. you hate to say it, but park seonghwa has nothing on him.
"one more, doctor." his voice is raspy as he demands. "give me one more, and i'll leave you alone."
"i can't-" you gasp mid sentence, feeling a sudden cold intrusion between your walls. "what-?"
"just one more." he encourages, pushing further. it slides in with ease, squelching sounds filling the room as it starts moving at a slow pace. "you can take it like the good girl you are."
it takes you a moment to realize that it isn't his fingers, nor his cock. it is the handle of the knife, buried in you and moving at a steady pace with his help. pleasure takes over shock, and although unsure, you soon allow yourself to lay back and completely give yourself to him. his lips are back on your clit, inching you closer to the second release, and ridding your body of any emotion other than pure stimulation and pleasure. the handle hits the spongy spot inside you, over and over, until you burst against his lips once again, this time with a sweet cry of his name, just like he promised.
"say it louder." he pulls away just enough to growl, then returns to devouring you.
"yu- yu-," you choke out, fingers gripping his hair and thighs clenching around his head as he overstimulates you. "yunho!"
"yuyu? i'm liking that." he pulls away for good with a hum, helping you ride your release with slow pumps of the knife. once you get down your high, he removes it, and wastes no time before climbing back on the bed so that he hovers above you. "look at this."
he holds the knife by the blade, blood dripping down his hand as he holds it up for you to see.
"and it's all for me." the handle glistens under the street lights that peek through the ripped curtain. "say it, princess."
"it's all for you." you repeat it, eyes fixed on the item yunho brings over to your lips.
"taste yourself on my knife." he begs, breathless. "give me reason to wake up in the morning."
and fuck, it's the hottest thing you've ever witnessed. you taste yourself on the handle of the item you almost died of, tongue carefully cleaning it just as he asked. you can't help the moan that catches in your throat when yunho joins you, his own tongue tasting you all over again but from a different source.
you swear you'll go crazy if this doesn't stop soon. he has you hooked onto him, and you let it happen. you yearn for more. you try slipping your tongue past the knife and reach for him, yet he backs off, pressing the bloody blade against your neck.
"nu-uh." he warns. "not yet, pretty."
hot liquid drips on your skin as your breath catches. "okay."
"so obedient for me." he presses his lips to your forehead. "that's how i like you."
as soon as he abandons the bed, shivers enter your body, causing you to sink below the covers as you watch him get dressed. he picks your bottoms off the floor, not without shoving the panties in his pocket, then skillfully puts them on you without looking under the covers. he tucks you in, fluffing the pillows around you and pushing the hair out of your face. lastly, his fingers snake up your neck again, but not to choke, but to hold while his tongue leaves a wet stripe on your skin, licking his own blood off you.
"good night, little lamb."
the silence he leaves behind is unbearable. you lie there, trembling under the covers, staring at the door as if he might walk back through it at any second.
soon, you'll return to the serenity haven. clipboard in hand, guards at your side. and you'll wonder whether he will be there, shackled and calm, as if tonight never happened? or will his chair sit empty, proof that the walls can't hold him? and if it sits empty, will anyone believe you?
𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃.
in the morning summer heat, you decide to walk.
to clear your head. why? something is wrong with you.
you woke up drenched in sweat, covered in bruises, and with a shallow breath. throat feels like sandpaper with each gulp of saliva, and it's making your eyes tear up from pain. you had hoped it was a nightmare. running to the window was the first thing you did upon opening your eyes. shaky hands touch the curtains, eyes wide with disbelief. they are stapled, fabric in tact.
yet, when your hand lands on your pounding heart and feels the bra, then slides down to your bottoms as if remembering, you don't feel the outline of panties. there is none to feel. you remember why. he took them off you, and he never put them back on. they have disappeared, it seems. they aren't on the bed, and not in the laundry basket, nor the floor.
upon searching through the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. bruises littered down the sides of your neck, no wonder it hurts. everything else is just as you left it. hell, even the shoes next to the sofa. you could've sworn they weren't there last night.
he is playing with your mind. whether or not he was truly in here, he has gotten to you in ways nobody else ever has. at this point, you hope it wasn't a dream or a hallucination, because if true, it means that you have underestimated him. you've only seen him a few times, and he is in your head. you can't let him have the upper hand without even doing anything.
"someone call the guards, there is an impostor."
somebody's tray bumps into your back as you linger by the juicer, the glass filled long ago and waiting to be picked up. you turn around slowly, recognising the voice. "dr park."
"is everything okay? you're moving very odd for... well, you." the blonde haired man takes the glass of orange juice and places it on his tray. he then points at the various pastry choice. "would you like to eat anything? i'll bring it for you."
"i..." you trail, looking at the food and feeling nothing but nausea. "i'm fine, thank you."
with that, you take the glass from his tray and make your way to a table you've decided belongs to you. seonghwa joins soon, tray full of food and drinks. the smell of coffee overshadows the freshly squeezed orange, and you have to try your best to stay politely seated and not flip his tray and leave. it's not his fault you're feeling out of place.
you stir the orange juice with your straw, watching the pulp drift like debris. a plate slides on the table and comes into your vision frame. a piece of bread, a small packet of butter and one of honey, and something else. something that makes your thighs clench, and your mouth water.
"i don't know if you've ever tried that combo, but if not, do it for me. trust me."
you don't respond. not because you don't like the idea, but because the glimmer of the jam knife taunts you. you can almost feel slender fingers around your neck, delicately pressing the sides of it. you feel the blade on your skin, and to make things worse, you feel your core heating.
fuck.
"i have to go." you blurt out.
"what?" seonghwa asks, mouth full of waffles. "already?"
"i- yes. i'll see you, dr park." you leave the tray, and almost push away the plate dr park has kindly offered you.
in no time, you storm out of the cafeteria and down the hallways. you need to know. you need to know whether or not yunho was truly in your suite last night, or maybe the summer heat paired with a glass of alcohol had you lose your mind for a moment. after all, there are no traces of him anywhere but on you.
the guard greets you, no different than usual. the pad beeps, and the door clicks open. the guard pushes it open for you, then closes it. eyes search the room for a pair of dark brown ones. they are nowhere to be found. the bed is made, and the armchair cold under your fingertips as you touch the fabric of it. the guard could've at least told you that dr burke has taken him.
"oh, hello."
you flinch, abruptly turning around and falling into the armchair. yunho stands before you, a smile on his lips.
"i don't think we've met before." his voice is softer, and the smile seems genuine. it makes you still in your seat. "did i scare you? i'm so sorry, doctor."
he offers you a hand. an unshackled hand. you don't take it. instead, you stand up on your own, and go around him and approach the door. you aren't leaving yet, but it's better to be safe than sorry. "good morning, mr jeong."
"good morning, doctor...?" he squints his eyes, reading the letters from the small name plate on your uniform. "doctor y/n l/n. a beautiful name."
"mr jeong, please take a seat." you don't acknowledge the odd compliment.
although he takes a moment, he listens and sits on the bed, hands in his lap and feet fidgeting on the ground. his eyes linger on your name plate, almost curiously. it is like he has never learned it before.
"how are you feeling today?" you cautiously take a seat in the armchair again, legs crossed in a somewhat defensive way. as if it'll keep him away from you. "how did you... sleep?"
"i slept well, thank you for asking." he responds. "what about you? it was a rather hot night, don't you think? the hottest one this summer."
his words sound harmless, sincere. his eyes don't seem to hide any mischievous glint. to anyone that does not partake in the conversation, it would seem simple small talk. but it eats you inside out, not knowing if he knows. not knowing the difference between reality and imagination.
it's not imagination, you wouldn't call it that. a fever dream, rather. you didn't imagine him willingly. did you?
"i guess it was." you respond. "you're... unshackled. you behaved well."
"i'm always a good boy." his lips curve, and the smile reaches his eyes. then, as if remembering something gruesome and traumatic, his whole expression drops. "it is yunho who is not a good boy. not me."
you clutch the pen in your hand, then clear your throat before speaking. "sorry?"
"i'm a good boy. always have been. the best, my mum always says." he drops his gaze, eyes fixed on his hands. yours drops as well, and you notice his red fingertips. the skin around his nails is plucked, and he proceeds to worsen the situation by plucking it further. "sometimes, she gets confused. she thinks i'm yunho, and i get punished. but i am always so good, how could she think i am him?"
"mr jeong-"
"even now, i get punished for him. i have to sit here, while he gets to roam freely. he said he would visit you, yet he wouldn't even let me meet you." his words are fast, scrambled, and shaky. the plucking of skin intensifies, blood seeping through tiny wounds and getting under his fingernails. "he gets to meet all new people, and i have to sit in the bushes and wait for him to call, then be his substitute. i'm tired of it."
before you can react, his wide eyes find yours in pure terror. he stands up, hands grabbing your shoulders and shaking you.
"help me." he breathes out. "please, help me."
the white shirt you are wearing absorbs the blood from his fingers as his grip intensifies. the clipboard and pen drop from your hands as you try pushing him off you. he doesn't budge, instead dropping to his knees by his own will and laying his head on your lap.
"please, free me." he sobs. "i can't live this life anymore, y/n. i want to be me, not him. i want my own life. i don't want to pay for his crimes."
liquid stains your pants, and you don't think anymore. you simply lay your hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently as a way to comfort him. he calms under your touch, though you can still hear faint sniffles. his slender fingers dig into your thighs, afraid of letting go.
you try to rip them away, to allow both of you to have some space. yet he raises his head, face flushed and covered in tears as he pleads. "don't push me away. not like dr burke."
"i- i'm not pushing you away, mr jeong." you reason. "i don't want you to catch a cold on these tiles. why don't you sit on the bed, and you can tell me everything."
his brows furrow, and he grits his teeth. your heart pounds against your chest, feeling vulnerable once again. he stands up, walking over to the wall, and bangs his head on it. "i don't want to talk anymore."
"mr jeong," you stand up as well, each thud of his head against concrete a shot to your chest. "mr jeong, please."
"everyone treats me like i'm a child." he sobs again. "nobody takes me seriously. nobody helps!"
"i will help you!" you raise your voice, hoping it will get to him. it doesn't, as he continues his painful actions. "i promise, i'll help you."
"liar." he mutters. "that's what everyone says. dr burke said she'd help. dr park said he'd help. and now you. why should i believe you?"
you steady your voice, though your throat feels raw. "then help me understand. when you say you're the good boy... what did you do yesterday to prove it?"
his brows knit, fingers twitching. "i stayed in this room. i didn't leave. i never leave."
you nod slowly, pen scratching against the clipboard you have retrieved from the floor. notes litter the white paper, the cursive writing not as neat as it usually is. it is shaky, and rushed. you glance at him, not letting your guard down for a second. his head doesn't bang against the wall so harshly anymore. rather, it becomes rhythmic, and softer, like a ritual. he is mumbling as tears trail down his neck and dampen his shirt.
"nobody believes." he whimpers. "nobody ever believes."
"stefano," the name feels foreign on your tongue. yet it is the only thing that makes him stop and slowly turn around, eyes lit with hope again. too quick, too bright. like he'd been waiting for you to say it. thus, you carefully continue. "i hear you. but right now, i need you to stop hurting yourself. let's sit down together."
he wipes his cheeks with trembling hands, smearing blood across his skin. "you believe me?"
you keep your tone even, though your chest tightens. "i believe you want me to understand. so help me. how does this exchange happen? how does he free himself and lock you in here instead?"
instead of the bed, he opts to sit on the floor, back pressed against the cold metal frame. "twice a week, tuesdays and fridays, he makes me sleep in the bushes below that window."
he points at it, the window that can only be opened an inch for fresh air. it isn't designed to be fully opened, and your confusion grows as he continues.
"dr park works night shifts on those days, and he doesn't like yunho. he avoids this part of the institute like the plague, and so yunho gets the freedom he wants. he can open the window, he knows how. he makes me wear his clothes, lay in his bed, and act as if i am the one carrying his name."
you gulp, slowly. the pen shakes in your hand, and you pray he doesn't see it. you pray he doesn't see the way the colour drains from your face, or the way teeth chew the inside of your cheek. if he does, and this is all a ruse, he has won. he will destroy you, and you won't be able to escape this time.
a personality disorder, or a deranged liar, you are in the presence of danger. you cannot forget that.
"and... what does yunho do every tuesday and friday?"
"he hunts."
"hunts...?" you trail, scribbling on the paper.
"yes."
"what does he hunt?"
"people like you."
blood runs cold in your veins. it doesn't have to mean anything, you tell yourself. yet the way the man looks at you makes you question everything you've done or said so far. he is dead serious. his lips don't twitch, and he doesn't blink. this is the only time you wished to see that evil smirk on his face. as funny as it sounds, it would make you feel better.
"people like me?" you repeat. "what does that mean?"
"people who meddle in his transaction between the two of us. people who want to cure him. people who want to separate us and take away his freedom." he explains.
"i've offered him freedom." you remember. "he didn't take it."
"freedom under his own conditions." he explains. "i myself wouldn't believe you, i doubt he did."
right. your pen hovers above the paper, ink pooling at the tip. "and when he hunts... what happens to the people he finds?"
his gaze fixes on your name tag, unblinking. "they stop meddling."
"how?" you press, softer now, almost whispering. his lips curl, not into a smile, but something worse. a knowing stillness.
"you'll see."
you remember the articles, the interviews. the fact that you are dealing with a serial killer with a disorder you are yet to properly diagnose. thoughts wander, and soon you find yourself wondering if he is somewhere digging your grave. planting a bush of flowers to mark it, playing gardener in the deep woods. the thought alone sends chills down your spine, causing the man in front of you to curiously tilt his head to the side. just like yunho does.
"i'm sorry, doctor. i didn't mean to scare you." his tone is laced with sympathy. "it's just... better safe than sorry."
"and when will yunho be back? when does he usually get back?"
"he's waiting for you to leave." he stands up, then plops on the bed. "he won't come back while you are here."
"so..." you write down a few more notes, the cursive letters turning into capital ones. "he knows i'm here? odd. we don't have a fixed schedule."
"he knows." he stares at the ceiling as his fingers go back to plucking the skin around his nails. "he always knows everything."
"that seems rather exaggerating." you admit. "he can't always know everything if he isn't even here."
stefano stops his fidgeting, and slowly turns his head to the side so that he can look at you. "it's just that... he is here. he is everywhere."
he doesn't blink. you don't breathe. the weight of his stare is torturing, and it makes you finally decide you've had enough for today. you might even need a short break. with clipboard and pen in hand, you stand up. "we will continue this, mr jeong. tomorrow."
"you're... leaving? already?" he sits up straight, and hands twitch in an attempt to grab you. he manages to control it, you notice out of the corner of your eyes. "we just started."
"i am feeling rather unwell. as you said, it was a very hot night."
"right." he confirms, nodding his head as he watches you approach the door. "tomorrow then, when yunho comes back. maybe i'll see you tuesday night, or wednesday morning again."
your hand stills on the handle of the door as your thoughts struggle to keep up. you can't leave just like this. so cowardly, and foolishly. the clipboard is stuck in a death grip as you bite the inside of your cheek before speaking.
"doctor?" the man calls before words leave your mouth, wondering why you're lingering by the door.
"yes?"
"is everything alright?"
"yes, everything is alright. i will see you tomorrow," you gather the little courage you have left, straighten your back, and turn around to face him. despite his worried expression, you decide to look straight through it, and take the upper hand again. "yunho."
he doesn't flinch. doesn't stand, or toss. he simply smiles, and it isn't genuine and sweet anymore. it is that evil, soul crushing and mind consuming smirk, paired with that glimmer in his dark eyes. "clever girl. you didn't fall for it."
"i wasn't called here for no reason." you aren't afraid anymore. he won't hurt you. not yet, at least. it is known that predators like to toy with their preys a little before they hurt them. you still have time. "i'll crush you, one way or another."
"how can you crush me, when you don't even know if i was there last night or not?" he leans against the bedrest, tongue running over his bottom lip as he devours you with his gaze.
"and how would you know about it, if you weren't there?" you respond quickly, back pressed firmly against the door.
"as stefano said, i know everything." he stands up, slowly but deliberately. he doesn't stop until you have to raise your chin to look at him, and his hot breath caresses your face. his hand snakes up your neck, landing on fresh bruises he has marked you with. he hums, thumb brushing over them. "i know you, y/n."
"you don't know anything, yunho." you don't mean for your voice to come out so pathetic and quiet. it makes him smirk, and squeeze your neck lightly. a whimper escapes your lips. just when you think he is done, he slips past your face, lips landing on your ear shell.
"i know you like to play god. you like to think you're the mastermind, the invincible, the saviour." lips brush against the sensitive skin of your ear as he speaks, and his hair caresses your cheek. "instead, you're nothing but a cock starved bitch."
before your hands can land on his chest to push him away, he rips the clipboard out of them and tosses it on the floor, then pins your wrists above your head.
"but i can give it to you, doctor." his lips trail to your jawline, ghosting over the line that follows the spot under your ear. "i see how touch starved you are. how unloved you are. i cannot give you love, but i can give you affection. appreciation. something you've never had."
"yunho, let me go."
"i'd treat you so well, if you'd let me. you say i don't know you. yet i know your own parents don't like you. i know park seonghwa only sees your body. but i see you." he pulls away just to look at you. his pupils are wide, making his eyes darker. "i had you seeing heaven and hell in my hands. i can do that any time you want. i could worship you, i could ruin you. i could do whatever you ask of me. just say the words."
"you are deranged." you reply to his offer.
he doesn't seem offended. instead, he breathes out, and leans his forehead against yours. "fuck, talk dirty to me."
"you're insane." you scoff.
"yes, just like that." his eyes flutter shut, and his hand slips from your neck and trails down your body, until it finds a place on your waist. "say more. more, doctor, more. please."
"are you serious?" you try pushing him away once more, this time with your body, but yunho leans his whole body against yours, trapping you between one cold and one hot side. "let me go, you- you- you fucking lunatic!"
he groans, and not a painful kind of groan. the kind he let out when he buried his nose between your legs last night. and fuck, you wish to bang your own head against the wall now for feeling the way you do. flustered, hot, and yearning.
"i can smell the desire off you, dove. it's intoxicating."
"yunho," you opt for begging. "please."
"there we go." he smiles to himself. "that's where i want you, pretty girl. begging for me, whining my name. i'd give you the world right now."
"give me space for now, please." a single tear trails down your cheek. not from fear, and not from sadness. from frustration, because he won once again. he has you wanting him, when all you wanted was to be a step ahead of him. "you can give me the world another day."
"your body is telling me otherwise. tell me, how many times did you think of last night?" he squeezes your waist, enough to worsen your burning feelings. "you can say it was good. i won't judge you. it is only natural."
he seems genuine. enough to make you succumb, body going limp in his hold as his lips press against the skin between your neck and shoulder. his tongue is hot against you, causing you to let out a shaky breath of desperation. it feels dangerous, as if his calculated and tender kisses will escalate any moment now. if you had any suspicion and indecision in your body left, he erases it once he grabs you by the back of your head and brings you close to him. eyes flutter shut, and noses brush against each other. he hums against your lips, not yet closing the gap.
"you're shaking." he murmurs, voice low, almost reverent.
you are. not from fear. not from him. but from the unbearable tension of wanting him gone and wanting him closer in the same breath.
he studies your face like he’s memorizing it; the tear on your cheek, the tremor in your jaw, the way your eyes refuse to look away from his. then he does something worse than touching you further.
he steps back. just one step. enough to make the air between you feel like a wound.
your body leans forward before you can stop it. a tiny, involuntary movement, but he sees it. of course he sees it. his smile is slow, devastating.
"there it is," he whispers. "the truth."
you swallow hard. "what truth?"
"that you don’t want distance," he says softly. "you want control. and you hate that I take it from you."
your pulse stutters. he lifts his hand, not to grab you, not to pin you, but to brush a single knuckle along your cheekbone. the gentleness is worse than any threat.
"tell me to leave," he says. "tell me to walk away from you."
you open your mouth. nothing comes out. his eyes darken, triumphant and tender all at once. he leans in again. not touching, just hovering, letting the tension choke the room. foolishly, you reach for him, want prevailing over morals, and you close the distance between the two of you. he has left you starved of his lips, made it seem like forbidden fruit. right now, they are inviting as ever, a deep red shade and plump. ready for you to bite into, and die of poison if needed.
"why," your voice is a mere whisper as you hold him against you, arms wrapped around his neck in an attempt to keep him close. you swallow, rethinking your choices up until now. "why wouldn't you kiss me last night?"
he smiles. not as a mocking, but somewhat fondly. "does it bother you?"
"yes." you admit. there is no point in lying. you need to be truthful in order to find out. "why, yunho?"
"you came here ready to tear me apart." yunho avoids your question. "but the moment i touched you, you forgot why you walked in."
your breath catches. because he’s right, and because he shouldn’t be. his hand brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. the gesture is gentle, almost intimate, and it terrifies you more than anything else he’s done.
"you think I want to break you," he says softly. "but i don’t. not in the way you think, at least. i want to understand you."
you swallow hard. "why?"
"because you’re the only person in this place who looks at me like I’m human, despite everything i've done and everything you've heard about me." he whispers. "and the only one who makes me feel like I’m not."
"yunho..." you try to steady your voice, but it comes out thin.
he steps back half a pace, giving you space, but not distance. the air between you feels charged, stretched thin.
"tell me to stop," he says. "really tell me."
you open your mouth. and nothing comes out. yunho’s smile is slow, devastating. you don't tell him to stop. instead, you wait for him to lean closer, letting his eyes shut and forehead rest against yours. his breathing is steady and calming, while yours is fast and shallow.
"see?" he whispers. "you want this."
and then, finally. he closes the distance.
the kiss is soft. devastatingly soft. not hungry, not forceful, but careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he presses too hard. it’s the tenderness that undoes you, not the contact. your fingers curl into his hair without meaning to, pulling him closer. he exhales against your mouth, a sound that feels like surrender and victory tangled together. his lips are as soft as a cloud, and his tongue burns hot against yours. it feels as if he is taking your soul through this kiss. and you're letting him. you cannot help the whine that escapes you when he pulls away.
"there you are," he murmurs, eyes dark and warm all at once. "the part of you you keep trying to kill."
you can’t speak. you can barely breathe.
"don’t worry," he says softly. "i’ll keep her alive."
a moment passes, allowing you to regain a bit of sanity you have left. enough to take a proper look at his swollen lips that glisten with your trace.
"do you know why i didn’t kiss you last night?" he asks quietly, yet doesn't wait for an answer. "because you wanted it, and i wasn’t ready for that."
you blink, thrown. "what does that mean?"
"it means," he murmurs, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, "that everything else between us was... inevitable. but a kiss?"
his voice softens, darkens.
"a kiss is a choice."
your heart thuds against your ribcage, and you know he can feel it.
"i didn’t want your first choice with me to be made out of adrenaline," he continues. "or fear. or confusion. i wanted you to want it when you were thinking clearly."
you swallow. "and now?"
"now," he whispers, breath mingling with yours as he leans in again. "you’re thinking. you’re fighting yourself. you’re terrified of wanting me. and you still reached for me."
your fingers tighten in his hair, playing with the soft messy strands as you process his words.
"that’s why i kissed you," he says. "because this time... you chose it."
your chest aches. you hate how much it aches.
"and if i choose it again?" you whisper.
"then," he says, voice barely steady, "i’ll meet you halfway every time."
the man presses his forehead to yours again, but this time it’s different. not a challenge, not a trap.
a connection. a confession in silence.
"just say it," he murmurs. "say you want me close."
you don’t answer with words. you tilt your head, closing the distance by a breath. an invitation, not a surrender. yunho inhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut once again.
"god," he whispers, "you’re going to ruin me."
the second kiss is the opposite of the first one. it is hungry, and leaves you yearning for more each time he pulls away to catch a breath. the cuffs clink against the metal frame, rhythmically, and usually it is not one of your favourite sounds. right now, it manages to add to the odd atmosphere you have created.
"uncuff me." he asks. "please."
you admire yourself for finding the small key in your pocket as you continue kissing him, hand reaching to his wrist and freeing him. finally, yunho properly holds you. he grabs you by your thighs, picking your body up so that you wrap your legs around him, and carries you to the bed. he pulls away, and the cuffs are soon in his hands. a flash of terror washes over your face. yunho notices. immediately, he presses another kiss to your lips, all while his hands grab yours by the wrists and guide them above your head. the cold metal clicks around them, and fuck, this time fear prevails.
"yunho?" you ask, eyes fixed on your restrained hands on the metal frame. "what- what are you doing?"
"for your sake. i don't want your overthinking to spoil the fun."
his slender fingers trail down your jawline, the side of your neck, and disappear below the collar of the shirt as they trace your collarbone. your breath hitches when he continues down your cleavage, ready to unbutton the fabric.
"say it out loud." he asks, not moving a muscle as he searches your face for any kind of regret. when he finds none, he undoes the first button. harmless, but a statement. he wants to keep his promise from last night. "i'm not going further unless you say it."
"i want it." you breathe out.
"you want what?" his nails graze your skin as they travel to the second button, sending goosebumps all over your body. "you'll have to be specific, princess."
"i want you." the words are poison on your tongue, and at the same time, the most honest thing you've uttered in your life. "i want you to fulfill your promise."
"that's all i needed to hear."
the buttons fall to the floor as yunho rips the shirt off you. the blood stained fabric falls on the ground, your bottoms soon joining, leaving you in nothing but underwear before him. "you're..."
"don't," you shy away from his intense gaze, squeezing your legs shut and turning your head to the side.
"you're everything i've ever wanted."
his big hands hold your thighs firmly, separating them and creating space so that he can lay down in between. gently, he peels your underwear off you, groaning in the process when he sees your glistening core. he blows onto it teasingly, and before you can scold him, he attaches his lips to the tip of your clit. his long fingers slip past your folds with a squelching sound, until his knuckles stop him. he curls his fingers upwards, the soft pads of them massaging your inner wall as you yank at the cuffs. not to free yourself, but desperate to hold onto something.
he hums against you, satisfied with the way your body responds to him. he pulls away for a split second, shooting you a teasing glance. "you'll have to tame those pretty hands of yours, dove."
you manage to stay calm. after all, there is a guard in front of the door, and the clinking of the metal isn't the most quiet noise. you do fine, you think. until pressure builds up in your lower stomach, erupting when yunho speeds up his moves and sucks harshly on your clit. a series of barely contained whines and sighs leave your lips, gracing yunho's ears.
"this won't work." he sighs, hovering above you and moving the hair out of your face.
"what?" your heart drops.
"i'll have to keep you quiet somehow. as much as i fucking love the noises you make, i don't want this to end just yet."
carefully, he turns you over so that you lay on your stomach. you don't question him. you trust him, even when naked, tied up and locked in his room. you feel him press against you, rock hard. you don't know when he managed to take his clothes off. you don't think. all you do is feel.
the way his bare skin presses against your back. the way one of his hands reach for your jaw, cupping it as he slips two fingers between your lips. the way you taste on his slightly wrinkled digits. the way he aligns himself with your clenching hole, but not without smearing your slick all over his tip first. the way he lets out a soft grunt when he first pushes in a few inches.
one by one, and after each one, you think he'll stop. he doesn't, until you feel him in your lower stomach. when his hips finally rest against your bottom, he lets out a deep moan, head falling on your shoulder and teeth biting into it. you're full, impossibly full.
"fuck," he breathes out. "forgive me. i don't know if i have enough control to hold back."
you wish to tell him that you don't want him to hold back. his fingers in your mouth do a good job of not letting you make a sound. he pulls away, slowly, only to push back in with the same pace. he savours every clench you offer him, and every swirl of your tongue around his fingers.
"if- fuck-" his other hand grabs your waist, steadying himself. "if at any point it becomes too much, bite my fingers. i'll stop right away."
so caring. and oh, so fucking hot when he fills you up again, lips landing on your ear shell as he moans and sighs. his voice is deeper than usual, causing you to become wetter than ever and him struggling to keep a steady pace. eyes roll to the back of your head, and toes curl with each snap of his hips. little by little, you feel him lose it. the moves aren't precise and slow anymore. they are strong, desperate, and uncontrollable.
he holds onto you for dear life, digging his nails into your skin as he drives his cock through your warm walls, hitting the spots you never knew you had. you drool around his fingers, brain mushy and hands pale from the grip they have on the metal bar.
"i want to claim you," he breathes out. "i want to fill you up, please."
you hum, and manage to nod your head. you expect him to unleash, to do just what he asked you. instead, he pulls away, leaving you empty and aching. before you can whine, he turns you back over so that you face him. he looks ruined. hair a mess, cheeks flushes, lips almost bleeding from being bitten and trying to hold back noises. a thin layer of sweat coats his bare body, and his cock... fuck, it might be the only one that turned you on just from the sight of it. slightly curved, long, and veiny.
"look at me while i claim you."
and you do. eyes fixed on his cock as it slides in to the end, making a bulge in your lower stomach. he covers your mouth with his hand, each snap of his hips into yours eliciting a delicious muffled moan from you. just as he loses his focus and his moves become sloppy, you feel the heat rising, washing over your body before euphoria hits you. the sight of you throwing your head back, teary eyes rolling back, and fingers biting into his palm, which he knows is not a warning to stop but a sign of pleasure, seems to do the trick for him.
hot ropes of cum shoot inside you, filling you to the point you didn't know you could be filled. he pumps in and out, squelching noises softly echoing in the room as he fucks every drop of cum into you. not once do his eyes leave your hole, even when he pulls away. he is utterly mesmerized with the way you clench around nothing, white liquid spilling out.
yunho removes his hand from your face, placing a soothing kiss to your lips. "my pretty girl."
he lays on top of you, caressing your face wet from sweat and tears. he allows you a few moments of silence to regain your strength, although you're not sure how you'll do that. you don't even realize he has gotten up and is dressing you up. of course, not without uncuffing you and grabbing a towel first to clean you. such a gentleman. a deranged gentleman.
"yunho..." you call his name.
"don’t look at me like that," he murmurs, avoiding your eyes as he puts his own clothes back on.
"like what?"
"pitiful. like i’m worth saving."
your heart breaks a little.
"maybe you are," you whisper. he ignores you, deciding that he has had enough honest conversations for today. you shift the conversation, giving him peace for now. "did you... did you take my panties last night?"
"ah." he nods, as if remembering. "yes. and my apologies, i was terribly wrong. it isn't grandma panties."
"can i have them back?"
"no."
"where are they, anyway?" you look around. the room only has a bed, an armchair, a night stand, and another door that leads to a tiny bathroom.
"don't spoil the fun, little lamb. or i might have to stop by for another pair." he turns around and approaches the window, bloody finger tracing the frame of it. he taps it once, twice, like the dull thud of a shovel biting soil. "tuesday is coming soon. you'll leave it open for me this time, won't you?"
"we'll see."
right now, your priority is making sure you don’t end up pregnant with jeong yunho’s child. the rest can be easily dealt with.
𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋.
+82 31-1117-1117: are you up for an adventure, dr park?
+82 31-0304-1998: i'm intrigued. go on.
+82 31-1117-1117: how would you like to visit a few places with me?
+82 31-0304-1998: you wish to play detective, doctor?
+82 31-1117-1117: in or out? i'm leaving at noon.
+82 31-0304-1998: i promised sloane lunch.
+82 31-1117-1117: suit yourself.
you'd be lying if you said it didn't bother you. you hate when you don't get it your way. and frankly, you were scared. for the life of you, you cannot calculate jeong yunho's next move. it should've been easy: him locked up, you breaking him down little by little, exposing his true nature, and you returning to your home.
instead, you are fuming over dr park having lunch with another woman as you drive to the jeong residence. he should've dropped her for you. even though the phone vibrates in your bag, and his name peeks out for you to read, you ignore it.
as you make a left turn, you find yourself in the quiet neighbourhood. most people who had secret investigation on mind would come during quiet night hours. you chose noon strategically: the heat has rushed everyone inside, pulling the blinds on the windows and locking the doors. the light plays in your favour, no need for unnecessary shadows and flashlights. the last thing you need is to be afraid of dark. the only mistake you might have made is driving your own car here. the polished maserati doesn't quite fit in with the muddy fords and chevys.
the asphalt shimmers like molten glass as you glide across it, the air thick enough to choke. you notice how every house has toys in their yard. a person who doesn't have any knowledge of the gruesome crime that happened here wouldn't feel uneasy. you do, knowing what happened just a few houses away.
you pass by the shop where everything took place, and notice it is open. there is a single person inside, possibly the clerk, and they're stocking up the shelves. you sit for a while, debating whether or not to pay it a visit. when you roll the window of the passenger seat down, the hot air clashes with the working ac in the car, and the sound of cicadas is the first thing you hear. and only, along with faint thudding of crates and boxes from the shop. no children, no conversations, no other vehicles except yours.
until a knock on the driver's window startles you. you turn around, expecting an elderly woman to ask about you, or a man to comment about your car. instead, you find a child. before you can react, he slaps his small hand against the window, leaving a sticky mark behind and making your blood boil.
"hi, missus!" he yells.
"fuck." you mutter with a sigh. as the window rolls halfway down, you take your time in examining the child. he seems to be no younger than five, and no older than eight. he wears swim shorts, muddy sandals, and a dirty tee with a wolf print. how convenient. "hi, sweetie."
"hello." he waves, lips curling up and showing an uneven set of teeth. someone needs to cut the sweets in that house. "you have a nice car."
"thank you, darling." you smile, though your eyes run to the fingerprints that peek from the half rolled window glass. "where are your parents? why are you on the road in the middle of summer heat? you'll get ill."
"mommy is sleeping. daddy is on the pool floatie. he fell asleep also." he shrugs. "my sisters said if i came over here and asked your name, i can play with their toys. and if i ask you a five bucks, they'll give me candy. look, they're right there!"
the small finger points at the bushes of the house across the road, and surely enough, two heads are peeking from behind the greenery. they quickly crouch, in hopes of hiding, though the buns on their heads stay sticking out with betrayal.
"is that so?" you raise your eyebrow. the boy only grins, rocking back on his muddy sandals, waiting for your answer. to anyone else, it would be nothing. a child's dare, sisters giggling in the bushes. but your mind twists it, the wolf on his shirt staring back at you, the sticky handprint feeling like a mark you'll never scrub off. you force a smile anyway. "well, what if i told you i'll give you something better?"
bribing children, especially those you don't know, isn't one of your hobbies. though right now, it could be something that will come in handy. as long as no adult is present to witness you shortly kidnapping a child. as for his sisters, you hope their parents will be careless about their words as they are about their child wandering around during a heat stroke.
you park the car on the sidewalk, leaving all four lights on. you'll be quick.
"what is better than candy, missus?" he walks beside you, sandals creating wet sounds as he does so. he must've just gotten out of the pool, because there are droplets of water running down his tan arms.
"you'll see." you say as you enter the shop. "good day."
the shop's cool air hits you like a wave, carrying the faint scent of cardboard and detergent. the clerk looks up from stacking boxes, nodding politely. his stare lingers on the bag that hangs from your shoulder, before he returns to his task of restocking a carrot crate.
the boy trails behind, sandals squeaking, eyes wide. "is it ice cream? better than candy has to be ice cream."
"patience." you pat his head, and fight the urge to visibly cringe when you feel the greasy and sweaty hair under your fingers. "you can go look for a while, then i'll tell you. understood?"
"understood!"
and with loud and wet slaps against the floor, he disappears into the toy section.
"how do you know the morris family?" the man hits the spot without knowing.
quickly, you connect the dots. the house where the boy came from must've belonged to the deceased ethan morris. and the child must be his grandchild. jackpot. you clear your throat, eyes fixed on the child. before you can answer, he speaks again.
"sorry for the interrogation," he laughs. "you just don't look like you belong here. not even visiting, let alone living."
"what gives away?" your nervously return the laugh, clutching your bag.
"well, it isn't a big neighbourhood, and not many are willing to sell their houses here. it's peaceful, and safe. we all know each other." he stacks the empty crates beside the counter, then turns around as he dusts his hands against his jeans. then, he points at your bag. "and i think you're the first person to enter this neighbourhood with a prada in her hand."
you knew this might happen. still, you couldn't bring yourself to disguise as a low or middle class citizen. you've worked hard for your status, and you'll flaunt it all you want. you press the leather closer to your side, as if the logo itself were a wound. the clerk only smiles, but you can feel the weight of his words settling in the room.
outside, the cicadas drone, and the boy's sandals slap against linoleum as he reappears with a plastic truck.
"see? better than candy," he grins, oblivious.
you force a laugh, though the prada strap digs into your shoulder like a reminder: you don't belong here, and everyone knows it. if not, they soon will.
"don't worry, i'm not one to gossip." he calms you for a moment as he sits on the knitted rice bags in front of the counter. "though, just to be sure, you could buy my silence by telling me what you're doing here? this is pure curiosity speaking."
it isn't your job to play detective, yunho was right. you take your chances anyway. "would you believe me if i said i'm here to bribe kids to tell me more about the ethan morris case?"
"ah." he nods. "the jeong yunho craze."
"jeong yunho craze?" you repeat.
"oh?" the man raises an eyebrow. "you're not one of his... fans?"
"fans?" your heart drops.
"jeong yunho has a quite big fanbase. jeong truthers they call themselves. pretty privilege plays a big one in this case. they defend him to this day, and appear on every court hearing with banners and megaphones." he explains as if it is the most normal thing in the world. "i don't know whether he is aware, but if not, it would be better for everyone to stay that way."
"no, i'm not one of his fans." if this is true, and yunho finds out, he will become insufferable. he will use it as his weapon, and throw you further off. "that's very disturbing."
"don't believe me? i'll take you to his house myself." he offers, standing up.
you step back, almost bumping into the boy. this has escalated far more than you expected, and you feel unprepared. this could either be a trap, or a trail. you become questionable about multiple things, such as whether dr park and dr burke are familiar with this fanbase, and whether they deemed it important to tell you.
when he sees your focused face and defensive demeanor, his features soften. "i apologize, i came on too strong. let me try again."
he offers you his hand, and you hesitantly take it. his palm is warm, steady, too steady for someone you've just met. then again, his entire demeanor is cool and laid off. perhaps it's simply his nature, and you have become skeptical of everything around you. you don't even trust yourself.
"choi jongho, nice to meet you."
choi jongho has black hair, a round face, and pretty dark eyes. when he smiles, his cheeks resemble the ones of a hamster, in the sweetest way possible. his voice is gentle warmth, not like the merciless heat outside. the shop suddenly feels cozy. the scent of fresh vegetables envelops you, as well as a faint smell of the wooden crates and knitted rice bags. you feel your walls slowly falling, though you maintain a distance, just in case. you hate how easily the coziness seeps in, how quickly suspicion dulls with each passing second.
he repeats your name out loud after you say it, trying it out on his lips. "lovely name. if i wasn't sure before, now i am: you are not from around here."
"no, no i'm not." you finally confirm.
"heeellooo?" a small hand yanks at your bag strap, and you drop your gaze to the boy. "i want this."
"right." you say through a forced smile. he offers the toy for you to take, but when you reach for it, jongho stops you. "oh, it's okay. i'm buying it."
the man pays you no mind, instead putting the toy on the counter so that the child cannot reach it, and grabs him by the shoulders and bends over to his eye level. "go home."
"but-" his little jaw drops. "but-!"
"no buts, ethan. home. now."
ethan morris. she named her child after her father. what a shame, naming an innocent child after a pedophile.
"i'm gonna tell mom." ethan cries out, and before you can intervene, he is already crossing the road and rushing home.
"i could've bought it." you cross your arms as you follow him outside, then wait for him to lock the shop. "now i am both a kidnapper and a liar."
"gun to my head, i don't know which is worse." he laughs, warm and sweet. "it's just a few houses away, but i wouldn't want you to have a heatstroke on your first visit to this neighbourhood."
"oh, we can take my car."
the words leave you before you think. gods, it's like you've left your brain behind. you have just offered a stranger to sit in your car and drive with him to a murderer's house. jongho senses your hesitation, then steps away, as if giving you space and telling you he isn't danger.
"stranger danger alarms blaring?" he asks.
"kind of." you admit. "do you have anything that'll offer me peace of mind?"
"first, i own the only shop in this neighbourhood and i have closed it. if something happens, they'll know i was gone while it was happening. second, it's the middle of the day. you can scream for help, you'll get it. third, three children have seen us together. trust me, word will spread before we get to the jeong house."
surely enough, you hear blinds being opened, and curious heads peeking through windows. so much for going unnoticed. what is done is done. they do not know who you truly are, anyway.
"hop in, choi jongho."
the house hides behind untrimmed bushes and branches. it has one floor, a wrap around porch, and a pretty pale yellow colour. you expected the place to give you creeps, or simply an uneasy feeling. but as you step in front of the door, with jongho behind you, you don't feel anything. you don't feel watched, and you don't feel chills. it was calm, and that's what upset you.
"what's the plan?" he asks, looking around for any signs of intruders. other than the two of you.
"going in, obviously."
"you think that's a smart idea? what do you expect to find in there, anyway?"
everything. and nothing. investigators have raided the house, and haven't found anything valuable besides a list of victim's names. perhaps you'll get lucky.
"i'll know when i see it. now, would you be a gentleman and break into the house for me?"
"when you ask so nicely, i can't say no."
he shatters a window in the back, then climbs in. after a few moments of shuffling, he offers his hand for you to take, and you climb in as well. sunlight creeps through dusty glass, revealing the interior in its full glory. it is anything but creepy. the interior is warm coloured, with shades of green and orange painting the furniture and walls. it is messy, due to all the investigation that took and is still taking place.
"isn't this very, very illegal?" he asks, brushing the pad of his finger across the wooden tv stand and then bringing it to his lips, only to blow the dust off in the air. "tampering with evidence or whatever?"
"why bring me here, then?" you examine the pictures on the wall. yunho as a teen. a big smile, yet soulless eyes. "and why enter with me?"
"it's not like kids don't break in here every few days just to mess around and tell spooky stories. his fans as well. i guess i feel a little left out, so... might as well."
the parquet floor creaks softly as you walk around the living room, eyes searching for anything that could indicate a trail. he disappears into the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards. "don't touch anything."
"you think they'll look for fingerprints eight years later?" he scoffs.
as he turns around to look at you, and finds you with a handkerchief in hand while you hold a framed picture, he nods.
"you're right. sorry."
the picture is of a boy and a woman. you'd recognize the big dark eyes anywhere. he has the woman's eyes, and her lips as well. jeong gayoung. "whatever happened to his mother?"
"she got hit by a drunk driver." he replies, walking back into the living room. "but they reopened the case because they found something on yunho about it."
"do you know what?"
"i don't know. he hired the driver, i'm guessing?"
believable, even though you don't have any proof. gayoung did something to him, you know it. then, it clicks; perhaps the solution doesn't lie within yunho. perhaps it lies in someone else, six feet under. she was buried with a secret, and nobody has thought to unbury it.
"did yunho live here alone?"
"interestingly, they both lived here when he was a teenager. then they moved, and the house wouldn't sell at all. people came and looked, but nobody wanted it. it was the prettiest one on the street. yunho then came back by himself and started going to college, until his mother moved in for a while and he took a break to take care of her. she stayed for half a year, then moved out a month before she died."
the bottom floor doesn't hold much information, so you move on to the first one. he trails behind, and you thank him for giving you space to breathe and think. the floor has three doors, two on the sides and one a the end of the hallway.
the first room is his mother's, you immediately notice. the closet and dresser are emptied out, clothes scattered on the floor. the bed is unmade, covers dropping from the mattress. it doesn't seem to have much, aside an additional nightstand and a broken mirror that hangs on the opposite of the bed.
"say, how is he doing?" jongho pushes the clothes with his foot aside so that you can freely walk around.
"how is who doing?"
"yunho."
you stop in your tracks.
"i know you're somehow connected to him. what are you? his lawyer? his doctor?"
his tone isn't accusatory. it isn't threatening, either. it is pure curiosity. when you turn around, you find him leaning against the dresser, a soft smile on his lips and arms crossed over his chest.
"i think you owe me an explanation after i helped you get in here."
"ah, that's how it is? you blackmailer. subtle, but still a blackmailer." you raise an eyebrow, then move on to the nightstand next to the bed. seems to be the only thing someone made an effort to tidy up. "you may not tell a soul, choi jongho. or i will bring you to yunho myself."
the first drawer has a few pens and books in it. you flip through pages, and find nothing but two bookworms and a bookmark. the second drawer has a burnt candle. sandalwood and jasmine. she probably liked to light a candle and read in the evenings. that's what you would be doing as well, had you stayed back home and not let jeong yunho make you crawl through dusty broken windows in search for answers that do not exist.
"cross my heart and hope to die." jongho sings as he sits on the dresser, playfully wiggling his legs in the air.
"i'm his-" you crouch as you pull the final drawer open with the handkerchief. "-psychiatrist."
the drawer is full of sex toys. were you familiar with them? yes. were you expecting them here? not quite, no. certainly not in every shape and colour. explains why it was the only thing shut.
"ah." jongho nods, oblivious. "how is he doing?"
"i- i'm trying to find out." you struggle to make out a sentence.
the dark haired man notices your sudden distance, and hops down from the dresser. as he approaches, he gasps. "woah."
"yeah." you whisper. now is when you feel the chills.
"it's not so surprising, though. is it?" he crouches next to you, peeking deeper into the drawer. "a widow, having a bunch of sex toys? or are you a prude?"
you ignore his comment. you were no prude. you simply trusted your instincts, and right now, they were screaming that something isn't right.
"i was only joking, i'm sorry." he nudges you with his elbow. "do you want to move on?"
"you go." you trail, eyes still fixed on the colorful drawer. "let me know if you find anything."
jongho listens, and soon his footsteps become distant as he moves down the hallway. carefully, with your hand wrapped in the handkerchief, you reach for a toy. nothing you haven't seen before. except when you turn it over, you audibly gasp.
with a black marker on the bottom, two words are clear as the day outside: jeong yunho.
the second one has the same words, and the third one, and the fourth one. until the fifth one.
jeong stefano.
your legs give out, and you fall on the floor, accidentally pulling the drawer out and letting it fall on the parquet with a thud. the wooden drawer breaks, causing toys to spill, and your eyes to catch something else. beneath the space meant for the drawer, there is a hole. you reach deep into it, face pressed against the cold wooden surface until your fingers feel something. they grab, and pull out a cassette.
one by one, almost twenty cassettes find their new home on the dresser, all labelled similar.
client one through twenty.
"uh... doc?" jongho peeks his head through the door.
"yes?" you reply, eyes not ready to leave newfound evidence yet.
"i think you want to see this."
as you enter the other room, you soon find out it is yunho's. it looks manly decorated, with missing essentials such as a proper closet and blinds. nothing looks out of the ordinary, except jongho standing in the middle with a pale look on his face. you don't think anything he has found can surprise you more than what you did. yet it does, when he holds a few hand written papers in his hand. you take them, eyes skimming over the neat cursive writing.
"i think i am becoming a jeong truther." jongho sighs.
heels click against the cafeteria floor, announcing your angry arrival. staff move out of the way, much quicker than usual. they say you don't look like yourself when truly angry. that you look possessed, with darkened eyes and red cheeks. it makes you scarier. and they should be scared, especially dr burke, and right now, dr park as well. simply because he is in the wrong place at the wrong time.
the empty tray in your hands slams against the table, interrupting a joyful chatter between your two new colleagues. "burke. park."
"is this the way they greet at your institution?" the woman scoffs.
"hi, y/n. would you like to sit with us?" seonghwa stands up, offering to pull a chair for you.
your hand lands on his chest, gently pushing him away. "no need. i refuse to sit with imbeciles."
sloane laughs with disbelief. "excuse me?"
"y/n, is everything okay?" seonghwa's eyes seek yours, and when you look at him, you see genuine worry. "do you wish to talk privately?"
"where did you buy your fucking diploma?" you spit out.
you can feel the professionalism slipping from your grip as you stare at eyes drained of empathy. maybe she knows, yet she doesn't care. how can she carry the burden of it, and not share it or seek solutions? you thought yourself heartless, yet here you stand, defending a killer and a liar who broke into your home and gave you a night no one else ever could. and you fear no one ever will.
"okay, let's pause." the blonde man takes you by the hand and leads you into the garden, away from prying eyes and behind an oak tree. he sits you on the bench, then crouches in front of you with his hands on your knees. "hey."
"did you work with yunho?" his figure becomes blurry before your eyes as you speak.
"for a while." he nods. "why?"
"and did you know?"
"did i know what?"
you're breaking the confidentiality, the ethics of psychiatry. yet the pain in your heart is too great to keep silent. "that yunho was trafficked by his own mother, sold to adults as if he were an object?"
"oh, love." his brows soften, and the look in his eyes switches from worry to pity.
"you knew." your stomach drops. "you fucking knew."
"i- i couldn't tell you, you know that." and you understand him, in a way. but the anger and grief is greater than understanding, and you find yourself pushing him away. "please-"
"you both knew. and you allowed everyone to treat him like a monster instead of simply treating him?" voice cracks as you speak, and tears stream down your blazed cheeks. "you let him believe that he lives in a world where people get away with stuff like that. that the victim gets punished. you worsened his condition for your own amusement."
"he isn't being punished for being a victim, y/n, and we aren't using him for our amusement. get a hold of yourself." his tone sharpens. you've struck a nerve. "he is being punished for murdering people."
"people who did things his mother did to him." you argue.
"it wasn't his call to make, why can't you understand?" he squeezes your knees, as if trying to ground you. "jeong yunho isn't the one who decides who lives or dies. not him, not anyone. no one gets to play god."
"fine."
"wait, don't-" he reaches for you when you stand up, but you slap his hand away.
"do not lay your hands on me, dr park." you warn.
and he doesn't, opting to stay under the tree and watch as you storm off into your ward.
yunho is asleep when you enter his room, and though he stirs awake, he stays still while you sit in the armchair. one of his hands is shackled to the bed, the other one free and gripping the metal frame.
"good morning, yunho."
you don't mean for it to sound so... pitiful. you truly don't. yet he sees right through it. and it angers him. "what the fuck?"
"how did you sleep?"
"little lamb?" he sits up straight, eyes drilling holes into your skull. "did you go to places you shouldn't have? touched things that don't belong to you? spoken to people that might now be in danger because of you?"
he knows. he doesn't need to be clever. the cassette peeking from your bag gives it all away. you didn't mean for it to be hidden anyway.
"if that is what i think it is..." he trails, watching as you take the item out and put it on the nightstand that divides the bed and armchair. "oh, princess."
"yunho-"
"you are so fucked."
your heart beats just a little faster, and louder. you swallow thickly, and your eyes drop on the clipboard you hold in your hand. "yunho, i'm here to talk. not to feed off your misery or mock you."
"so you came to pity me to my face? why? because my mother sold a minor as a sex toy to adults?" he says it so easily. "and, oh! that minor happens to be me?"
you stay silent, sensing a rant incoming.
"let's see." he grabs the item with his free hand and reads it. "client thirteen. ah. a frequent one. she used to come over and take me for the weekend. paid double the price just to have me reserved for then. you know what's funny? she was my mother's best friend. knew me all my life."
"is that why you killed your mother? all those people?" you cut straight to the chase. you've learned that you gain nothing from beating around the bush with yunho. if he wants to tell you, he'll tell you. if not, you can beat as much as you'd like. he'll stay silent. "and... stefano?"
"i should've burned the whore alive. hitting her with the car was the most merciful thing i could've done." he grits his teeth. "stefano was her name for me when i behaved well."
"good meaning?"
"meaning i was drugged. meaning i took whatever was given to me." his answer is sharp and clear. "stefano didn't cry, didn't refuse. he got rewarded. candy, clothes, toys. you name it. yunho? oh, he was the rebellious one. the one mommy wasn't proud of."
now you understand. you were right, after all. stefano is the persona he used whenever he was vulnerable, and though he can differentiate it and manipulate it for his own benefit, you don't doubt that he still does the same thing.
"there. you have my touching life story. now, let's talk about yours."
"yunho." you warn.
"i don't know what's worse: having no family, a sick family, or a family that despises you. you can relate to me though, can't you?"
even though you know what he means, you shrug. "i do not know what you are talking about."
"oh?" he raises an eyebrow, amused. "i thought we were unraveling each other's stories. go on then, doctor. let's unravel yours."
"there is nothing to-"
"sent away to a boarding school at the age of fifteen, barely having any contact except when you had bad grades and needed a few spanks to put you back on track. a brother addicted to crack, a cheating mother, and an abuser father. you saved yourself, didn't you? that's what you like to think."
"how..." the hell does he know?
he smiles. not mischievously, and not evil. almost a knowing one, he offers you. it is true. your brother is a drug addict, your mother a whore, and father an abuser. and yes, you like to think that you saved yourself.
"sending them money each month, or whenever they call. you're buying your freedom, your image. can't have colleagues know you have a messed up family, right?"
it was a deal you had made; send money, and we'll leave you alone. and you had no issues with it. you earn enough to feed six families, so buying silence is easy. it came with a benefit called freedom and clean image.
"you lie alone in that big house, with empty bedrooms and hallways. hell, you can't even fill the other half of your bed." he scoffs. "you surround yourself with people who are below you, just so you can feel better about yourself. you yell at your cooks, at your housekeepers. you tsk at your colleagues, look down on them. does it make you feel good? do you have a humiliation kink?"
yunho knows too much. way too much. instead of being offended, you are scared. why, and how does he know?
"beneath this indestructible glamour? you're a vulnerable little dawn. your walls are a gimmick, a decoy army you use to defend yourself. guess i have the power to see through it." he adds a finishing punch, knocking the breath from your chest, leaving you hollow.
he is winning once again, and you are allowing him. this time not because of the attraction, but because when you look at his eyes a little longer, the empty ones from the framed picture stare back at you. you aren't doing this for him. you are doing this for the little boy from the picture.
thus, you smile as you stand up, hand reaching for the cassette. he's puzzled by your behaviour, probably expecting a clever comeback or an outburst. you gently take the cassette from his hand, fingers brushing his wounded ones. you hate how you feel goosebumps when it happens.
the cassette is safely put away in the drawer of the nightstand. you trust him, against your better judgment, to keep it hidden from prying eyes.
"what i said hasn't changed. i am still your ticket out." you say, softly shutting the drawer.
"you may believe that you have such power." his tone shifts. it is honest, and almost defeated. "even i believe you to be a powerful woman, despite your vulnerabilities. though, they become vulnerabilities only once someone finds out about them. but no power in the world can take away my life sentence."
it is for the first time since it all started that he sounds genuine. his power seeps through, the ability to praise and degrade in the span of five minutes. you're slowly growing fond of it.
"well, except one power." he remembers.
"which power is that?" you raise an eyebrow as you reach the door, ready to push the button.
"the power of jeong stefano."
and just like that, his smirk is back. and you somehow find yourself more at ease. you've grown familiar with the evil side of him so much that any other side he shows simply gives you an uneasy feeling.
"i'll see you soon, yunho. thank you for cooperating today."
"see you on tuesday, little lamb."
𝐓𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘.
have you mentioned that you are a selfish woman?
if not, then, there. you are aselfish woman.
and if yes?
well, whatever you did that gave you the title is nothing compared to where you are and what you are about to do now.
see, it has occurred to you that tuesdays and fridays are no longer safe for you. thus, you have decided to meddle in the schedule and put yourself on a night shift. the doctor in charge of the schedule didn't need any convincing. you got your shift with seonghwa, just like you wanted. you like when you get what you want.
upon entering the institution, you meet seonghwa at the exit. he has his leather bag hanging from the shoulder, and wears his specs, which means he is leaving.
"dr. park." you greet.
he only nods, then pushes past you. right. he might be angry about your little outburst and accusation of bought diplomas.
"dr. park?" you bite back your pride. "i wanted to apologize for my behaviour."
"okay." he forces a smile. "that all? i really have to go."
no. you won't allow it. you are the one that is angry. he doesn't get to be that. "don't you have a shift to work?"
"not that it is any of your business," he sighs, then rolls his shoulders back to straighten his posture before continuing, "but i have a date. i swapped shifts."
"a- a date?" you stupidly stutter.
"yes." he confirms. he then raises an eyebrow questionably. "don't you have a shift to work?"
caught red handed, you open your mouth to speak, yet you decide to swallow the words you wished to say. instead, you regain your composure, and put on your best pair of eyes and a smile. "i've come to talk to you. to apologize in person."
"could've waited tomorrow."
you don't like how his answers are short and disinterested. you don't like how he isn't walking on eggshells around you. fuck, you don't like the way he is looking at you, either. it's bothering you in ways it usually doesn't. you aren't annoyed by the fact that he has the audacity to dislike you. you are annoyed because you want his attention, and he doesn't care.
"seonghwa," you call, almost seductively, and reach for his arm as you look up at him, "i care about your opinion. as a colleague, as a friend. i don't wish to lose the only good person in my life right now."
overplaying? perhaps. but the way his gaze softens tells you to continue with your statements, even if they're nothing but lies.
"try to understand me, as well. you've kept information from me. yes, it's against the ethical code, but it's exchanging information in order to cure someone. not to make fun of them. you're telling me you've invited me over here and can't trust me with such things? it hurts, dr. park."
he places a hand over yours, squeezing it gently before sliding it off. "that might've worked where you came from. here? not as much."
just like that, he flips a switch, continues his journey. childishly, you stomp your foot on the ground. fucking burke. now what? you are to go and have a session with jeong yunho while most of the staff is gone? you don't think so. but where do you go, when your own place isn't safe?
the black maserati makes another appearance in the once visited neighbourhood. your hopes of making it in time are shattered when you meet the closed shop. jongho has gone home. you park the vehicle it on the side of the road, with all four blinkers working, just like last time. you walk around the entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of him still doing closing duties. he's not there. only crates of vegetables and fruit, and bags of rice illuminated by the yellow street light.
your eyes fall on the ground, the worn off welcome mat dusty and dirty. with the tip of your shoe, you try to dust it off. you fail, causing the mat to slide to the side. a tired huff leaves your cracked lips, and just when you think about getting in the back seat and sleeping in the car, your eyes fall to the ground where the mat was. there is a rectangular outline of dirt where it usually laid, and a piece of paper.
with shaky fingers, you unfold it, revealing a familiar handwriting that knocks the air out of your lungs.
what did i say about going to places you should never go to?
always a step ahead. fuck, you hate him. you hate him because he is clever. he is intelligent, and cocky. the worst combination that can exist. you only hope jongho is safe. after all, yunho did threaten to endanger those you've spoken with in this place.
in no time, you find yourself back in the car, paper crumpled in your hand as you toss it on the passenger seat. you lock the doors, roll your windows up, and adjust the rear-view mirror. only to have your heart stop and body freeze for the second time tonight.
dark brown eyes gleam from the shadow, accompanied by a pearly white smile.
"yunho." you breathe out.
"princess." he greets, voice raspy and low. he tilts his head to the side, that freaky habit of his, as he looks at you through the mirror. "are you only capable of being obedient while you're underneath me? while i'm claiming you?"
you gulp, audibly. it makes his smile grow wider. some twisted luck keeps him from seeing the way your thighs squeeze upon hearing his words. "how did you know i'll be here?"
"silly girl." he clicks his tongue. "after i took care of jongho, i figured you might come over and update him on your little discovery."
"took care of jongho...?" you repeat, voice shuddering.
"you know me long enough to know that i keep my word." the corners of his mouth straighten, and just like that, the smile is gone. you can't decide what is worse; the wicked grin of his, or the shadow that is cast on his face as his dark brows furrow.
"what did you do?" the words come out as a whisper. as if being loud will trigger him, evoke the monster he keeps somewhat chained.
"why? do you care about choi jongho?" he leans in, eyes still locked with yours through the mirror as he rests his chin on your shoulder.
"i- i barely know him."
"right." he blinks. "and park seonghwa?"
yes. no. you don't know. "as a colleague, yes."
"and..." in the corner of your eye, something else glimmers beneath the street lights. heat rushes through your stomach and core, causing you to grip the wheel in a desperate attempt to wake up from this nightmare. the tip of the blade grazes your bare thigh, just beneath the skirt you are wearing. "as a lover?"
you wish to laugh in his face. call him crazy. ask him whether he is making a jest. yet yunho looks dead serious, dark eyes drilling holes into yours. thus, you decide to bite back any sarcastic remark you had and grace him with a truthful answer. "no."
"little lamb..." he closes his eyes, breathing the nickname out. "are you lying to me?"
"no, i'm not." you quickly respond. "it's the truth. park seonghwa is my colleague, and that's it."
as he turns his head to properly look at you, his hair tickles your cheek, and his warm breath ghosts over the side of your neck. he inhales, the tip of his nose brushing the sensitive skin under your ear and causing you to squirm under the blade. "good girl."
you stay perfectly still in the seat as he examines your features. you are being exactly what he wanted you to be: obedient. it's the only way out.
"i am a jealous man," his free hand settles heavy on your thigh, "and that's what you should be afraid of. not my rage, and not my lies. my jealousy is what you should fear."
"o-okay." you nod.
"now," he hums, looking around the car. "how can i be sure that you'll be this obedient outside the car?"
frankly, you're not sure whether you can move. your feet are stone cold on the floor of the car, and you may need his help stepping out. you turn your head so that you can look at him, and your breath hitches when your nose brushes his. you can't help the quick glance of his lips, mere inches away. you bite yours, carefully thinking of your words before you speak them. "can't you trust me?"
his gaze drops to your bottom lip, and you have to fight your own body and mind to stay still and not lean in. you hate how your thoughts are betraying you, as well as your heart. whether he knows or not, he proceeds to worsen the situation by brining his hand to your face and cupping your jaw. his thumb brushes the tear of fear that escapes your eye, and his gaze softens. "of course i can. if anything, you deserve a chance to prove that i can trust you."
though he says he trusts you, his strong grip on your elbow says otherwise. a precaution? might be. you don't blame him. he matches your pace, slowly walking on the dimly lit streets as if he isn't usually shackled in a room with a guard.
"can i ask where we are going?"
"you may." he chuckles. "we are going to visit someone."
someone could be anyone. gods, what connections does yunho have? how powerful is he outside serenity haven? have you underestimated him once again? before you can gather your thoughts, you stand in front of the house you recently raided with choi jongho. the man lets go of your elbow, then hands you the knife.
"hold it for me, will you?" he asks with a wink.
while he shuffles through his pockets in search of something, you stare at the handle. thighs clench on their own again, and if you didn't stick the blade in your burning core now, you never will. yunho unlocks the house, then flicks the lighter on. he lets you in first, then follows close behind after shutting the door. you shiver. not from cold, but from an unsettling feeling that runs through your bones. you feel shadows creeping up behind furniture and through doors, and if by now you weren't fool enough, you redeem yourself by turning towards yunho and leaning into him.
it takes him aback, you willingly pressing yourself against his chest, knife loosely kept in your palm. the man takes the weapon from your hand, slipping it into his back pocket before guiding your head up so that he can look at you. "careful, pretty. almost thought you'd betray me and kill me here."
"i didn't mean to," you almost think you've broken his trust. "i truly didn't."
"i know, princess." his hand cradles your jaw, skin warm against your cold one. "you're just a scared little thing, aren't you?"
yunho is scary. but the house is scarier. the bad memories it holds, the dark, and the eerie silence. yunho's soft breathing is calming, a remedy amid this unsettling situation. to further soothe your fear, he presses his lips against your forehead, staying like that for a while until he feels your shoulders drop and posture relax.
"i'll go first." he offers, the warm hue flickering on his face as he holds the lighter between the two of you. "would you like to hold my hand?"
you don't answer. you simply slide your hand into his, fingers interlocking as if they were meant to be. it's comforting, and safe. you trail behind as he climbs up the stairs, every now and then squeezing your hand when he feels you frantically look around or shudder. each squeeze grounds you, reminds you that even if evil, he is currently using his power to shield you from your own paranoia.
it is late to step away as you follow him into his room. it is too late to step away as he lights the single candle on his desk. it is way too late to step away as he lays down on his bed, patting the space beside him as an invitation. and fuck, it is impossibly late to step away when his eyes soften and his brows straighten, the look in them almost pleading as he waits for you to lay down.
"yunho..." your voice is hoarse and quiet. "i don't think-"
"please." he whispers. "please, y/n, lay down with me."
yunho rarely calls you by your name. he makes it sound pretty. you don't lay just yet, instead opting to kneel on the ground beside the bed. his eyes follow your figure as you do so, but you don't see any bad in them. his hand finds yours, capturing it in a gentle hold. as if telling you that you can leave if you wanted to. you know better than that.
"don't make me beg." it's not a threat. it's a plea. "it suits you way more than it suits me."
"yunho," you clear your throat. his eyes skim over your face, searching for any sign that will determine his further actions. "if i lie down, i'll never get back up the same."
"and if you don't, i'll never get back up the same." his hold on your hand tightens, just enough to convince you that he means it.
thus, you lay down. he guides you, wrapping his arms around you and placing your head on his chest. once you settle down, he sighs with content. his chest rises beneath your cheek, steady, unhurried. the rhythm of his heartbeat drowns out the silence of the house, and you hate yourself for finding comfort in it. every breath he exhales feels like a promise, every squeeze of his arm a claim.
"see?" he whispers into your hair. "you're safe here. safer than you've ever been."
your eyes sting, but you don't move. it's too late, impossibly late, and you realize you've given him the one thing he wanted most — your surrender.
"we've done a lot of talking. none of those conversations were dear to my heart, if i may be honest." confessions start spilling from his lips. "now i'm willing to talk."
"you're not treating this as a session, are you?" you look up at him. he doesn't look at you, instead simply shaking his head. "then... talk. i'm here to listen."
"you won't run away?"
you don't hear a chuckle, nor see a smile. he means it. "i won't."
"okay. i- give me a moment."
it is odd seeing him so vulnerable. if it's not another one of his deceptions. be it or not, you'll do your part. you'll listen. the candle flickers, shadows bending across his face. he swallows hard, fingers tightening around you.
"ethan was the same as her. he looked at kids the way she looked at me. i couldn't let him live. i couldn't."
the room feels smaller, heavier. you realize he isn't just confessing. he's binding you to his truth, daring you to carry it with him. "i know."
his heartbeat calms under your head, your words soothing his worries. "nobody saw my side. nobody wanted to. i saved their neighbourhood, and they threw me to those half witted, so-called professionals. i don't think of myself as a hero. i remember our conversation very well."
you stay silent, afraid of interrupting.
"i got over it. what pissed me off was naming the poor child after him. now he has to carry the name of a child predator all his life."
"well, think of it this way. he gets to give it a new personality. a better one. maybe years from now, when someone says the name ethan morris, they'll think of a lively teenager or adult. not someone buried six feet under with a horrible past."
yunho's lips twitch, not quite a smile, more like disbelief. "you really think a name can be reborn? that people forget what it carried?"
you hesitate, then nod against his chest. "they don't forget. but they can rewrite. isn't that what you wanted? to rewrite yourself?"
his breath catches, a sound sharp and fragile. the candle flickers, shadows bending closer. "rewrite... or erase. maybe that's all I've ever been trying to do. though, right now... i'd like to come clean with you about some other things."
"what do you mean?" your brows furrow upon his words, confused.
before speaking, he pulls you closer, so much that you are almost lying on top of him as his arms hold you securely. he rests his head on top of yours, and you can feel his heart beat faster beneath your cheek. "i knew you before you knew me."
fear creeps back up your spine, sending shivers through your body like ocean waves crashing against the mountain. "what?"
"the moment i saw you, i knew i had to have you." the tone is soft, despite the words sounding dangerous. "and when i touched you in that hallway... my body burned for you."
"i don't understand." tears well up in your eyes, blurring the dimly lit room you stare at as you lay caged on his body.
"then, when you looked at me, i knew i had you. i just hate how painfully long it took to free you from the delusion."
you fool. you utter fool.
"you were so beautiful, and so powerful. you killed people with glares. i fell for you before i learned your name." each confession is a taunt to the mind, and a stab to the heart. "i tortured you emotionally, and for that, i am sorry. i truly am. i never meant to hurt you. i had an ulterior motive, until i came to my senses and realized how bad i need you in my life. outside sessions, outside that institution. i needed you all to myself. i needed to break you down so that you can lean on me. you can let go now, i'll take care of you. you don't need to be alert and defensive anymore, i'll do it for you."
his breath warms your hair, steady now, almost reverent. your chest tightens, the candlelight blurring into streaks. you want to pull away, but his arms hold you firm, and your own weakness betrays you.
"seonghwa," he murmurs, voice low. "he brought you to me."
the room tilts, your stomach lurches. so it was all calculated. from the very first e-mail, to the rejection for sloane. "but, why?"
"he hates your guts, princess. how do you think i escape every tuesday and friday? he leaves it open on purpose. there is no stefano. not anymore, at least. there are no medications. there are no sessions. don't get me wrong, i did not fake my miserable youth. i would truly be sick and twisted to lie about an abusive mother like that while there are still many children waiting to be saved from it. seonghwa just happened to use my situation to get his revenge. in translation: i am his pawn. or so he thinks."
park seonghwa. the one you favoured over yunho. tried to, at least. the good one. a laugh betrays you. it echoes in the room, causing yunho to go still under you. you cannot stop, shaky laughter getting louder and louder as you repeat his words in your mind and go back to all the encounters you've had with the blond man.
"little lamb?" yunho calls softly, rubbing your back soothingly.
"i just," you hiccup from the fit of laughter, tears still blurring your vision and not stopping until they've dampened the collar of your top. "the irony."
"what do you mean?"
"the irony, that all this time i thought i should stick to seonghwa. i forced myself to like him, so i could take my mind off you. you are a patient, for god's sake. he's a doctor. it sounds right, doesn't it? who knew that you'd be the right choice all along."
the man hums, vibrations calming along with his tender touch. "i started off as a threat, that i'll admit. but your lips were such a pretty shiny shade, and the way your eyes looked at me... i couldn't remain the same. i betrayed seonghwa. the fiasco of me tying him up to that chair? all planned out. to scare you, throw you off."
"but why?" you ask once again, this time propping up on your elbows so that you can look at him. laughter fades, leaving behind quiet sniffles and hiccups. "revenge? is there a motive for his hatred? for this... ruse?"
his knuckles graze your wet cheek, caressing it as his other hand moves the hair out of your face. "once upon a time, a rookie had the opportunity to work with doctor y/n l/n. the rookie was, well, a rookie. made mistakes, was in the way. had a little crush on the said doctor, even asked her out. dr l/n wasn't fond of rookies. so what does she do? not only does she laugh in his face upon his date proposal, she fires him, barely giving him a chance to learn anything."
realization settles upon you, a blurry flashback of a young man spilling coffee all over you in the hallway emerging. "seonghwa."
"bingo."
"and that's his reason? me being mean to him and rejecting him has made him lure me here and turn a patient against me? that fucking wuss."
yunho chuckles softly, though there's no humor in it. "pathetic, isn't it? he wouldn't know what to do with you even if he had you. all his hatred, all his schemes. he cannot handle a woman like you. you know he planned to throw you into a room like mine? and still, it only led you here. to me. i suppose i should thank him."
your lips tremble, the laughter gone, replaced by a hollow ache. "so i was never choosing. i was just... delivered."
his hand cups your cheek properly, thumb brushing away the dampness. "delivered, fated, whatever word you want. but you see it now, don't you? you were meant to be mine."
"so what, i should thank him? the matchmaker?" you're bitter, it's evident. it doesn't anger yunho. it makes him smile wider, then press a kiss to your forehead.
"i did say we are going to visit someone." he reminds you. "the trip is not over yet."
"oh?"
yunho doesn't let you wait any longer. he stands up first, straightening his clothes and running his fingers through his hair. then, instead of helping you up, he simply picks your body up and carries you through the house. you hate how you have gotten more affection from jeong yunho than all the men in your life combined. for now, you allow yourself to enjoy it by leaning your head against his shoulder, nose buried in the crook of his neck and inhaling the scent of men shampoo and sweat.
"yunho?"
"yes, my love?"
"is jongho safe?" you test the waters. and you pass, because he simply nods. "you promise?"
"he's a friend of mine. i promise you, he is fine. the shop is closed because i told him to get away from here for a while. he'll be back."
"so you lied in the car. is there a reason for his disappearance?"
"we'll see whether shit goes down." he ends your interrogation by stopping in front of a door. he kicks it open with his foot, then continues the journey down the wooden stairs that lead to what seems like a basement. carefully, he sets you on the floor, not letting go until you regain your full balance. "consider this a... present, i guess."
the basement light flickers on, illuminating the dusty basement. the door clicks shut behind you, yunho dangling his keys on his finger for you to take. you do so, but not without sending him a puzzled look. a muffled yelp takes your attention away, and just like that, you fall into yunho's arms once again.
seonghwa is on his knees, tied up, with duct tape covering his mouth.
"ta-da!" yunho exclaims, standing behind the blond man and pulling his hair back. "all yours. he has tortured you long enough. i'm giving you a chance to be even. or who knows, you can one-up him?"
your breath catches, the sight of seonghwa's wide eyes burning through the dim light. the duct tape muffles his plea, but you hear it anyway, the sound of desperation clawing at your ears. yunho comes back to you, hands cupping your face, coaxing.
"he made you doubt yourself. made your life harder. played with us both. now is your chance to get back at him." your knees weaken, the keys trembling in your grip. the basement feels smaller, darker, and you realize yunho isn't just giving you a choice; he's binding you to his justice. "but first... i'd like to have my share of revenge. if that is okay with you?"
you don't speak. you watch.
you watch as yunho removes the tape from seonghwa's mouth. the blond man starts to cough. you wonder how long he was locked away here.
"hi, seonghwa." yunho's tone is mockery, you recognize it. "i bet you didn't think this would backfire like this."
"yunho," seonghwa's voice is tired, raspy. "please."
"you thought you were clever. thought you could use me, use her. but look at you now."
seonghwa's eyes dart to yours, wide, pleading. "y/n... don't let him-" his voice cracks, raw from silence and fear.
yunho's laugh is low, humorless. "don't let me? she's the one holding the keys. isn't that poetic?"
you do hold the keys. and you set them on the table nearby, not ready to leave just yet. you've gone down a rabbit hole, might as well make the best of it. you're tired of being used. you want to have the upper hand, properly. all this time you thought you had it, but they played in your face. mocked you behind your back. manipulated you however they wanted. you're just sad that sloane isn't here with seonghwa. yunho is already starting to rub off you. and the worst part? it feels liberating.
seonghwa's voice breaks, hoarse and frantic. "y/n... don't let him turn you. you're not like him."
your fingers twitch, the weight of the keys heavy even as they rest on the table. you know he's wrong. you are turning. and for the first time, it feels like power. you approach him, with slow footsteps, until he has to lean his head back so that he can look up at you. the fear in his eyes, and the terror in his voice. you finally see what yunho sees. and fuck, you love it.
"all this over a rejection?" you whisper.
"it goes beyond that, and you know it. but it doesn't matter. i'm willing to let it go." he gulps.
"you're not the one deciding what and when to let go, seonghwa." you lean in, so close that you can feel his breath on your face. "i am. and sadly for you, i am still as horrible as i was back then. maybe even worse."
yunho's voice tears through the silence, low and reverent. "that's my girl. that's the fire i saw in you."
seonghwa flinches, his breath hitching as your shadow stretches across his face. "y/n... you're not like him. don't-" but your laugh cuts him off, bitter and broken.
"maybe i'm worse. because i know exactly what i'm doing." your hand reaches towards yunho, calculated, all while your eyes remain on seonghwa. "and right now?"
fingers touch the handle of the knife in yunho's pocket, and you can't help the satisfied grin that spreads on your lips. the sharp blade shines against his porcelain skin, leaving a red trail behind as you drag it down to his neck.
you lean in, lips touching his ear as you whisper: "i'm going to eat you alive."
the moment fractures: a blur of motion, a collapse, the sound of weight hitting the floor. you don't realize you've stopped breathing until yunho's hands grip your shoulders, steadying you, pulling you back from the abyss. only then does air return to your lungs, sharp and ragged, as if you've been reborn into his grasp. the knife falls with a clank on the floor, and you fall to your knees before him. he follows, sitting on the floor with you, wiping the blood and sweat off your face. you call him, so quietly at first, that he doesn't hear it. you clear your throat, then try again. "yunho."
"yes, princess?"
"what about sloane?" realization hits you after the adrenaline fades. "she- she'll figure it out."
"have you learned nothing about me by now?" he fakes disappointment, an attempt to make you laugh. when you remain serious, he presses a kiss to your forehead, then one on your lips. "as i said, i'll take care of everything now. you think someone like sloane burke will be an obstacle?
"i guess not..." you trail, gaze falling to your dirty hands that lay on your lap. "what now?"
"now," he stands up, offering you his hand to take. you do, and as soon as you stand, you feel your legs go numb. yunho is quick to catch you, just like he did many times by now. "we can both start over. you as yourself, and me as myself. just say the word."
do you wish to leave your profession behind? you don't know. you don't remember wanting it in the first place. you remember the thrill of being the best without trying, and from then on, all you wanted was power and status. now, you're not so sure it's what you want in your life. you've come to like the vulnerable side of you yunho has managed to recover.
"you mean it?" you ask, arms wrapping around his waist and head lying on his chest.
"i mean it. wherever you want to, whenever you want to." vibrations soothe you as he speaks, along with his hand caressing your hair. "would you like that? would that make you happy?"
"yes." you confirm, more to yourself than to him. "yes, it would."
Thinking of Hot Nerd!Yunho being obsessed with a girl in their friend group who likes pissed and possessive men.
➽──────────────❥
You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
But Yeosang had pointed the empty soju bottle at you like it was a weapon of truth, Wooyoung was already grinning like he knew every secret you’d ever had, and San was chanting “TRUTH, TRUTH, TRUTH” while draped across your lap like a cat with abandonment issues.
Which exactly what he was.
So of course you ended up blurting it out.
“I think—” you paused, grabbed a handful of chips, shoved them in your mouth for courage, “—guys who get pissed and… possessive are kinda hot.”
Silence. The kind that makes you instantly want to walk into the ocean.
Hongjoong blinked. Seonghwa choked on his beer. Mingi froze mid-sip. Jongho looked scandalized. Wooyoung fist-pumped the air like he’d just won a bet.
And Yunho…He didn’t move.
He just stared at you through his round glasses, jaw ticking, the controller still in his hands even though the game on the screen had gone idle.
He looked calm. He always looked calm.
But you knew that little vein in his neck only popped when he was two seconds away from snapping at someone. Usually you.
You expected a snarky comment. Something like, “Wow, shocking. The girl who reads morally questionable romance likes toxic behavior. Who could’ve guessed?”
But he didn’t say that.
He just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, low, almost annoyed.
“…Why would you find that hot?”
It wasn’t the usual Yunho annoyance.
This one was deeper. Rougher. Like you’d said something you shouldn’t have said. Like you just handed him a secret you didn’t know he’d been dying for.
Before you could answer, Wooyoung ruined the tension. of course, classic woo.
“Bro she means you,” he cackled.
You whipped your head around, scandalized.
“I DO NOT—!”
“Oh yeah?” Wooyoung grinned. “Then why do you blush every time Yunho tells you to get off his desk?”
“That’s because he says it like he’s scolding a naughty toddler!”
“Or a naughty girl,” San sang with absolutely no shame.
You were going to strangle all of them one of these days. Probably today. Yeah, today was a good day for murder, you could pencil it in.
But when you risked a glance at Yunho, ready for him to look disgusted or irritated…
He wasn’t.
His eyes were on your mouth, your lips specifically. His grip on the controller had gone white-knuckled. And he looked like he was one inhale away from doing something reckless.
He stood up suddenly.
“I’m going to the kitchen,” he said, way too sharp, way too controlled. “(Y/N). Come here.”
“Why—?”
“Did I stutter?”
Wooyoung let out a strangled gasp that was way too excited.
Your pulse tripped.
That tone. That command. That audacity.
Yeah… you were in trouble and Yunho looked like he planned on enjoying every second of it.
You followed him.
You didn’t mean to. You also didn’t understand why your legs were moving like they belonged to someone else.
Maybe it was habit. Yunho tells you to do something and your dumb little brain just said go do. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe you had a death wish. And he was hot.
Halfway across the living room, you stopped dead and hissed under your breath, “Wait—why the heck did I listen to you?”
From the couch, Wooyoung snorted so hard he wheezed. San started clapping like you just delivered a punchline. Jongho muttered, “Honestly? I wondered the same thing.”
Yunho didn’t even turn around.
“(Y/N). Don’t make me ask twice.”, He just said, voice low but slicing clean through the noise.
Oh.
Oh that tone again. That audacity again!
Your brain: leave
Your body: haha no <3
You grumbled, “This is peer pressure.”
“It’s literally not,” Mingi said helpfully. “This is just you being weak.”
“Shut UP.”
But you still moved.
By the time you slipped into the kitchen after him, the door swung shut behind them with a quiet click that sounded way too ominous.
Yunho was leaning against the counter, hands gripping the edge like he needed something to hold onto. He was facing the wall, shoulders tense, his glasses reflecting the fridge light.
He didn’t look at you.
He didn’t have to. The air was already too thick.
You cleared your throat, trying to look brave. You were not.
“Okay. What? Why am I here? Why are we—” you waved vaguely, “—kitchen-ing?”
He exhaled, slow, annoyed.
“Why would you say something like that in front of them?”
“I was answering a game!”
“You could’ve lied.”
“You dared Mingi to lick the ceiling fan last round. We’re not exactly in a ‘lie-friendly environment.’”
Silence. The thick tension kind.
Then Yunho finally turned toward you.
And wow.
His eyes were dark behind his glasses, his jaw clenched, that calm mask cracked right down the middle.
You threw your hands up. “Not like—serial killer level! Just—hot in fiction, okay? Like… spicy! Attractive! Not—actual life problems!”
He took one step toward you. You took one back.
He took another. You ran into the counter.
Fantastic. Super fucking tastic!
“Yunho, what are you—”
He put a hand on the counter beside your hip, caging you in without touching you.
His voice dropped a full octave.
“Then why do you listen to me?”
Your breath caught. “W-What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes flicked down to your lips and back. “Why do you listen to me every time I tell you to do something?”
“I don’t—!”
“You do.”
Your pulse thudded in your ears. Your voice dropped without your permission.
“Maybe I just… don’t want to fight with you.”
He leaned in, close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek.
“Or maybe,” he murmured, “you like when I sound like that.”
You swallowed. Hard. “I—no—maybe—SHUT UP—”
He smirked. Actually smirked. Like a cocky bastard that finally got what he wanted. The glasses. The sharp jaw. That smug little curl of his lip.
You were doomed.
“You shouldn’t say things like that, Princess,” he said softly. “Not if you don’t want someone…”
His gaze dropped, lingering on her mouth again,
“…to give you exactly what you’re asking for.”
Your knees nearly gave out.
➽──────────────❥
You were late.
Okay, fine. Late was generous.
You were dodging the whole friend group. Like an Olympic-level avoider. Like “I can’t deal with the fact I almost melted into Yunho’s glasses-wearing chest last night” avoider.
But the boys? They did not allow peace. What is peace? Who is she?
Their group chat had been a violent battlefield all morning.
SAN:
Tiny where are u
WOOYOUNG:
did you die???
HONGJOONG:
answer before these idiots do something stupid
YEOSANG:
I’m calling the police
JONGHO:
they told me to call the police
SEONGHWA:
for my sanity please answer
MINGI:
WHY ARE YOU IGNORING US DO YOU HATE US NOW
YUNHO:
Princess. Pick up.
It was that last one that made you fling yourself out of your apartment door.
So now here you were: standing in front of their living room doorway with three bags of Japanese takeout hoisted like you were carrying sacred offerings to a nest of hungry dragons.
You walked in, cleared your throat dramatically, and announced, “I come bearing peace offerings. Please don’t kill me.”
Seven sets of eyes snapped towards you. Every single one reacted differently.
Wooyoung gasped. “SUSHI?? You brought sushi???”
Mingi was already reaching for a bag like a starving toddler.
San actually pouted. “I thought you hated us.”
Hongjoong, looking exhausted, “Thank god. They’ve been loud for an hour.”
Seonghwa gave you a soft, knowing smile. “We’re glad you’re here.”
Yeosang nodded in approval like you were finally making rational life choices. Feeding them.
Jongho simply held out a hand for the food like the polite little menace he was.
And then there was Yunho.
He was on the couch, controller in hand, glasses on, hood up, looking very much like he wasn’t paying attention.
Except his eyes tracked you from the second you entered.
His expression unreadable. Body still.
Jaw tight. Stefan Salvatore level brooding.
You swallowed and put the takeout on the coffee table.
“I didn’t ignore you,” you said quickly. “I was… busy.”
“Liar,” San said cheerfully.
“Avoiding us,” Wooyoung sang.
“Avoiding someone in particular,” Hongjoong muttered without looking up from his phone.
You froze. Your cheeks warmed.
You didn’t look at Yunho.
You refused. Absolutely refused. No way in hell. Never.
But he didn’t make it easy.
Because he finally spoke, voice low and mild, “You could’ve just said you needed space.”
Space.
You needed space.
You absolutely did.
But then he continued—soft, almost dangerous, “Running away never works on us.”
Your pulse stuttered.
Wooyoung, of course, ruined your life again. At this point? It’s his hobby.
He leaned across the couch toward you, grinning like the devil. “Hey, pretty. Did you run away because of the kitchen?”
You almost face-planted into the sushi. Nooo, your California rolls…
“I—WHAT—NO—THE KITCHEN WAS—NOTHING HAPPENED—”
“Ohhh,” Mingi said, eyes sparkling. “So something DID happen!”
“There was proximity involved,” Seonghwa observed calmly, sipping tea like this was a documentary.
“Yunho looks proud,” Jongho pointed out.
You choked on said California roll. You whipped toward Yunho, ready to deny, deflect, or combust. And he wasn’t looking proud.
He was looking at you like you were prey who wandered willingly back into the lion’s den.
Slowly, he tilted his head and said, “Eat first.” Then he paused before adding more quietly, “We’ll talk later.”
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
You should’ve brought more peace offerings. Wine next time. Or money.
The boys were already halfway through the food when you plopped onto the armchair, trying to be small, invisible, forgettable and failing spectacularly because Wooyoung immediately leaned over the back of the couch like a nosy crow.
“So, princess, what book did you sink your paws into this week?”
You perked up instantly, your traitorous little bookworm heart in full bloom.
“Oh! It’s a spicy dark romance,” you beamed, practically glowing. “All that masked men shit. You know, the mysterious, pissed, morally questionable ones—”
Every single man in the room turned towards you like you just confessed to a crime.
San dropped his chopsticks. Yeosang blinked at you slowly, judgment softly radiating.
Jongho made the sign of the cross. Mingi nudging him, “Aren’t you an atheist?”
“After that? I think i believe in God.”
Hongjoong muttered, “Why do you read this stuff?”
Wooyoung looked DELIGHTED.
“Ohhh no wonder you looked like you were gonna pass out when Yunho cornered you in the kitchen.”
You kicked him. He yelped. Worth it.
But the worst part?
Yunho didn’t react at first.
He just took a slow sip of his drink, eyes on the TV, expression calm.
Then he glanced at you over the rim of his can. It was a tiny look. Barely a second. But it held EXACTLY the kind of energy you were describing.
Mask. Mystery. Heat simmering under a quiet surface.
Your cheeks exploded into flames.
San pointed at you dramatically. “YOU’RE BLUSHING! SHE’S BLUSHING AGAIN!”
“Fraud,” Yeosang declared. “She claims she doesn’t like him like that and yet—”
“I DON’T—” you began.
“—she melts like cheese on a grill every time he breathes in her direction,” Wooyoung finished.
You grabbed a pillow and launched it.
“Anyway!” Hongjoong cut in before murder occurred. “Let her read what she wants. At least she’s not into those weird billionaire books—”
“Oh no, I love those too,” you said cheerfully, “I love rich possessive men.”
Seven men groaned in unison.
But Yunho… he just set down his drink.
“Of course you do,” he murmured.
And there it was again—that tone. Quiet, deep, mocking but not… mean. More like he was deciphering you. Peeling you open.
The teasing continued for another hour:
Wooyoung reenacting your kitchen panic. San showing “dramatic reenactments of your blushing condition”. Mingi suggesting they all wear masks to see who you’d fall in love with. Jongho preventing that with the authority of an exasperated dad
But through all of it…
Yunho kept watching you.
Not constantly. Deliberately.
Just enough for you to feel it slide under your skin each time.
Eventually, the food ran out, the teasing fizzled into a movie, and one by one the boys drifted off to other rooms.
You stayed in the armchair, curled up, pretending to scroll your phone. Hoping he forgot about the “talk later.”
He didn’t.
Yunho finally stood and nodded toward the hallway.
“Come here.”
Your stomach dropped.
Your phone screen dimmed.
Your heart said: bad idea
Your legs said: okay daddy
You followed him down the hall to his room, which he closed with a soft click.
Great. Enclosed space. Forced proximity. Zero witnesses. This was a way for you to go. And Yunho looking like every quiet man in every dark romance you ever read.
Fuck. What in the Killian Carson? You only knew Jeong Yunho.
He leaned against his desk, arms crossed, gaze steady.
“Princess.”
“…yes?” You squeaked.
“You were avoiding me.”
“That is a wild accusation—”
“Princess.”
You winced. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
“Why?”
Because I almost kissed you.
Because you looked at me like you wanted to bite me.
Because I might want that.
Because my knees turned into jelly when you called me out.
But your mouth said?
“I just didn’t want things to be awkward.”
“Awkward,” he repeated slowly. “You think that’s awkward?”
You tugged your sleeve anxiously. “It wasn’t—NOT awkward—just… a lot.”
Yunho stepped closer.
“You’re scared of me?”
“What? No! I’m not scared—”
“Then why run?”
You swallowed.
“…because you get all—” you gestured helplessly. “—bossy and intense.”
His lips twitched.
“Does that bother you?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
Absolutely not in a real-world-danger way but definitely in a my-brain-goes-dumb way—
You whispered, “I don’t know.”
Yunho reached up slowly, giving you every chance to move and tugged lightly on your sleeve.
Just a brush. Barely a touch.
But you still froze.
His voice dropped to that dangerous whisper again.
“You said you like possessive men, princess.” A tiny pause.
“You ever wonder why that got to me?”
Your breath hitched. Your heart thudded against your ribs.
“…why?” You whispered.
And he, mr. calm, controlled Yunho finally let something slip.
“Because I’ve been trying really damn hard not to be that way with you.”
Silence. Thick, electric, inevitable.
“Jagiya,” he murmured, eyes darkening, “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you.”
Your knees buckled.
He caught you by the wrist. Gentle yet firm enough to make you feel every word he wasn’t saying.
“You ran once,” he said softly. “Don’t run now.”
➽──────────────❥
You had made the grave mistake of running ahead of the boys to grab a table at their favorite diner.
In theory, harmless.
In practice? Catastrophic.
Because when you slowed down near the entrance to check the menu posted outside, a tall guy—maybe college-age, cute in a golden retriever way—smiled at her and said something.
And you—sweet, polite, non-confrontational you smiled back.
That’s it.
That was the spark. The match. The atom bomb.
By the time the boys caught up, they froze as one organism, staring at the sight in front of them like they were witnessing the beginning of the end.
“Oh look,” Wooyoung whispered loudly enough for people inside the diner to hear, “our kitty is talking to a guy.”
San glared daggers. “Pretty doesn’t talk to guys. She talks to us.”
Hongjoong sighed like a stressed father. “She is allowed to talk to people.”
Yeosang hummed. “He’s smiling too much. I don’t trust that.”
“She said she was going to the bathroom—this is not the bathroom!”, Mingi whined.
Poor Seonghwa, tried to be the rational one among the eight, “She’s just being polite.”
“She’s too polite. That’s the problem.”, Jongho deadpanned, crossing his arms.
And then… we have Yunho. He stepped forward. Slow. Dead quiet. His hands in hoodie pockets. His jaw clenched so tight you could hear it creak.
The others instantly straightened like their unofficial wolf had arrived.
Wooyoung whispered, “Uh oh.”
San nodded. “He’s in murder mode.”
Mingi hid behind Seonghwa. Jongho actually crossed himself again.
“Dude, you are not a catholic!”
“Times like this, you need God!”
Yunho didn’t all of that background noise. Because Yunho didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at the guy.
Stared. Hard. If looks could kill? That guy would’ve been escorted to the morgue.
Then… finally he said something.
“My princess,” he said calmly. It was soft. Almost conversational. Like it was fact. Which to him? It was.
But the boys all choked on their oxygen like this was the most intimate declaration ever heard.
And you. Poor, unsuspecting you, who was mid-laugh at something the guy said, blinked and turned around.
“Yunho? What are you—?”
He stepped beside you, just close enough to bump your shoulder with his arm like it was an accident, then looked the stranger up and down.
“Not right now,” he said to the guy, voice still terrifyingly polite.
“She’s not.”
The man blinked. “Uh—sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Yunho cut him off with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“She’s taken.”
You sputtered. “EXCUSE ME—???”
Wooyoung whooped. San fist-pumped. Mingi looked ready to cry with excitement. Hongjoong dragged a hand down his face. Yeosang whispered, “Bold move, but I respect it.”
The guy backed up slowly, hands raised. “My bad, man—I was just asking for directions—”
“No,” Yunho replied, still smiling, “you weren’t.”
“YUNHO—” You hissed.
He turned his head slightly, eyes flicking down to you.
“Inside,” he told you softly. “Now.”
San screamed internally.
Wooyoung screamed externally.
You stomped toward the door, face blazing, but you followed. Of course you followed.
Your brain: No
Your legs: as you wish, sir
Yunho walked in right behind you, hand hovering at your lower back like he so badly wanted to touch you and was using seventy percent of his self-control not to.
The seven idiots poured in after them, vibrating with gossip energy.
The waitress hadn’t even brought menus before Wooyoung leaned across the table.
“Sooooo,” he started, wicked grin spreading, “Yunho. ‘My princess’? ‘She’s taken’? You wanna explain that? For science?”
You buried your face into your hands. “I want to leave this planet.”
Yunho didn’t blink. “He was flirting.”
“He asked for directions,” you groaned.
“Same thing,” Mingi whispered.
San nodded sagely. “If a man breathes in Ari’s direction, it’s flirting.”
Yeosang added, “He shouldn’t have smiled that wide.”
Hongjoong muttered, “You’re all insane.”
Jongho bought a milkshake like this was a front-row seat to drama.
You turned to Yunho, ready to scold him, but he was already looking at you.
Not smug. No, although you expected Not apologetic. Yeah, since when he felt apologetic?Just… intense. Quiet, simmering, razor-focused.
“You were ignoring us,” he said simply. “Then you smiled at him.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t like that.”
Your pulse skipped. At this point, your heart was doing a workout.
“Princess.”
His voice dropped. Soft. Firm. Unmistakably possessive.
“I’ll be honest with you if you want me to.”
The table went dead silent.
San mouthed oh my god.
Wooyoung mouthed KISS??
Hongjoong mouthed stop. both of you.
You swallowed, heart kicking up. “…Okay,” you whispered. “Be honest.”
Yunho leaned in slightly, gaze locked on yours.
“That wasn’t jealousy,” he murmured. “That was restraint.”
Your breath caught.
Then he added, quieter, “And trust me… you haven’t seen me jealous yet.”
The entire table combusted. Jongho signed a cross again.
“DUDE YOU ARE AN ATHEIST!”
“TIMES LIKE THIS NEED GOD!”
➽──────────────❥
The boys planned a full-day hangout at their place, the usual movies, snacks, gaming, the usual chaos.
You arrived perfectly normal. Smiled at everyone.
Hugged Mingi. High-fived Jongho. Let San put you in a headlock-hug. Even sat next to Wooyoung so he could drape himself across your shoulders like a human scarf.
Completely normal.
Except for one very intentional thing: you didn’t look at Yunho.
Not once.
Not when you greeted everyone.
Not when you plopped onto the couch between Wooyoung and San.
Not even when he walked into the room, hoodie sleeves pushed up, glasses sliding down his nose, the picture of effortless “dangerously handsome nerd.”
You just… pretended he didn’t exist.
It was a bold strategy. A brave strategy. A strategy that had Wooyoung’s eyes widening with scandal immediately.
San leaned close, whispering, “What are you doing? He’s going to explode.”
“That’s the point,” you whispered back, sipping your drink with innocent eyes.
Across the room, Yunho paused mid-step.
He saw you.
Saw you sitting comfortably between two of the most clingy men in their friend group.
Saw Wooyoung leaning his head on your shoulder.
Saw San playfully nudging your knee with his.
And he waited. Just a second. Expecting you to wave at him, smile at him, acknowledge him—
Nothing.
You looked right past him.
The entire room felt it.
Yeosang’s eyebrows shot up. Mingi bit his knuckle. Jongho put his drink down like, oh this is gonna be good. Hongjoong muttered, “Well. He’s going to take this personally.”
And Yunho…? He didn’t say a word. This was personal.
He walked past the couch, calmly, too calmly, and sat in the armchair across from you.
Not the one next to you. Not the one at an angle. Directly across. Where he had the perfect view of you.
You felt it instantly—his stare digging into you like a thousand quiet questions:
What are you doing?
Who told you to sit there?
Why are they touching you?
Why aren’t you looking at me?
Do you think I’m going to let this slide?
You lifted your drink and took another sip. Still didn’t look at him. You were being brave. This was definitely not a death wish.
Wooyoung leaned in, whispering, “This is the hottest shit you’ve ever done.”
San whispered, “He’s psychically screaming.”
The movie started.
You laughed at San’s dumb commentary.
You threw popcorn at Wooyoung.
You leaned your head back on the couch and relaxed like you were finally having a Yunho-free moment.
But every few minutes, you felt it. Yunho’s stare.
Unblinking. Unrelenting. Possessive in silent, simmering waves.
Halfway through the movie, Seonghwa paused it.
“Bathroom break.”
Everyone stood, except Yunho.
And except you.
Because you were pretending you needed to text someone.
Wooyoung passed behind you, whispering, “He’s about to snap.”
San whispered, “I’ll pray for you.”
“You are an atheist!”
“Shut it Hojong and move.”
When they finally stumbled out of the room, leaving just the two of them, the door clicked shut.
You kept your eyes glued to your phone like you didn’t feel the heat from his stare cooking you alive.
Then Yunho spoke. His voice was soft. Too calm for simmering tension.
“Princess.”
You didn’t look up. “Mm?”
“Jagi.”
Your heartbeat fluttered. “What?”
“Come here.”
You smirked behind your phone.
“Busy.”
A beat.
Then the armchair creaked.
He stood. Slow footsteps towards you.
You finally looked up just in time for him to reach your side of the couch and lean down, one hand on the cushion beside your hip, the other braced on the back of the couch, trapping you between his arms.
His voice was a low whisper, brushing her ear, “You’re done testing me.”
Your breath caught. Gotcha.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
His nose grazed your temple.
“You ignored me for three hours. You let them touch you.”, His breath warmed your cheek.
“And you know exactly what that does to me.”
Your pulse kicked.
“You’re overreacting,” you whispered.
He gave a soft, humorless laugh.
“No, princess.”
His fingers curled lightly into the cushion near your hip—just shy of touching you.
“You’re playing with fire.”
“And you like it,” you breathed.
Finally he turned your face toward him with the gentlest touch of his knuckles.
“I’d like it more,” he murmured, eyes dark, “if you did it alone with me. Not as a show for everyone else.”
You swallowed.
“…Maybe I wanted you to react.”
He leaned even closer.
“Oh, I reacted.”
He leaned closer to your lips, inches apart, “You want to keep playing these games? Fine. But I promise…”
His voice dropped to a whisper that curled straight down your spine.
“…I’ll always win.”
The door burst open. San yelled, “ARE YOU TWO—OH MY GOD THEY’RE SO CLOSE—”
You shoved Yunho back so fast he actually stumbled.
He just smiled.
Not smug. Not mocking. Just satisfied. Like a winner. Like the predator who finally learned his prey bites back.
➽──────────────❥
After the “testing him” incident on the couch, Yunho didn’t confront you again.
He didn’t need to.
He just… shifted. Subtly, quietly but deadly effective.
And you… brave, foolish, deliciously curious you — kept noticing every new possessive habit with a flutter of your pulse you would never admit out loud.
He started choosing where you sat.
A pair of fingers brushing her elbow. A quiet “Here.” A soft tap on the spot beside him. Or just near him.
Not a command. Not exactly.
But your body obeyed every time.
Then he started to intercept touches.
If Wooyoung threw his arm around your shoulders, Yunho would “adjust” the blanket so you had to sit straighter, subtly breaking the contact.
If San leaned into your side, Yunho would slide between them under the excuse of “I can’t see the screen.”
If anyone hugged you a little too long?
A hand would settle on the small of your back. Barely there.
But enough to say: That’s close enough.
Then it escalated just a bit. He always knew where you were.
Not clingy. Not loud. That’s not Jeong Yunho’s style.
Just—aware.
You would get up to grab water and he’d appear behind you in the kitchen, opening the cabinet before you reached for it.
You would walk down the hall and he’d step out of a room at the exact same moment, brushing past your shoulder like gravitational pull.
The nicknames started. Soft. Dangerous. Very claiming.
It started with one slip.
“Move your feet, Tiny.”
Then it was, “Watch your step, sweetheart.”
Then one evening, low enough for only her, “Baby, pass me the remote.”
You froze. The room froze.
He didn’t.
He just took the remote from your limp hand without a blink like he’d been calling you that for years.
To be fair, he did. In his head. In his room. His fist wrapped around his—
Okay too far too far, this is a PG 15 story!
➽──────────────❥
So you, clever little menace, decided to poke the bear again.
Maybe it was stupid. Maybe you wanted to see if his control had limits. Maybe you liked watching him crack.
During game night, you sat on the floor between Mingi’s legs, leaning back against his chest because he was warm and comfy and absolutely harmless.
The rest of the boys didn’t think much of it. But Yunho?
He went still. Not angry. Yet. Not outwardly jealous. Yet.
Still. And quiet. And calculating.
Wooyoung whispered, “Oh no. She’s dead.”
San whispered, “We’re witnessing a historic mistake.”
Yeosang whispered, “I’m not saving her.”
“You never save her. You just stare.”
You pretended you didn’t notice. Liar.
You laughed at something Mingi whispered. Tilted your head onto his knee. Even reached back to poke his cheek.
Yunho’s knuckles turned white on the controller.
Then, in the softest, most dangerous tone you ever heard from him.
“Baby…”
The room froze.
Your breath hitched.
Yunho set his controller down. Carefully. Too carefully. Then leaned forward from the couch, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on yours.
“That’s enough playing, sweetheart.”
Mingi backed up instantly, hands raised. He didn’t want to be murdered by his best friend today.
“I surrender—please don’t kill me.”
You lifted your chin like a brat. “I wasn’t playing anything.”
“(Y/N).”
Just your name. A low warning that was hot enough to melt the air.
Your pulse fluttered.
“What? You said we were just friends.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose. “And you believe that?”
You shrugged. “Maybe.”
Yunho stood.
And the room that was full of seven grown men, scattered like scared pigeons.
“Not today, bitch!”
“I AM NOT DYING TODAY! SORRY TINY!”
“WE LOVE YOU THOUGH!”
He walked toward you slowly, steps controlled, expression unreadable.
“Jagi,” he murmured, standing over her now. “Come here.”
You throat tightened. “No.”
His jaw flexed. “Sweetheart.”
You whispered, “Make me.”
The smallest smirk flickered across his lips, a dangerous, relieved, hungry one.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, reaching down.
“Gladly.”
He didn’t yank or grab you.
He simply slid a hand under yours, lifted you off the floor with ridiculous ease, and walked you backward until your back met the wall.
Your breath hitched. Oh now, you’re fucked.
His arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in without even needing to touch you.
“You want to test me?” he whispered.
You swallowed. “Maybe.”
His forehead pressed to yours. “You want to see how far I’ll go?”
Your voice trembled. “Yes.”
His nose brushed hers. “You want to know what I’m holding back?”
Your hands curled into his hoodie. “Yes.”
His lips hovered over yours, barely a breath away.
“I’m done holding it back.”
He kissed you. Hard. Deep. Months of restraint breaking in a single, devastating moment.
You gasped against him. He swallowed the sound.
Your fingers fisted in his hoodie.
His hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him like you were something he had waited forever to touch. Which you were. He wanted you so damn bad.
When he finally pulled back, barely an inch, “You keep testing me like that…”
His thumb brushed your lower lip, swollen from his kiss.
“…and I’ll never let you go.”
You whispered, dizzy, “Who said I wanted you to?”
His smile was slow. Dangerous. Relieved.
“You better not.”
He pulled back only because he needed to see your face. Needed to confirm you weren’t going to run again.
“Princess…” he whispered, voice hoarse.
You didn’t answer.
Instead, you grabbed the front of his hoodie, yanked him down, and kissed him like you meant to erase every doubt he’d ever had.
Soft was gone. Careful was gone.
This was hungry. Desperate.
Your fingers slid into his hair. Your lips pressed harder than his, stealing his next breath before he could take it.
He groaned, quiet, surprised, unable to stop it.
And that sound made you kiss him even deeper.
Yunho wasn’t prepared. Not for you to be the one who broke him.
But he caught up fast.
His hand slid under your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to tilt your head exactly how he liked. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, lifting you slightly off the floor without breaking the kiss.
You only tightened your grip on him, kissing him like you couldn’t get close enough.
He whispered against your mouth, “Baby—slow down—”
“No,” you breathed, biting his lower lip.
And Yunho—calm, rational, quiet Yunho—let out a low, unfiltered sound that made your knees go weak.
He kissed you again, deeper, until you felt dizzy, dazed. Your mind going blank.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, he rested your forehead against hers.
“Don’t ever run from me again,” he said softly.
You whispered, “Then don’t make me want to.”
“Oh,” he murmured, “I’ll give you plenty of reasons to stay.”
